Today sucked. Last night Georgia came down with a stomach flu, and we couldn't keep any food in her all night. Nobody got much sleep, but the plus side was that we got to change her sheets, blankets, and pajamas three times. (Sidenote: little kid vomit smells just as bad as the grown up variety.) In any event, it meant no preschool for her today, and since the candidate who's TV spots Allison will be working on for the next year just announced today, it wasn't like she could miss work. So I squeezed in a little over two hours writing time, while Georgia napped on the couch and after Allison came home from work, but otherwise was on fulltime Georgia Patrol (which these days translates into reading a lot of Little Golden Books and watching the same Disney movies over and over again). I'd keep working tonight, but in the last few years I've discovered that my brain really stops working at a fairly set point in the evening, and that there's not much to be gained pushing past that.

27,297 / 100,000 (27.3%)

Today's brief sample comes in the middle of an action sequence, wherein Artor and his gang face off against a mysterious Huntsman and his pack of hounds. While the rest of the crew fends off the dogs -- who are completely white, but for the tips of their ears, their claws, and their teeth, all of which are blood red -- the young Galaad finds himself facing down the Huntsman, who carries a strange sword that seems to glow red, and which is said to be able to cut through anything. Luckily, Pryder comes to Galaad's rescue, onto to find his own sword cut cleanly in half.

Galaad may have shouted out, but in the aftermath he wasn’t sure if he had, or what he’d said if so. He could only watch with horror as the Huntsman raised his blade a final time, Pryder helpless before him, the gelded stub of the spatha in his hands. In the instant before the red blade fell, the Huntsman locked eyes with Pryder, and seemed to hesitate.

The blow never fell, but the Huntsman backed away, and while his face was still frozen like a death-mask, the corpse-white flesh immobile, his eyes seemed in that moment to burn brighter, flashing red.

Pryder scrambled back, for the moment not questioning this unexpected reprieve, holding his sheered-off sword before him like a club.

The Huntsman stood still for a moment, regarding Pryder, and then lowered his red blade, its point to the icy ground. He opened his mouth, as if to speak. Instead of words, though, a strange series of noises emerged, each distinct utterance something between a click and a whistle, that taken together sounded to Galaad’s ears like, “Tekel lili.”

All around them, the melee came to a sudden halt, as the white hounds froze in place, and turned their baleful red eyes towards their master.