A decent couple o’ paragraphs today from THE FLAME OF BATTLE, and also a bunch of pretty flowers (mine).
“What is your papa doing this time?” Messer Albizzi asked Fia in a low voice.
Fia looked up. Now her papa was trying to sneak up behind the dragon with a saddle, as if the dragon were some old horse he could trick.
“Don’t you know? He is clearly bending the dragon to his will,” Fia said.
Messer Albizzi watched Fia’s papa for a long moment.
“Huh,” was all he finally said.
Every sensation of burning at the stake – the unbearable heat billowing into her face, her dress catching fire, the mocking laughs of the crowd watching her, making fun of her shrieks of pain – all of these leapt into her mind so vividly that she jerked her head back from the sparks of the fires.
“What if I flew your dragon in the race?” Fia asked.
“What if I turned you into a little stone statue and you never spoke again?” the stabler replied, pulling the knots tight around the man’s wrists.
Chunks of embers arranged themselves into a vaguely human shape: a larger piece of ember for the head, two embers for the body, stacked atop each other, and then the limbs strung together with the ashes and bits of cinders.
With a soft grating noise, like a log sliding over and breaking burned wood, the small human-shaped group of embers rose to its feet among the heat and ashes.