I made references in several posts to a certain character who took much more importance in the novel than I had expected he would. He also seemed to steal the heart of some of my beta readers. Anyhow, he became so important that the cover which will be revealed tomorrow, makes a reference to him. Well, now, features him.
So I thought it would be a good idea for this month's extract to be the scene where the main character, Dennys, meets this other character...
Extract from chapter 3
In the morning he decides to go for a walk by the river. Heavy, lazy clouds are gathering but there isn’t any sign of rain yet. The streets are busy: people running to and fro, hailing their acquaintances, greeting their friends… He knows no one here. Andrew has gone back to his parent’s estate; he came two days ago to say goodbye, promising he’d write. Dennys is both relieved and regretful.
The river is filthy. Choked by the waste from the mills. You have to go upstream and past the town to find the semblance of green and pleasant countryside. Dennys follows the path that goes along the bank, walking briskly. He trips over the stones, gets caught in the bramble; at least it occupies his mind, the exertion leaving him breathless and physically tired, but pleasantly so.
Into the woods and out, past a spinney. A field and a bridge; rust coloured leaves and damp sticky clods clog the narrow space under it. Rustling branches, the gurgling river. Screeching birds. A beast creeping in the bushes. Voices and a clatter of hooves.
A saddled and bridled horse trots over the bridge, head high, tail swishing; he has no rider. He falls into a canter, quickens his pace, races with the river and stops as he becomes aware of Dennys’s presence. Man and horse stare at each other, gauge each other. It’s like the old legends: the devilish horse inviting the passers-by to jump on and galloping away, leading them to a premature end in a swamp or at the bottom of a cliff.
He smiles in spite of himself and walks up to the wary horse who snorts but does not move. He raises his hand to stroke the animal’s forehead. The horse shies away, eyes rolling and Dennys guesses that for him, the gesture is synonymous with a blow. He doesn’t give up and calls the horse, whistling softly, hand outstretched. The horse hesitates, before deciding he can trust this human being. He advances and daintily nuzzles the hand with his velvety nose.
Apple? The horse’s eye is bright and expectant.
“Sorry, I’ve got nothing for you.”
The horse shows his annoyance by flattening his ears against his neck and baring his teeth.
“Don’t even think of it,” Dennys says warningly, and the horse goes back to being a charming, friendly creature.
It’s a pity… The horse sighs.
“Where do you come from?”
You’ll know soon enough. Hear. My owner’s voice.
“And your rider?”
Gone. He was there and then nothing.
“Did you throw him off?”
He fell…
“They’re searching for you, come on.”
I don’t want to go back.
“Why?”
I don’t like them. They make me run in circles and hit me with sticks. They shout. They’ll be angry now. I don’t want to go back.
“They’ll be angrier if they don’t find you soon.”
Don’t you want to go away with me?
“I’m not a horse thief. And you’re a racehorse, aren’t you? What would I do with a racehorse?”
I can run faster than the wind. They won’t catch us.
“Yes they would, come on now.”
The horse looks contrite and refuses to move: his four feet are firmly anchored in the ground.
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