In honor of NaNoWriMo, and since we finished Voiceless, I’m gonna share a snippet from a bit of backstory I wrote for one of my main characters in A Tale of Two Brothers. He’s… ack, my poor boy. *would hug him but he’d shove me so settles for a distant patpat*
Anyway. Behold. *bows*
Irad – Bits of Backstory
He pressed his nose to the glass window of the baker’s shop, his mouth watering as he stared at the pastries a wealthy Zoarish client was purchasing, no doubt for her family. Was there cream inside those delicious flaky wrappings? Frostberries? Perhaps even a sugary mix of the two?
She was coming out. Irad turned, studying his dirty fingernails with his back to the window as she exited, casting a scornful glance at his lengthening frame, dark hair, and slim build. Ah, there’s one who doesn’t like Shilonites. A bit of fire seared Irad’s veins. He wanted to hurl a ball of hard-packed snow at her back, but she would be quick to draw blade on him for vengeance. All Zoarish were. Clenching his jaw, Irad shook his head and ducked inside the store.
Zenyth was taking the old breads that hadn’t sold out of his display box and putting them in a cloth bag. He looked up as Irad entered, a twinkle of annoyance in his gaze. “Back again?”
“Every Sidawn.” Irad folded his arms. “I worked twice this week.”
“Aye, ye did,” grumbled Zenyth. He glanced at the loaf in his hand. “Fine, here’s yer pay, street rat.”
Irad caught the loaf as it was hurled at his head, his fingers practically salivating as they made contact with the still-warm bread. “Twice, Zenyth. I worked twice.”
“And that’s all ye’ll be gettin’.” Zenyth narrowed his eyes, folding his heavily muscled arms at the boy in the ragged clothes. “Slight thing that ye are, ye won’t be needin’ much else. ‘Asides, I’m not going to need yer help anymore. Got me an apprentice.”
Irad felt his face flush, his heartbeat picking up. “So you’re not going to give me my due?”
“Clear off, boy,” Zenyth snarled, stepping around the counter and curling his hands into fists meaningfully. “I won’t tell ye again. And don’t come back.”
Seething, Irad backed out the door, unwilling to lose one loaf over making the baker as angry as Irad was. But he couldn’t resist having the last word. “I think you’re confused, Zenyth. I’m not the rat in the room!” Spinning on his heel, he sprinted up the street and away from Zenyth’s enraged shouts. His mouth twisted into a smirk. That shows him.
When he reached the edge of town, Irad slowed to a walk. The exercise had done him good – he was warmed despite the snow that was beginning to fall and the way his breath frosted the air. As he slowed, though, a shiver seeped into his worn clothing. Should’ve found a cloak before I left. Oh, well. He tore off a chunk of the still-half-warm bread and stuffed it into his mouth, glancing to his right as he walked.
He passed this old stone house every day as he headed home, but he was always drawn to it. Maybe it was the children he occasionally spotted, shrieking with glee outside as they chased one another around. Maybe it was the young mother, pausing her chores to laugh at her kids’ antics. Maybe it was the father, sharpening weapons and calling for his oldest son to join him for a lesson.
The sun had already set, leaving the clouds a muted gray color, and the family was inside. Irad could see the firelight flickering from the edges of the curtained windows. He hesitated at the edge of the lane leading up to the house. He’d made friends with the dogs long ago, and learned how to creep like a cat up to the closest-guarded booth. Maybe… just this once?
His mind made up, Irad pushed the gate open and, crouching, hurried to the nearest window, the bread getting colder in his hand. Back against the wall, he pushed himself up just enough to get his eyes level with the lowest crack of light from the window, surveying the scene before him.
Three kids, two boys and a girl, sat on a bench at one end of the table. The mother and father were on the other side, laughing about something while the father carved the steaming roast in the center. The girl was bouncing up and down, her eyes transfixed on her oldest brother’s face while he did an animated recounting of his training session with his father earlier that day – Irad could tell the topic because the lad settled into a defensive stance, then lunged forward and stabbed his mother with an imaginary blade. She contorted her face and slumped backward in her chair, pretending to be dead. The other boy laughed, then suddenly stopped, his eyes riveted on the plate of meat and bread his father handed him.
The food served, the family began eating, chatting with one another with such merry looks on their faces that it warmed Irad’s body, despite the snow seeping into the bottoms of his boots and freezing the back of his neck. Slowly, in sync with the mother, he tore off a piece of his bread and brought it to his lips, chewing, imagining himself a part of that group, the one telling all the new-learned knowledge of swordplay, or kicking his brother under the table, or swiping the bit of juicy roast from his sister’s plate when she wasn’t looking. Another bite of cold bread met his lips. He glanced down at the loaf as he swallowed, the lump hard.
He’d eaten more than half. Amalek would kill him.
With one last, longing glance at the happy family around the table with a cracking fire behind and food in front of them, Irad turned away and began the long trek home, the bread feeling frozen in his hand.
His heart was more empty than his stomach.
*sighs at Irad*
Talk to me! Let me know what your project is for NaNo, if you’re doing it! Who is your favorite character from your WIP? What is an interesting moment in their backstory? Why are they your favorite?
Until next time,
Take courage, pursue God, and smile while you still have teeth!! ^_^
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