I have been struggling to stick to writing, yes I have been writing but in my typical fashion I have skipped around. I have written the first Rock Johnson story (editor completed and said "good story but..." and I am just dreading going back to it). I have written the first 'chapter' of Duke Samson and the first chapter of Reed too. The going back is just hard for me.
I have started to think that short, serial type stories where bits and pieces are released every so often might be the way to go for me. I tend to write in bursts, when ideas just explode from my mind and if I do not grab on and put ink to paper I lose it.
Anywho, I was at work Monday and playing around with MidJourney while I took a break and a particular image spoke to me and names, ideas, and situations came flooding at me. I went back to my desk and wrote for about 30 minutes and the below is the result. It is not perfect and it is short but I let a friend read it and he said "Nice to see an encounter using wits instead of mindless brawn" and indicated that he enjoyed the piece so I decided to show you guys that I am actually writing. I hope you enjoy.
I have included a PDF for those who wish to download and read rather than read on the blog:
Link to PDF: Cewri Dung
Jorvik & Daket
in
Cewri Dung
by M.S.Jackson
Jorvik tightened his grip on his blade, the cool leather-wrapped metal of the handle felt reassuring in his hand. His eyes darted from the dark cavern to his younger brother.
Daket narrowed his eyes, focused on the darkness at the cavern’s entrance. A low rumble emanated from the black, a low rolling noise that crawled up Daket’s spine like death crawling out of a grave. He broke his stare and turned with a nervous glance back to his older brother.
“Calm yourself, brother,” Jorvik said to his young sibling without moving his gaze. “We know not what evil lurks within.”
“Or what hunts us,” came Daket’s shaky  reply.
A footfall echoed from the darkness, pebbles crunched underfoot. A large foot. A deep huff followed.
Daket involuntarily took a step to the rear.
“Steady yourself Daket,” Jorvik made his voice as stern yet calm as possible. He too was nervous. While his sword arm was trained and hardened in battles against the Welsh demons, battle and blood was unknown to his brother. “It may yet prove to be nothing more than a heilian coo. Like Kyloe,” he named a childhood pet cow Daket had raised. He had intended to lighten his brother’s mood.
His words garnered a slight chuckle from his brother as memories of his childhood pet danced across his mind. Daket blinked, washing away old memories. He then tossed his brother a look, complex in that it balanced exasperation at his brother, nervousness, and fear in a gaze only moments long.
Another low rumble crept out of the cavern mouth.
Daket inched backwards. “Brother, can we not...”
“Enough!” Growled Jorvik through gritted teeth. “Stop your whining. You sound like a babe!”
Jorvik threw his brother a foul look, rolled his eyes, then turned back to the cavern. Under a low breath he added, “Mother would be embarrassed.”
A foot slammed the ground at the edge of the cavern’s shadows. The foot was huge. If the foot had come down upon Daket, nary a foot or hand would be seen.
A foul stench hit Daket’s nose, he squinted as if in agony and put his shield arm under his nose. He started to speak “Brother....” but his words failed him as his stomach churned.
“Hush!” Jorvik howled and sheathed his blade. Without notice he charged his brother, slammed into his side and plunged them both in a tangle into a large bush at the edge of the cavern’s mouth.
The pair rolled once and Jorvik came out on top, his hand over his brother’s mouth. His other hand came to his mouth and he hissed a “Shush, you fool!”
Through the leaves and branches of the bush Jorvik watched as the giant cautiously leaned under the outcropping the formed the roof of the cavern entrance. The behemoth stepped out and stood its full height, easily thrice that of a man. His legs were as thick as a man’s waist. Large arms as round as a man’s thigh dragged a tree trunk behind him, a makeshift club taller than a man stood.
Daket mouthed a single word, “Cewri,” his eyes huge with amazement.
Jorvik knew his little brother had never witnessed a true giant, or cewri in their mother’s tongue. He himself had been unfortunate to have crossed the paths of two before. He narrowly escaped death both times.
The giant stretched, raised his arms skyward. Jorvik’s eyes followed the outstretched arms skyward, lost them against the glare of the mid-day sun. The giant snorted, then bent over and pressed a finger to its nostril. A deep inhale was followed by a violent and explosive exhale through one side of the large nose. A massive blob of snot plopped down a dozen feet from the bush hiding the brothers. The smell struck them like a wall. The brothers fought the urge to toss their stomachs.
Then the giant scanned the horizon and sniffed the fresh morning air. Its large head swiveled away from the brothers’ bush and nostril flared as it sucked in the cool morning air. The giant jerked slightly, smelled something in the air, and turned in the brothers direction. The giant jutted its nose forward and took in a long, slow and deep breath, nostrils flared.
Jorvik saw what was happening and scanned his immediate area. Another visitor to the area had left behind something that might just do the trick. The scat was old and dry from the mountain winds, but Jorvik prayed the inside was moist and pungent enough to repulse the giant. He snatched his brother’s helm from his head and shoved it into the mound of dung, being sure to smear the scat across the front sides.
Beneath him, Daket was aghast. His favorite helm, given to him years ago by his uncle, was covered in foul smelling coo dung!
The giant stooped over the bush and took a deep, long breath. The giant jerked back quickly, released a rush of air and a foul look appeared on his ugly face. The beast made guttural grunt and stepped backward, striking its head on the overhang. It jerked forward, stumbled, moved away and got clear of the cavern entrance.
Minutes later, the giant in the distance, the brothers stood. Jorvik smiled and admired his handiwork as Daket studied his ruined helm.
“The helm will clean up fine,” he smiled and watched Daket clean a clump of dung off with a twig. He slapped his brother’s back. Hard. “And little brother, we live to fight another day!”
