Happy Thanksgiving

   First of all, I'd like to wish all my American friends a Happy Thanksgiving! Hopefully, most of you will have family around to enjoy along with loads of good food. For those of you who are away from family or for whatever reason don't have family to get together with, I know how you feel. I've spent a number of Thanksgivings in a tavern or on a ship in the Western Pacific. I may not have always had family around me but I was never alone. Please, whatever you do, don't sit at home by yourself. I've met some really interesting people just going out to a Dennys for a holiday meal. If you have the means, don't forget that single friend of yours and invite them over for a meal and company.
   This is also the time of year that my writing slows down even more than normal. With three kids and six grandkids, it seems like there's always some family thing going on. Plus we have the only house big enough to hold everyone so all the big meals and get togethers are here. Since I'm the only one physically able right now, keeping the house clean, shopping and cooking meals is up to me. My granddaughters would probably help with the cooking but I'm a stubborn old man who likes to do things my way. Anyway, I'm still making progress on the rewrite of my novella but as other writers know, sometimes it takes longer to do the edits than it did to write it in the first place.
   I don't have any writing to share this week but since no one comments it's probably not being read anyway. Hopefully I'll have something to share next week.
   Thanks for reading and have a happy holiday!

Turtle or a Snail

   For this week's ramble, I find myself thinking about all the people who are churning out words for NaNoWriMo. My hat is off to those people. Even if I spent several hours a day scribbling down a bunch of nonsense, I physically couldn't produce that many words in a month. My arthritis won't allow it. Plus, when I write, I picture the scene in my head and repeat over and over until I'm happy with how it plays out. Then I write it down and read what I've written. If it doesn't match what I had envisioned then I start over. It could take hours just to get a single page of story written the way I want it.
   Most people would see that as working at a turtle's pace but that's on a good day. When health issues or depression raises their ugly heads, I end up shifting down to a snail's pace or stopping altogether. If it wasn't for the wonderful comments and encouragement I've received from my new online friends, I probably would have given up long ago.
   I am making progress though. Final edits are almost complete on my novella as soon as I receive the last of the beta comments and suggestions from my critique group. Not sure how well it will turn out since the money I had set aside for an editor was burned up by an ER visit. Hopefully the feedback I've gotten and with the help of a friend who will look it over for punctuation, it will be alright. I'm also slowly adding new chapters to my epic fantasy and have entered several short contests.
   If you're getting tired of reading scenes from my fan/fic, I decided to share the first scene of a western a friend of mine challenged me to write.
   Good luck if you're doing NaNoWriMo and thanks for reading.

                                    Chapter One

                         Never Look Back

 

Even though nothing had changed, everything felt different. The smell of bacon frying, and the sizzle of eggs in the griddle were just like every other morning in the kitchen. As of today, it could no longer be called their kitchen. The ranch now belonged to another.

Maebelle Cutter set the plate of flapjacks alongside the eggs and bacon, sat at the head of the table, and joined hands with her two boys in silent prayer. All the words that needed to be said had come out over the past several days. Today was the day for goodbyes.

Joshua finished first, gulped down the last of his coffee, stood up and carried his dishes to the sink. Emptying the water bucket into the large pot on the stove for hot water, he headed for the well outside, and gently shut the door behind him.

“Yer brother still ain’t keen on the idear, is he?”

“Na, don’t you worry bout him, Mama. He knows it be fer the best. He jus not be liken it.” Sonny finished his coffee, got up and kissed her on the forehead. “Ya shore there ain’t nothing else we can do?”

She reached up and placed her hand on top of his were it rested on her shoulder. “You boys need to hit the trail if you aim to reach your uncle’s place in time. Mr. Crenshaw and his younguns will be here shortly to help me pack up what’s left and finish movin out.”

“Best be getting the horses saddled up then.” He squeezed her hand and left, passing Joshua on the way back in with a full bucket. Crossing the yard, he led the horses out of the now empty barn, and stopped to gaze out over the open fields where herds of cattle used to roam.

The beginning of the end came three years ago when the railroad forced his Papa to sell a strip of land right through the middle of their property. A right of way they called it. Then at Christmas time that same year, the old man lost his battle with a sickness that had plagued him all year.

Even though he and Joshua tried to keep the ranch going, their hearts just weren’t in it, and it pained him to watch the fire diminish in his Mama’s eyes. It was time for everyone to move on.

“Come on little brother. Let’s say our goodbyes to Mama and hit the trail. Uncle Travis is waiting for us.”

She stood on the front steps to hug the boys, and kiss each of them on the cheek, then held them at arm’s length. “Papa’d shore nuff be proud of you boys and the men you’ve growed up into. Sonny, I expect you to watch over your brother, and see he don’t come to no harm.” With a tear in her eye, she continued. “Now get on outta here, and live your lives jus as it were meant to be! Never look back.”

One last hug and a kiss before the brothers mounted up and rode out through the front gate for the last time. If they had looked back, they would have witnessed their mama huddled on the top step, head in her hands and her body racked with sobs.

 

#Western

Support Our Veterans

   I feel the need to post a little something on this day to commemorate the brave men and women who have served this country. As a veteran myself, it is a great honor and privilege to be counted among the many who have fought and died for the freedoms we hold dear.
   It makes me sad when I see people protesting against the military and veterans. Hopefully, someday they'll understand that it's because of the veterans they have the freedom to do so. I wish there was a way to communicate to them the positive effects of serving in the military. Lifelong friendships arise from working side by side with people you probably wouldn't even talk to at home. The discipline and self-esteem generated while working as a team to accomplish a mission that would be impossible for an individual, are things that stick with you forever.
   While the majority of vets go on to live successful and productive lives, there are those wounded either physically or emotionally, who have found it difficult to achieve that success. I believe it is the responsibility of all Americans to help those disabled vets find a new team to be a part of. To give them that helping hand to overcome whatever obstacles are in their way.
   It reminds me of a story of two young sailors working deep down in the belly of a ship doing preservation in the bilges. One is overcome by the fumes and attempts to climb the ladder before passing out but can only manage a couple of rungs. His partner came up under him and pushed, taking them both up the ladder to safety. In normal circumstances he could have easily scaled the ladder, but in this instance, just a little push was all he needed to succeed.
   Please take the time today and reach out to any veteran, whether family, friend or stranger and thanks them for their service. You'd be amazed at what a difference a few friendly words can make in someone's life.
   I won't post any of my stories since the purpose of my blog today is to voice my appreciation for our vets, not to promote my writing.
   Thanks for reading.




#VeteransDay  #DisabledVeterans

The Importance of Beta Readers

   So, you've completed your story except for edits and think you're done. Wrong. You are just getting started. I've been working on my novella for a while now and have gone back several times to edit and rewrite sections of the story. Still not good enough. Even though critique groups are great for individual chapters or scenes, they rarely see the story in it's entirety. That's where beta readers come in to fill in a vital piece of the puzzle.
   A number of folks graciously volunteered to beta read the novella and I've already received feedback from some of them. While not everyone is going to like your story, you can still benefit from their comments as to why they didn't like it. That's actually more beneficial than the one who says they loved everything about the story but gives no suggestions for improvement.
   I don't care how accomplished a writer you are, there is always room for improvement. Sometimes writers get so close to the story that they don't notice the things that are missing. I forget that the reader doesn't know what I know and needs to be given hints to help them come to the conclusions I want them to. It frustrates me the number of times I write that the character reached their destination or finally met up with someone and readers ask who is this person or I didn't know they were headed there. Sure enough, when I go back to check, I realize I never mentioned where they were going or who they were supposed to meet. It was in my head but not on paper.
   Based on the feedback I've received so far, I'm sharing the rewrite of the first chapter, and hope some will comment whether this is good enough or needs more work.
   Thanks for reading!




 

                                    Chapter One

                               The Castle

 

Aldan Beaverson hurried along the cobblestone street leading to the King’s Castle at the west end of Westalia. For five days he’d outpaced the army approaching from the south. Rumors abounded at every village along his route as to King Romar’s intentions. However, today the weather became unpredictable along with greater numbers of villagers headed for the city in search of safety. He’d arrived in the city later than planned and hoped the rain would delay the army even longer. The rich aroma of roasting mutton and the sound of laughter coming from a nearby inn pulled him away from his intended destination. The promise of a hot meal and the chance to dry off outweighed his need to reach the Castle.

Aldan stepped through the door into silence as every eye fell on him and then quickly turned away. Forced laughter erupted from several tables as it appeared patrons were more interested in their ale than food. With the one serving girl busy refilling mugs, Aldan signaled to the innkeeper who seemed loath to abandon his sanctuary behind the polished wooden counter.

The food was surprisingly good but he wasted no time in savoring the meal. Silence fell once again when he stood but the laughter returned full force as the door shut behind him. The rain had tapered off while he ate, but heavy, dark clouds still filled the sky. Shifting shadows from overgrown bushes and the rustle of leaves from ancient oaks, added to his unease after leaving the inn.

Aldan breathed a sigh of relief as the dark silhouette of the castle came into view. This was the first castle he had seen outside of the pages of a book and the reality of it stopped him in his tracks. It would not have surprised him to hear the ground groan at the weight of the massive stone structure. Dull faced granite blocks, most covered with moss or ivy, were a testament to its extreme age. The foul odor he encountered was unexpected.

Apparently they drained the castles garderobes into the moat, probably as an extra deterrent to keep enemies out. Fortunately, the drawbridge was lowered. Holding his breath, Aldan hurried across to the sally port in the massive wooden gate. A quick pull on the bell rope and a voice from somewhere above called down.

“Who goes there?”

“Aldan Beaverson. I’m the new apprentice mage.”

“Aye. We’ve been expecting you. A moment please while I summon the mage.”

Aldan hoped they would hurry as one of the shadows detached itself from the nearest building and slowly made its way toward the bridge. He quickly rehearsed one of the few defensive spells he had learned and loosened his sword in its scabbard, just in case.

About the time he determined to cast his spell, the portal opened and he was unceremoniously dragged through as the nervous guard peered out then slammed the door.

Unaware he’d been holding his breath, Aldan gasped, “What in the Seven Hells was that?”

“That is why you are needed here,” announced an elderly, silver haired gentleman. “And why the gate is always kept closed. Well met, young Beaverson. I am Jordan Ryecliff, King’s Mage. I must return to the King but the chamberlain should arrive shortly to escort you to your rooms. I will see you as soon as I can, but plan on asking your questions on the morrow when we have more time.”

With that, the mage spun in a swirl of flowing, dark blue robes and disappeared down a corridor just as a harried, portly man approached from the opposite side of the entry tunnel.

“Ah, Master Beaverson! So glad you finally arrived. Welcome to Greystone Castle. I’m the chamberlain, Horis Whitely. Please follow me and I will show you to your rooms.”

Before Aldan had a chance to answer, the chamberlain headed back the way he had come. Hurrying to catch up, he couldn’t help but notice the poor state of the castle. Dust covered everything in the hall and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The wooden banisters and railings of the three flights of stairs they climbed, hadn’t seen a polish cloth in a very long time. The hour was not that late, yet the only sounds to disturb the eerily quiet halls were their footsteps.

They arrived at a door the chamberlain opened with one of the many keys attached to a ring. Aldan entered the room, pleasantly surprised at what he saw. His rooms had been thoroughly cleaned and several lit candles gave off a pleasant scent. A small fire crackled cheerfully in the fireplace. Tapestries hung on the walls depicting forest scenes and someone’s garden. Not really to his tastes but better than scenes of battle in their blood spattered glory.

Master Whitely waved in the direction of a small table to one side. “I suspect you are quite weary from your journey but a small bottle of wine and a platter of meat and cheese has been provided in case you are hungry. I must leave now and return to the King but the Mage indicated he would visit you before turning in. A key to your room hangs on a peg next to the door. Just as a precaution, always keep your door locked. Goodnight.”

Aldan shook his head as the chamberlain quickly exited the room and shut the door behind him. Other than the one question he’d been able to voice upon entering the castle, they had given him no opportunity for further conversation. He didn’t need to be a scholar to figure out something was terribly wrong. Where were all the staff, and why keep his door locked in the King’s castle?

A knock at the door put a hold on further musings. With the chamberlain’s warning still fresh in his mind, he cautiously stepped to the door and called out. “Who’s there?”

“Your royal welcoming committee—as it were.”

Intrigued, Aldan opened the door to be confronted by a stunningly beautiful young woman about his own age. Long dark hair framed the face of an angel with deep green eyes and wearing a simple but elegant gown. Having someone like her appear at his door did not happen every day.

“Are you going to invite me in or just stand there and stare?” she asked as one corner of her mouth twitched, and the twinkle in her eyes threatened to un-mask her royal attitude of indifference.

“Ah, sorry my lady,” he stammered in apology. “I was expecting Mage Ryecliff.”

Aldan held the door as she glided in on slippered feet. The material of her dress made a swishing sound as her perfume filled the air. He shut and locked the door as he’d been told, all the while desperately trying to regain his composure. Why would Princess Odessa visit him in his rooms, alone?

He faced the princess and executed his best bow using the form taught to him by his mentor. “Forgive me your Highness. I am Aldan Beaverson, apprentice mage, at your service.”

After a perfunctory glance at the rest of the room, the princess returned her gaze to Aldan. Wavy blond hair that just touched the tips of his ears, framed an angular face dominated by a set of expressive dark brown eyes. The tall, slim body that would fill out as he aged gave her a glimpse of what the future promised.

 “At least you are more pleasing to the eye than our last apprentice. Your hair is shorter than I prefer but that will grow out in time. Now come away from the door and join me at the table. We must talk.”

Aldan rushed to position her chair as she sat down, then sat across the table hoping she had missed the color in his face at her frank appraisal. So many questions flashed through his mind, but where to start?

The princess sat there quietly with the same faint smile as if waiting for something. This time, the heat that rose up from his neck was for his own lack of manners. “May I pour you a glass of wine, Princess?”

She answered with a nod of her head and a quick glance at the platter of food in the center of the table.

“Please help yourself, Princess. Meat and cheese are all I have to offer you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but we can talk about that later. Right now, I feel I must inform you of the happenings inside the castle.”

“Please do. The city is on edge with the approach of King Romar and I’ve felt something else was amiss ever since I passed through the gates. It has only gotten worse now that I’m in the castle.” Aldan gestured with the knife he used to cut slices of the meat. “Even the air around me feels oppressive and filled with malice.”

The Princess nodded in agreement. “That is one of the reasons why most of the staff has abandoned the castle. That and other things.”

His attention riveted on her face as the hair on the back of his neck rose in apprehension. “What other things?”

Eyes wide in fear, trembling, she pointed to the door with a piece of cheese and whispered, “Those things.”

Reluctantly, his head swiveled to face in the direction she pointed and watched in fascination as a black cloud oozed under the door and formed into a being unlike anything he had ever seen before. How do you defend against something that appears as solid as smoke?

 

Backcover Blurb For My Novella

   Running a little late today because of doctor appointments and CT scans. Don't have a lot to say this week other than I've been busy with edits, cover designs and beta readers for my novella, "The Princess and the Apprentice". Also had a couple short stories edited to enter a writing contest. Wish me luck!
Part of my prep for publishing this novella is writing a backcover blurb. The first one I wrote sounded more like a synopses so here is a new blurb. Let me know what you think.
Thanks for reading!

Tagline:

 Answering the call for an apprentice mage, Aldan did not foresee the responsibility of protecting a Princess. Neither was falling in love.

 

Backcover:

Generations have come and gone since the end of the Mage Wars when renegades rebelled against the authority of the Council of Mages. Decimated after their victory, the remaining council members retired to their estates while the High Mage sealed himself inside their mountain fortress. Mages no longer held the trust of the people and magic use was shunned.

An ancient scroll from a previous age, carefully translated by the High Mage, had predicted the war and the subsequent decline in magic. However, it also warned that there would once again come a time of power seeking mages but that one would be born with the power to subdue them and re-establish the Council. A cryptic message at the end of the scroll, penned by a different hand, said simply, “Beware the magic of blood”.

The spirit of the High Mage that still haunts the Citadel, believes that Aldan Beaverson may be the one foretold and helps him with the gift of a Staff of Power. He also believes that Princess Odessa, who Aldan is charged with protecting, is capable of embracing the magic of women; the Blood Magic.

Will the love that blossoms be enough to overcome their differences or will Odessa succumb to the seduction of the Blood? Only time will tell…

Why I Write Light Fantasy

   First of all, let me say that I have nothing against people write and read dark fantasy or any of the horror style stories. Different strokes for different folks and all that. It's just not for me.
   Battling depression for most of my life, reading a depressing story is the last thing I want to do. Having watched my mother slowly die when I was fifteen and then later in life finding myself in the position of being given up for dead by doctors, death is not a topic I treat lightly. Rarely will you find death in my stories and if you do, I handle it with as much compassion and respect as I can give it. You will never see me use the death of a character in a frivolous manor or just to add some un-needed darkness to the story.
   If I find myself getting angry while reading a book, whether because of the actions of a character or for injustices being highlighted, I will stop reading. We are bombarded daily with anger and injustice on the news and online. Why read about it in a book?
   I read and write fantasy that will transport me into another world or reality different from my own. I want characters I can identify with, empathize when things go wrong and share in their joy when things finally work out. Adding humor into my stories is also very important to me even though it is extremely hard since I haven't actually laughed in years. At my age, the depression has progressed to the point where I am either down a little or a lot, never on the upside. Again, this is all in an effort to create a world totally unlike my own.
   If you're looking for a story where the main character is abused, ridiculed and beat down through most of the book, sorry, you won't find that here.


   I may have shared this scene from my fan/fic a while ago but it's one of my favorites so I'm sharing it again. Thanks for reading.

Her thoughts soon turned sour again. Blasted mood swings! She would find a way to make bloody Rand al’Thor pay for the difficulties she’d been experiencing because of her pregnancy. It wasn’t totally his fault but she would make him pay regardless. It was also entirely possible that her mood was being influenced by the pain and despair seeping through the bond from Birgitte. Something was eating at the soul of her friend and Elayne cared too much not to try and help.

“Bloody ashes Birgitte! Will you please sit down and talk to me. I haven’t been able to get more than a few words out of you all day. I can feel the conflict inside of you and it will destroy us both if we can’t find a resolution.”

Birgitte snorted as the faraway look fled from her eyes. “Such language from a Queen. You’ve been spending entirely too much time around soldiers Elayne.” Then in a quiet voice she continued, “Especially a soldier like me.”

Elayne said nothing. The look she gave Birgitte spoke volumes as she pointed to a chair opposite hers. She had assumed the mantle of Queen now and would brook no more nonsense.

“You will not like what I have to say Elayne,” Birgitte murmured.

“I don’t like seeing my dearest friend suffer like this either, so I will just have to find a way to deal with it,” Elayne replied.

She waited patiently as Birgitte struggled with what she needed to say. A flicker of fear began to dance around in the back of Elayne’s mind as the suspicion of what her Warder wanted flared to life.

“You want me to release you from the Warder bond,” she whispered. “Why?”

Taking a ragged breath, Birgitte slowly walked over and sat in the chair facing Elayne. Hands tightly clenched in her lap, she looked up and saw her tears reflected in the eyes of her beloved friend.

“In all of my previous lives, I have never had a sister. You have shown me what I never knew I’d been missing. You have given me a precious gift Elayne. Not only by saving my life but also the gift of the love for a sister. You will always have a special place in my heart.”

“I don’t understand,” Elayne cried softly. “I need you now more than ever. Please don’t ask me to do this.”

“I must.”

Springing up out of the chair, Birgitte began pacing back and forth. She had never been comfortable sitting while trying to marshal her thoughts.

“Do you understand what I am Elayne?”

“Of course. You are Birgitte Silverbow, heroine of the Ages. She who never misses what she aims at.”

“No Elayne. That is who I was and as long as I’m your Warder that is all I’ll ever be. But that is beside the point. What I am is a hero tied to the Horn of Valere. I must be available to answer the call when Mat blows the Horn at the Last Battle.”

Unable to hold back her tears, Elayne struggled to control her voice. “What are you saying Birgitte? Do you want to die?”

“No one wants to die,” Birgitte murmured as past memories of death rose up to haunt her. “But I am afraid. I shouldn’t be here Elayne. Moghedien ripped my soul out of the World of Dreams and thrust me into the world of the living. Her intention was to see me die the final death and I would have if you hadn’t bonded me, giving me a link to this world. I have felt the Pattern twisting itself around trying to fit me in.”

Stopping at the side table where one of the servants had thoughtfully left a pitcher of wine and a pitcher of goat’s milk, she poured herself a cup of wine and after a moment of indecision, poured another one for Elayne. The Queen wasn’t supposed to have anything other than goat’s milk during her pregnancy but Birgitte felt they both needed something stronger.

Returning to her chair, she handed the cup of wine to Elayne and at her questioning look Birgitte smiled, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Why now?” Elayne asked.

“It seems that one of the requirements for being a Hero of the Horn is sensitivity to the needs of the Pattern. Maybe that is why so many of us are born over and over, each time accomplishing something important. Gaidal and I have lived more lives than any other because we are the most sensitive to the Pattern. Yesterday I became aware of what the Pattern requires of me. Somehow I am now tied to Mat. If I am not with him he might die and the Last Battle will be lost before it ever begins.”

“Birgitte, I know that Mat blew the Horn of Valere and he seems to have a certain flair for fighting but Rand is the one who is destined to battle the Dark One and save the world.”

Birgitte leaned forward and gripped Elayne’s knee, her braid of golden hair falling from her shoulder. “Think Elayne. Even if that too handsome man of yours manages to seal the Dark One back up in his prison, what then? Will the hundreds of thousands of Trollocs just roll over and die? Will the Seanchen shake their heads, disappointed that they missed the Last Battle, climb back onto their boats and head for home?”

“Of course not. We have one of the largest armies ever assembled along with the greatest military minds of this age. We will deal with the Trollocs first and then push the Seanchen back on their ships whether they want to go or not.”

Bounding out of her chair, Birgitte resumed her pacing. How to make Elayne understand? Her need to find Mat had become almost painful. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. The worst part was she knew she couldn’t do anything until he returned from his insane quest into the Tower of Ghenjei. That would have to stay a secret for now but maybe he would forgive her for revealing just one of his many secrets.

Her eyes glazed over as she remembered the desperate, blood soaked battles many generations in the past. “I fought and died several times during the Trolloc Wars Elayne. It took many lifetimes before they were finally defeated. Your armies are impressive but from the number of Trollocs rumored to be massing at the border, they will roll over your armies like a storm flattens a field of young wheat. Your armies are too fragmented with different loyalties and agendas. You must have one Marshal-General in command of all the armies to have a chance. Who will you choose? Toward the end of the war when all looked lost, one man stepped forward. He rallied the nations together and fought with cunning and a certain amount of luck until they finally drove the Trollocs back across the border.”

Coming to a stop in front of Elayne, her body quivering with emotion, their eyes locked.

“That man was Mat.”

Polishing Will Reveal The Imperfections In Your Word Gems

   On the one hand, I can say I've made no progress because there are no shiny new words gracing the pages of my notebook. On the other hand, I can say I've made some progress because I've taken words that have become dull and spent time polishing them. Unfortunately, you can polish garbage all you want and still end up with garbage.
   Sometimes you just have to scoop up all the words from the page, put them back in their box and go find another box with new words. There are numerous reasons why some of those words no longer shine. Maybe your story has taken an unexpected turn and the foreshadowing you put in no longer applies to the story. Or the relationship between your characters takes a turn that enhances the story but makes earlier conversations seem out of place. Bottom line is you need a solid foundation of polished stones to hold up those sparkly gems you're so proud of.
   The other thing I've been spending time on is a book cover for my novella. I can't afford to hire someone to design a cover for me and also be able to pay a professional editor. To me, editing is more important than a fancy cover. I've been going to different online sites trying to come up with something that looks good enough not to scare readers away. One of my online friends has taken pity on me and volunteered to put a cover together. That is a huge load off of my mind.


   This week is another short scene from my fan/fic. Rand and Perrin come together after being apart for over a year. Thanks for reading.

   A hush fell over all who were gathered there. The two men stood no more than five feet apart and stared into each other’s eyes. One set the color and hardness of blue-grey gemstones, the other, golden soft like those of a wolf. The air around them began to warp and shift as if the Pattern was unsure whether to keep them in the waking world or project them into the World of Dreams. Min fell to the ground, blinded by the light and the swarm of images swirling around the two ta’veren. The others stood frozen as if time had come to a standstill.

   “He almost had me, Perrin.”

   “I know. I was there.”

   Rand frowned and his eyes narrowed as he studied the man in front of him who had once been his best friend. “What do you mean?”

   “I was there on top of Dragon Mount, along with the spirits of every wolf, alive or dead in the Wolf Dream. Somehow the wolves knew that the fate of the world hinged on the outcome of your fight. They knew that if you won, they would have a chance to fight in the Last Battle. If you lost, they would be lost as well. I don’t know what it was like for you, but in the Dream it was as if all the darkness in the world was poured out there. The souls of the damned screamed in the wind and lightning bolts fell like rain. It was all I could do to keep from being swept away and destroyed. The darkness flowed around and through you until you were no longer visible. I thought all was lost until a crack formed in the black shell and a ray of pure light shown through. More and more cracks formed until the entire shell exploded in a flash of intense light and a column of light poured up into the sky. You vanished along with the storm and we knew you had overcome the dark. What I would like to know is how.”

   “The hope of life Perrin. I realized that as long as men can hope for love and a better future, they have a reason to live. That is what he wants to take away from us. If he can remove all hope from men, they will have no reason to live. I also allowed Min, Elayne and Aviendha to bond me. The love that flows through the bond from them was enough to give me an anchor to cling to. Without that I would have been lost.”

   A smile broke out of the confines of Perrin’s beard as he laughed at his old friend. “And here I thought you knew more about women than I did. Light, Rand! I can barely handle one woman who loves me. What are you going to do with three?”

   “Me? You were always the one who knew how to talk to the girls. I figure they will probably tell me how I am to handle them,” Rand smiled back.

   “You have no idea how much it lifts my spirit to see you smile again. The smile fits the boy I grew up with but your eyes and smell tell me a different story. I sense ageless wisdom, power and strength that does not belong to the simple sheepherder I knew. Who are you?”

   “I have always been him and he has always been me, Perrin. I finally grew up to be the man I used to be. I am Rand al’Thor, the Dragon.”

   Rand took a moment to study the man standing before him. Did Perrin realize just how much he had changed?

   “And who are you, my old friend? When last we met, you were a simple blacksmith desperately trying to deal with the changes in his world and in himself. The person I see before me now is a king the likes of which this world has never seen. I can sense the Pattern twisting and wrapping around you in an attempt to conform to your will. However, behind that powerful exterior I see a pit filled with pain and loss, some of which is connected to your hammer. Who did you lose, Perrin?”

   Perrin squeezed his eyes shut trying not to let the tears show as Rand’s words reverberated through his soul. The pain of loss was still too fresh. Taking the hammer from his shoulder, he held it out before him and opened his eyes to stare at it.

   “The first rule of a blacksmith is that you must understand all of the parts and how they work together before you can create something useful. That applies not only to the making of this hammer but to myself as well. The one whose soul is forged into this hammer helped me understand the parts of me that needed to be forged to become the man I needed to be. The first time I heard the term ‘the Wolf King’ I laughed thinking how the wolves would react to that. Now I understand that it never meant being the king of the wolves. I am the Wolf King, Rand, and I carry the hammer of a king.”

   “I am sorry for your losses Perrin, and maybe someday you will be able to tell me about them. What is important now, are we still friends?”

   Without hesitation, Perrin reached out to grasp the hand that Rand proffered. “Friends. Always and forever.”