I. Where Brave Men Fear To Tread

The moon is broken and the world is dying. In the eleventh hour, unlikely allies come together with a last-ditch plan; saving the world.

I.   Where Brave Men Fear to Tread

Year: Unknown. Believed to be 900-915 ALD-After Landings Day

“Hold it steady,” said Timar, leaning over Jijanne, bracing her. “Don’t let go, it’ll fly away.”

“It’s too hard, Pipaw,” she complained, hanging onto the kite string for dear life.

At first the wind was soft and gentle as the two ventured out, perfect conditions for kite-flying. Yet minutes into the maiden flight, it became erratic, changing direction as the clouds overhead swirled about.

A blustery wind swept upward off the sand, leaving the flapping kite to zigzag through the air. Nearby seagulls fared no better as the fickle winds blew them about.

Just as the pair regained control, a sudden change of the wind’s direction sent the kite tumbling, careening into the sand. The impact was punctuated by a large crack, as the dowel rods of the frame shattered. "

“Oh no!” Jijanne cried out, taking off in a dash down the beach.

        Doing his best to keep up with the energetic girl, Timar hobbled behind, arriving in time to find the girl sobbing as she clutched the tangled mess of string and silk.

“Oh, Pipaw…” she cried. “It’s broke.”

He placed a weathered hand on the girl and smiled. “No worries, sweet one. We can rebuild it.”

“We spent all week on it, though.”

Together they gathered the broken kite, gently dusting off the sand. “And we will spend another week, you and I, making it again. Making it better.” Her tears subsided and she embraced old Timar. “Now sweet one, the tide is coming and we should be getting to places safer and higher than here.”

*   *   *

A winding path beyond the beach twisted upwards over a nearby ridge, overlooking a massive cliff. Timar could feel his age every time he made the climb. It was murder on his knees, and his heart thumped harder than what he felt was normal.

The quaint house with a wooden shake roof surrounded by a small fence lay nestled between the cliff edge and a passing dirt road, thick with weeds from diminished travel.

Damned weeds... If only my cucumbers were so hardy…

He lamented having to swing that blasted sickle one more time. Last time, he swore he’d felt a snap and a pop in his shoulder.

Yet his contempt for yard work subsided when he spotted the horse tied to the hitching post next to the house. A beautiful Sargossian courser the color of golden brown.

“Pipaw, see?” Jijanne pointed. “A horsey!”

“Yes…” Timar nodded. “It appears we have company.”

Upon entering the front door, the old man and little girl were greeted by the scent of boiled onions and turnips from a pot of stew, as an old woman hovered over it, gently stirring.

“How did it go, sweets?” asked Lilara.

Timar looked down, patting the girl on the head as she gave a look of disappointment.

“It broke.”

“I’m sorry, sweets,” Lilara replied in a comforting tone.

“Pipaw says we can remake it, though,” Jijanne exclaimed. “Right, Pipaw?”

“Of course,” Timar said with bold reassurance.

Lilara smiled, turning back to the pot. “We have company.”

“Company?”

Lilara nodded, pointing to the dining room. Timar carefully leaned past the wall, glancing upon a middle-aged man in dusty leather pants and a trench coat sitting at the table, patiently waiting.

Glancing to Jijanne, he shuffled the girl off to play. “What does he want?” he whispered.

“Like you have to ask.” A hint of disdain echoed in her voice. “I told him you’d be back. He insisted on waiting.”

A troubled Timar peeked around the corner. The dull flash of a scabbard caught his eye and he swallowed, stepping into the room.

The fresh-faced man turned and smiled, clean shaven, save for a bushy mustache under a wide-brimmed hat. He removed the hat at the sight of Timar, revealing his hair to be sweaty and matted.

“Timar Randalas, I presume?”

“Yes?”

“Evening, sir,” the man moved to shake Timar’s hand. “I’m Marshal Jericus Verdinar. I came from Senshire, about a league north.”

“Yes, I know where Senshire is.”

The Marshal removed his gloves and hat, flashing a copper badge from his pocket.

“Can I get you anything?” Timar asked, adjusting his glasses as they slid down his nose. “Some coffee, tea, water?”

The man eyed the bottles on the shelf, high above the hearth. “Is that rum up there?”

Timar turned to see. “Amongst other things.” He reached and grabbed the bottle and a glass, pouring the man a shot.

“You’re a brave man to keep bottles up so high,” remarked the Marshal who wasted no time downing the drink, taking a moment to let it run past his throat. “I won’t presume to waste any more of your time than I have to.”

“So how can I help you, Marshal?” Timar asked nervously.

“These are trying times.”

“I can probably imagine,” Timar replied, taking the other seat at the table. “I don’t envy your job. Not one bit.”

“It has its days.” The Marshal ran his finger over the edge of the glass. “I’m looking for someone.”

“I would dare to say you succeeded,” Timar smiled. “You found me.”

“You would be right, if you were the man I am looking for.”

“Well then, who are you looking for?”

The Marshal peered at his empty glass and then to the bottle. “Do you mind?”

Timar shook his head, giving a welcoming gesture as the Marshal poured himself another shot. “I nit-pick what little information I can from the drunks passing out in the streets,” he sighed, knocking back the rest of his rum. “Seems a lot of folk have taken to the drink. Still… I hear things from the folks passing between Senshire and Thressia.”

“What sorts of things?” Timar swallowed.

“A lot of nonsense, I can assure you. Things being what they are, people are scared, of course. But, anyways, your name came up when I stopped by the University. Seems you used to teach there.”

Timar nodded. “I did, yes.”

“I had a few words with Professors Waltham Krikgrund and Marlic Senize. Do you know them?”

“I do, yes.” Timar adjusted his glasses again. “I can tell you anything about post-migration Elytia, Imperial Reysia or even some things about eighteenth century Duria. But I can’t help you"”

“"They said a man came 'round a few months ago. Dark glasses. Blond hair. Pale complexion. Had a queer voice. They said you two had quite a few exchanges, and he disappeared around the time you left.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” Timar replied, as the room became hot.

“Why did you leave the University, Professor?”

Timar looked around the room in thought, rubbing the top of the table. “Didn’t seem much sense in teaching anymore,” he softly replied. “Attendance was less year after year, and they could barely afford to pay us. What good is an education anymore?”

Downing the shot, the Marshal winced as the liquor burned his throat. “Before, they said we had less than ten years. Now it’s five. Tomorrow it could be less.”

“It’s hard to say exactly,” Timar replied sullenly.

A soft tinkling sound grew from the bottles above the mantle. It was smooth like the soft jangling of bells, quickly growing into a violent clattering. The Marshal grabbed the bottle of rum on the table, as Timar scrambled to secure the bottles above the hearth. The entire house shook as the chairs in the dining room vibrated, pattering over the wooden floor, followed by the windows as they rattled in an ever-increasing intensity. A skittering sound above their heads echoed through the ceiling as a few wooden shingles shook loose, sliding off the roof.

The quake lasted only a minute before gradually subsiding, leaving everyone frozen in place, hanging onto the breakables.

Timar and Lilara exchanged looks as they breathed a sigh of relief. Jijanne came running, clutching her poppet tight. “Pipaw! Mimaw! It happened again!”  

The Marshal took a long drink from the bottle as Jijanne eyed him with suspicion, hiding behind the chair. “She fears strangers. Smart girl. Is she yours?”

“Aye,” Timar replied, pulling Jijanne close and kissing her forehead. “She’s our granddaughter.”

“And her mum? Dad?”

Timar gave a grieved expression and a shake of the head.

The Marshall replied with a smile and a nod of understanding. “At least she’s got somebody. That’s more than most kids can say. Seems I’m constantly rounding up strays in Senshire. I swear I take one off the streets and two more take their place.”

Timar ran his fingers through Jijanne’s hair, giving her a pat. “It’ll be alright, sweet one.”

“That was the first quake of the day,” remarked Lilara, changing the subject. She wrapped her frazzled grey hair into a bun and straightened her apron. She smiled wide when she realized not a drop of stew had spilled.

“Come with me,” said Timar, heading from the dining room.

Together the men moved towards the back door, stepping out onto the wooden deck, which rested not far from the cliff edge, overlooking the sea.

“Forty years ago you couldn’t even see the shore from here,” said Timar. “There was a forest here before the ocean came and washed it all away.” The pair peered downward as a raging tide came crashing inland, rising some twenty feet high and breaking violently over the shoreline, churning into a foaming brown slush of dirt and sand. “We’re moving this summer, the wife and I. Seems the house won’t stand much more than a couple of years before all this gets washed out, too.”

The Marshal looked upward at the moon in the southern sky. Larger than ever, it appeared broken and shattered, with a long fissure running through it, as if someone had struck it with a mighty hammer for no reason other than to break it. A large detached portion floated not far away, with a subtle trail of what looked like smoke, comprised of smaller bits of dust and dirt following behind, trailing over the sky and vanishing over the opposite horizon.

“I suspect you’re either hiding him, or you know where he is,” the Marshal said with a deep exhale.

Timar balked. “I’m sorry… What?”

The wind swirled over the cliff, and the Marshal pulled his coat tight. “I just want to talk with him. That’s all.”

“I think you should be leaving,” Timar replied with a pointed glare and gesturing to the broken moon. “I just want to be with my family, for what little time we have left.”

The two men stood, staring outwards over the sea, when the click of the door handle preceded the soft footstep. The Marshal spun around to find a man with dark glasses and pale skin standing behind them, attired in plain dress but wearing the Marshal’s hat. Timar froze in place, terrified.

“I heard someone is looking for me.” The man possessed a uniquely seductive voice, low and sweet, like music. “Mind if I join you, gentlemen?” Timar moved to stand between the men. “It’s alright, Timar.”  The man pulled a freshly-rolled cigarette and lone match from his pocket, striking the match off the wooden rail. With a deep breath, he blew a waft of smoke in the opposite direction of the others in deliberate courtesy, taking a casual posture. “So, Marshal Verdinar. It’s been a long time.”

The Marshal instinctively flinched for the sword on his belt, then relaxed his hand. “Indeed,” he replied with grit teeth.

“Old habits die hard, I see. I must congratulate you on finding me. I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with my good friend here,” the man said, with a grin aimed at Timar. “I had hoped we could let the past be the past. After all, had I not done what I did, you might still be Deputy Verdinar.”

“Marshal Rancic was a good man.”

“A good man, yes. A pragmatic man? I’m afraid not. Did you come to seek revenge?” The man casually leaned against the wall, enjoying the shrinking cigarette, when a gust of wind blew the cherry off. “Damn,” he cursed, flicking the rest away.

“I need you to come with me.”

The man blurted out a laugh so hard he coughed. “No chains, no cuffs, no fetters? I do say, if I was a betting man, I’d wager you’re under the impression I’d come willingly.”

Timar bristled, unsure what to say or do. “Rowen, don’t hurt him,” he muttered under his breath.

“How presumptuous of you, Timar.” Rowen pulled another cigarette from his pocket, patting himself over. “S**t, that was my only match. Timar?”

The old man shook his head. “Gave those up decades ago. They’re bad for you.”

“So, as we were saying,” the cigarette bobbed in Rowen’s mouth as he talked. “About me surrendering myself to you?”

The Marshal tried his best to hide the fear in his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

Rowen stepped forward and his disposition soured. “Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you off this cliff and let your body break against those rocks down there.”

“Rowen!” Timar shouted.

“Marshal Rancic couldn’t let sleeping dogs sleep, poking his nose in places not worth smelling. I see the acorn falls not far from the"”

“"They think they can fix things,” the Marshal blurted out.

Rowen turned to Timar. “His breath stinks of liquor. He’s drunk.”

A shaken Timar moved to grab the Marshal. “What do you mean, fix things?”

The Marshal turned around and pointed upward at the moon.

Rowen laughed.

“But how?” Timar asked, genuinely interested.

“I can’t say how, for certain. They’re putting together a group led by someone from the University in Thressia. They sent me to find you.” The Marshal looked directly at Rowen.

“Why me?”

“They said you had information. Information that can help them reach Galadripol.”

Timar and Rowen exchanged looks of shock.

“Galadripol is gone,” Rowen scoffed. “Who knows what lies in its place now, assuming it isn’t flooded or consumed by fire.”

“And then there’s the Dreth,” Timar added. “There’s no way a lone man could make it two thousand miles and not get butchered by those iron monsters.”

“I smell bullshit,” Rowen sneered, slinking towards the Marshal.

“Hear me out,” the Marshal pleaded. “Like you said, I didn’t come here with chains or fetters. I don’t know my head from a hole in the ground when it comes to these things. I admit it. But from the way they’re talking, some folks really believe there’s a chance. A real chance.”

“What if he’s telling the truth?” Timar asked.

“There is no way to fix the moon,” Rowen dismissively replied. “Do you take me for a fool, Marshal? That I would take this hogwash as anything other than a trick to get me back in chains? No Marshal, I’ll not spend what little time we have rotting away in some rank prison or swinging from a noose.”

The Marshal trembled as he stepped backed against the rail. “President Sebastian"”

“"Is a fiend, and if he were here, I’d throw his body over the cliff, too. The only difference is, I’d climb down there afterwards to piss on it.”

“He signed a treaty with the separatists.”

Rowen stopped and gave Timar an intrigued grin. “As in, a peace treaty?”

“He did,” the Marshal nodded.

“Why?”  Rowen asked, taking a step closer.

Mindful his next words might well determine his fate, Marshal Jericus Verdinar chose them carefully. “I didn’t hear the full terms, but rumors say he offered them full autonomy over the Westerlies and representation at the High Council.” The Marshal took a second to let the information sink in.

“They’ve been fighting for decades,” Timar remarked.

“It’s all lies,” Rowen rebuked, though a hint of self-doubt crept into his tone.

The Marshal gripped the rails tight. “If the separatists and President Sebastian were able to come to an agreement, it doesn’t seem so farfetched that we can as well.”

“What do they want me for, again?” Rowen asked, taking a small movement away from the Marshal as he breathed a sigh of relief.

“You were there. Weren’t you? When it all happened,” replied the Marshal. “At least they say you were.”

“That was a very, very, long time ago,” Rowen replied.

The door opened and Lilara stuck her head out, breaking the tension. “Dinner’s ready. There’s enough for everyone if you’re all hungry.”

“Thank you, dear. We’ll be up in a minute,” Timar replied as Lilara disappeared.

Rowen stared silently at the Marshal, deliberating whether or not to throw him off the cliff. With a subtle grin, he removed the Marshal’s hat from his head, handing it back. “When do we leave?”

*   *   *

The three men, Lilara and little Jijanne huddled around the table, taking sips of stew from the wooden bowls as Timar explained things to his wife and granddaughter.

“Oh my,” Lilara gasped upon hearing the news. “Oh Timar, if it’s true"”

“"I know… I know…” Timar replied, patting Jijanne on the head.

“I still have my doubts,” said Rowen, “but for Jijanne’s sake…”

“Is the sheriff gonna fix the moon?” Jijanne asked. “How did it get broke?”

The adults all looked to Timar as he softly smiled. “Well, dear. A long time ago…” He paused, turning to Rowen.

“It was knocked out of the sky, little one,” Rowen answered.

“But how?” the little girl persisted.

Rowen gave a frown that melted into a subtle smile. “Well…

“I’m going with them,” Timar blurted out to Lilara.

“What?” his wife replied, aghast.

“"At least to Thressia. At least that far.”

The Marshal balked. “It’s quite a journey to Thressia, sir. I assure you, it’s not necessary.”

“Timar Nelson Randalas!” Lilara stammered. “I forbid you to go.”

“I have to know,” he answered. “I’m sorry. I cannot sit here, waiting. Wondering if this was real or not.”

Rowen reached over, placing his hand over Timar’s and gave his friend a shake of the head. “You’re seventy years old.”

“I’m old, Rowen,” Timar nodded. “I’m not crippled.”

“No, no, no,” Lilara protested. “You can’t. You can’t leave us here. If something were to happen"”

“"Nothing would happen to him,” Rowen sighed with assurance. “I’ll keep him safe, Lily.”

Rather than thanking him, Lilara seethed. “We let you in our home…”

“And if this is indeed a ploy to entrap me, Timar will find out. And upon his safe return, you will learn of it. And the two of you can plan the remainder of your days rather than be upended by false hopes when the end truly comes.

“I assure you, this is no ploy,” the Marshal replied, slurping the last of his stew.

“That remains to be seen,” Rowen replied skeptically. “Rest assured, Marshal, if you are indeed lying to me, I’ll…” He stopped realizing he had Jijanne’s full attention. “…I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

A short time after the meal, Timar packed a small bag of belongings for the journey. Rowen brought nothing more than the clothes on his back and a peculiar glass dagger with an ornate hilt forged from braided strands of steel, demonstrating its sharpness to the Marshal against a strand of burlap, as a warning.

“Would that not break against armor?” asked the Marshal.

“Hmm,” Rowen grinned. “Would you like to find out? Are you wearing any?”

The Marshal bristled as Timar and Lilara said their goodbyes.

“It’s about five days to get there,” said Timar. “I’ll hitch a ride with a trader on the way back.”

“Promise me you'll be careful,” she pleaded. “Promise…”

Timar brought her hands together and kissed them softly. “I promise…”

“Is Pipaw going to help them fix the moon?” Jijanne asked with wide eyes.

“No… He’s absolutely not…” Lilara answered the girl, making no effort to hide her displeasure.

As Timar slung his pack over his shoulders, Rowen jerked it away from him, fastening it to the saddle on the Marshal’s horse.

“You can ride the horse if you like.” the Marshal offered.

“No thank you,” Timar politely declined. “I’ll walk for now. It’s good for the legs.”

“We’ll pick up two horses at Senshire,” said Rowen. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you walk the entire way to Thressia.”

The three men waved goodbye, setting off northward along the weed-riddled path. Timar turned around to get one last look at the house, turning back no less than ten times before it vanished behind a ridge.

“Quite a long journey we have on our hands,” Rowen remarked. “Are you sure you want to come?”

Timar ignored the question, pushing up his glasses and giving Rowen a shudder.

“We’ll go as far as you two want before we make camp,” the Marshal declared. “There are  some farms a league up the way. Most of the barns are empty, so we could stay the night in one. Beats sleeping outside.”

“So tell me, Marshal,” said Rowen. “Let’s say I believe you and all this business. How can you believe them?”

“Who?”

“The ones who sent you to find me?”

The Marshal mulled an answer around in his head. “I… I guess I…”

“You really have no clue, do you?”

“Hope… It’s more than I had before they sent me.” The Marshal reached into his coat and pulled out the half-empty bottle of rum taken from Timar’s shelf. Removing the cork, he took a long drink accompanied with a sour face, as it slightly burned his throat.

Rowen reached up, snatching the bottle away. “It’s in poor taste to steal from your host,” he upended the bottle, taking a long swig, “without offering it to them first.” He handed the bottle to Timar, who took it with a look of surprise upon realizing it was from his mantle.

“Oh well,” he took a small drink, handing it back to Rowen, who in turn handed it back to the Marshal.

“So let’s pretend you’re telling me the truth, and the people who sent you to find me are telling the truth. We sail the Mirasill Straight and just march all the way to Galadripol, magically keeping the Dreth at bay?”

“No,” the Marshall shook his head. “There’s a ship that’ll take you far south to Fort Hathaway.”

“Fort Hathaway?” replied a surprised Rowen. “Now there’s a name I’ve not heard in years. I’m not familiar with a Fort Hathaway.”

“It’s located in the ruins of New Astermark,” answered the Marshal. “It’s the only mainland outpost.”

“I wasn’t aware there were any mainland outposts. How do they keep the Dreth out?” Timar asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know. But like I said, someone figured out a way.”

“A wall, maybe?” Rowen asked in Timar’s direction.

Timar winced. “They’re adept climbers. I can’t imagine a wall would keep them out. “I’m thinking fire, maybe?”

“But fire needs to be fed,” Rowen mused. “The bigger the fort, the bigger the fire.”

“I have a question,” the Marshal announced.

“Do you, now?” Rowen replied with a tone of intrigue. “For me or Timar?”

“For you. When the governor handed the order to bring you in, they said you knew things. Important things. Rumor has it you were there.” The Marshall turned his gaze to the moon.

“Well… I certainly wasn’t on the moon,” Rowen laughed.

“You know what I mean.”

“Marshal, do you even know how we got here?” Rowen asked. “How this all came to be? The moon? The Dreth? Everyone being driven from mainland Terra?”

The Marshal said nothing for a second, merely shaking his head. “Everyone has their own take on it.”

“And what’s your take on it?”

“I guess I don’t really have a take. All my life the world’s been coming to an end.” He took another drink from the bottle as he bounced in the saddle. “I’ve never known any better, really.”

“You know, it’s a funny thing. Back then we thought we were saving the world. We thought we were heroes in some near-sighted kind of way. The Dreth? They were the,” Rowen coughed, “unintended consequences.” He pulled an unlit cigarette from his pocket, and with a gloved hand pointed it right at the Marshal. “You have no idea how we even got here. I can’t imagine how you or your masters ever hope to save us.”

“So you were there.”

“I might have been,” Rowen coyly replied. “Timar knows. Isn’t that right, Timar?”

Timar said nothing, staring downward as he trudged along the road.

“Timar knows a great many things. Things even I do not,” Rowen grinned as Timar relinquished a frown.

“I don’t know how they could hope to stitch the moon back together,” Timar remarked.

“A  damned big needle and a whole lotta gut,” Rowen jested. “Or maybe a few boatloads of molasses might do the trick?”

The last remark made Timar smirk a bit. “Maybe…”

“So what’s the truth of it?” the Marshal asked. “How did it happen?”

“Well now…” Rowen took a deep breath. “That’s not a simple answer.” He looked at Timar

as the old man adjusted his glasses, giving Rowen a look of hesitation. “It’s a long way to

Thressia. I think we’ve got the time.”

Author's Note

Thank you for reading. All reviews welcome

Reviews

[M. George]

I really do like this. I find your dialogue very gripping and you manage to build your characters through niche actions rather than hefty explanations. You leave lots to the reader's imagination which I really like, and yet every character is clearly an individual, with their mannerisms and dialogue distinct from every other character to the extent you could cover up the character's names and still tell who said what.

The lack of information is also very gripping and I have the urge to read on and find out more. My only small criticism as of now would be that I am struggling a little to keep up with the names of places, but I'm assuming as the book progresses these will be mentioned enough for readers to pick them up more easily.

Keep going!

[Michael Laird]

I should add, as for the complaint among some that there are too many names and places being mentioned here, I think it's hogwash. As an author, you have to assume a level of intelligence among your readers and not pander to those below it. By no means do I mean to say that those complaining aren't intelligent. I just mean to say that challenging your readers is OK, and sometimes even a good way to gain their interest and respect for your craft. Make them feel the need to pay close attention, or even look up a word or two.

And to those of you who think there may be too many proper nouns in this first chapter, please take a quick gander at any "A Song Of Ice And Fire" book by GRR Martin. ;)

[Michael Laird]

What a great first chapter! You pose plenty of intriguing questions that pull the reader into the story. What happened to the moon? What history exists between Rowan and the Marshall? How are Rowen and Timar friends? What exactly are the Dreth? Great stuff. And, of course, you're dialogue is masterful. I'm certainly ready for more.

[Kaliope]

Well, there's not much I can add. Great characters, well crafted dialog, good descriptions and one hell of an intriguing mystery - I can't wait to learn how the moon got broken - brilliant idea!

It's also been mentioned that many names and places pop up, names that the reader has already forgotten by the end of the chapter, so maybe consider reducing that a bit.

Other than that there is nothing to criticize, it was a joy to read it and I'm moving right on to the next chapter. Wonderful start!

[Jake Donald Stephens]

This seems to be the beginning of an incredible tale. You've managed to come up with a completely original idea, proceeded to eschew all fantasy fiction clichés in favor of doing it your own way, and put great thought into both the writing itself and the details of this world. There is really not much I can say, other than I'm awed, and will certainly continue reading.

[Hakim]

In the opening couple of paragraphs you tend to say, "as" a lot. it stuck out to me. But after that it was a very interesting read, great dialogue and great premise to build on. I am very intrigued and want to know what happened to that moon. great stuff!

[mollytate]

Well done. Your strengths are how you structure dialogue- it has enough substance to move the story but still sounds natural- and your sparse descriptions of setting and character. Hold on to and develop that last trait in particular, it works well. I also like that you are throwing in a political aspect to the story. It makes it feel more expansive but also realistic. End of the world stories have a tendency to get mired in their own drama- the story gets complex and then absurd and the clean, swift, dialogue driven action overrun by a lot of frantic scrambling near the end. If you plan on adding more, keep the plot and characters simple but smart, like you're doing, and you'll have a very good story. Happy writing!

[D.S. Dirck]

Thank you for the insight.

[David Kennedy]

Good writing style and well thought out characters, feels like it's been well polished. Really interesting idea with the moon, had me wanting to know a lot more, good plot devices like that are typically hard to come up with. I go the sense that even though we were only being fed small portions of the world, that there really is an entire fleshed out lore behind the characters and their culture.

[Hunter Hyde]

I agree with most of the feedback that has already been posted.You can tell that each character has a distinct identity and style which is sometimes hard for writers to master. I also like that there is a lot unexplained to pique interest but you feed the reader information in bits as we read on. I also am grateful that you use a wide array of words to describe things instead of repeating the same five. Good job!

[Joshua]

This is a bloody brilliant story, had me pulled into the world from the very beginning and just kept pulling me deeper from there. There's obvious depth to each character and leaves you wanting to read more.
The only criticism I have is that you should maybe have bigger paragraph breaks when changing scenes. It was a bit jarring at times to jump scene without realizing such as between their dinner around the table and the jump to the next morning.
Aside from that, as I said, great story please keep it up and I look forward to reading more.

[D.S. Dirck]

Thanks for the feedback. I went and added some paragraph breaks. Good advice...