A little better today than yesterday, though the last few hundred words were like pulling teeth. Most of the day's writing involved bringing the rest of the principle cast of "Twilight" onstage, which involved a bit of fiddling to give everyone good ghostbusting to do, but it worked out okay.

15,370 / 100,000 (15.4%)

Still managed a bit more than my daily goal, which puts me ontrack to finish "Twilight" by the end of next week, unless the scenes start to run longer than expected. Then I'll take a couple of days to shift mental gears and start working on "Jubilee".

A brief sample, that mixes a bit of geography and history with a choice scatalogical metaphor.

By midday, they’d reached the mouth of the Tamesa, with Bedwyr and Caius pulling on the oars on the port side, Gwrol and Pryder pulling on the starboard, and once they were past the estuary and into the open waters of the channel, the sails were unfurled, the oars shipped, and the longship steered to the south and east.

Galaad had never been to sea before. He’d never been near a body of water larger than a lake, for that matter. And so the fact that he could see nothing to north but water and more water was more than a little unsettling. He found himself sitting more often on the starboard side, watching the rocky shore drift slowly by. It seemed to tether him, to give him some sense of perspective, though it did nothing to calm his roiling stomach, or the tamp down the bile that kept rising in his throat.

“That’s Cantium,” Lugh said, pointing to the land. “Keep an eye out for Saeson ships, if you’ve a mind to. They live on the island under Artor’s sufferance, but there’s nothing to say they wouldn’t take the chance to test their mettle if they spotted the High King sailing by on a winter’s day.”

“S-Saeson?” Galaad’s eyes widened.

“Aye.” Lugh glanced at Artor, and then back to the shore. “We couldn’t manage to push the whoresons off the island entire, and had to leave clumps of them stuck to the shores in the south and east like balls of dung on the hairs of your arse.”