Prologue again

So I posting this up again, there's been a few more additions and some alterations made! I hope you enjoy!

---Prologue---

 

Atop his garron, Griff watched the sun slip down below the treetops that covered the western horizon. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself to ward off the slight chill in the air, the signature of the autumn wind blustering down from the north.

  “We should make camp soon, milord”, Old Tom declared, ‘It’ll be dark soon” He sat atop his shaggy garron, deep lines cut into the thin skin around is rheumy eyes.

   “It does that around this time, most days” The Lord spoke with the cool arrogance that only youth and high birth could bestow, “I didn’t know the dark unmanned you so, Tom?” If old Tom realised he was being laughed at, he showed no sign of it.

    “Beggin’ your pardons milord”, the olds man’s voice was a croak, “but you don’t want to be in those woods in the dark.”

A slight sense of unease tickled Griff, like a cool breath disturbing the back of his neck. He scanned the treeline ahead of them. Silver trunks stood sentinel, like the sullen ranks of soldiers waiting for a battle. The grey green gloom made it impossible to see more than ten yards through the thick underbrush.

    “That’s why we have you tom, you’re here to keep an eye out for ghouls,” Coutts’ voice rang out “Or is it for the demons of the darkness”

     “I don’t know nothin’ about no ghouls, milord. Nor no demons neither” Tom croaked back by way of a reply, “but there’re stories… them ashfolk down from the mountains an’, and the Bogmonkeys milord, oh, they’ll do for us”. Tom’s hands shook slightly as he gripped the reigns. He’s terrified of these woods, Griff thought.

    “Bogmonkeys?” Lord Coutt chuckled, “come now, tom, next you’ll be warning me against dragons hiding in caves and lions with the heads of beautiful women,” when Tom made no move to reply, Coutt turned to Griff, “So how far is it to the next village?”. He was clean shaven with a mop of dirty blond hair, tall, and muscled like a maiden’s fantasy. But his eagerness to push on didn’t sit well with Griff.

    “Banthorne? Shouldn’t be more than a ‘nother few hours ride, my lord”, Griff replied, “Two maybe, if we push the horses̶”.

    “Well then, seems to me the sooner we set off, the soon we’ll get there”, Lord Coutt decided, tapping his spurs into his destriers’ flanks. Griff kicked his garron in to a quick trot to keep pace with the young lordling.

    “My lord, If I may�"” Griff started, turning in appeal to Tom.

    “Is milord tryin’ to get us killed” the old man blurted out, his face had gone a pasty white, Griff noticed “Better to make camp now, I say”

    “well I say ‘tisn’t” Lord Coutt snapped back, a sharp coolness replacing the humour in his voice, “I shan’t say my first assignment was delayed because some b*****d forester was busy soiling his smallclothes”.

    “you shan’t be saying nothin’ once them Bogmonkeys rip out your innards” Tom shot back, quick as a whip, before adding “Milord”.

Much to Griff’s surprise, Coutt released a bark of laughter

    “Bogmonkeys, eh?” Lord Coutt choked out, through his laughter “Know how many men have tried to kill me, eh? And you think Bogmonkeys will be the end of Everett Coutt?”

Griff couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He’d served lord Coutt since the Lordling had been shitting his swaddling clothes, and knew the arrogant young man loved nothing more than recounting his “triumphs” of the “battlefields”. A Tourney lord in love with his own ego Griff had decided long ago.

Defeated, Tom didn’t reply to Coutt. Instead his flipped his woollen hood over his head and dropped his horse back half a length behind Griff, muttering to himself. Griff caught “…B*****d” and “…killed for good an’ all” but didn’t deign to press the old man.

   Griff Eyed the broad back of the Lordling, made wider by the layers of padded gambeson and steel under his black and red surcoat. If it comes to a fight, he won’t be the one getting gutted, Griff decided.

    “Now what would make four towns vanish overnight, Griff?” Lord Coutt interrupted his silent meditation, “What was the name of that first town? The one beneath Lord Thornton’s Castle?”.

Lord Willard Thornton was an old blind man, fatter than most of the sows in his fields. who was more than happy to feast them for a night but proved less than helpful in providing them any information of the lands beyond his borders.

    “Urm, Torrington, my lord?” Griff replied. The town was nestled below a great jut of rock, upon which the castle was perched.

  A couple of taverns lined the main street, and a small un-mortared stone holdfast had been thrown up right next to the foot of the rock face, the gate of which had been wide open.

They rode through the town the day before yesterday. There had been pack of hounds and a few half-staved horses in the stables; but not another man, living or dead.

     “Torrington? Yes, that was it.” Lord Coutt said as the shadow of the woods climbed up their chests. “Funny old place that”.

Griff didn’t quite know what to say to that

   “Aye, my Lord.” He replied slowly, “Any thoughts on where the smallfolk might’ve gone?” The two of them, side by side, passed between the first row of trees, grey green shadows fell consumed Griff’s world. He shivered slightly. There was a closeness between the trees, Griff thought, like being underwater.

   “Most like some over zealous matron come riding through preaching doom and destruction” Coutt considered, “that or toms’ Bogmonkeys have scared em all off.” Coutt chuckled, but Griff couldn’t share the humour. 

Author's Note

I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback you might have!

Reviews

[The Iron Horseman]

Sorry, Drew, I don't remember the original well enough to pick up the differences, but I thoroughly enjoyed this version in its own right. I did notice that you have a weird little wingding on your question mark at about the halfway point.

[Drew Harvey]

Thanks so much! I’m not sure what’s going on with that question mark! Must be a conversion error when I copied it in!

[The Iron Horseman]

You're very welcome. Yes, probably, strange things do happen on conversion.

[JayG]

This version is huge improvement. But when you clear the bar, you knows what happens: we raise the bar. 😛

• He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself to ward off the slight chill in the air, the signature of the autumn wind blustering down from the north.

Here, you over-specify. He’s doing it because HE’S chilled. And were it slight, he wouldn’t do it. So why specify temperature according to YOUR standards? And given that he would only close the cloak if the chill came from the air, why specify the reason? Let implication work for you.

A good game to play is, “Squeeze the prose.” If you set yourself a goal of a 10% reduction in words, and keep doing that till you can’t condense, combine, or rephrase to make it any tighter, you’ll be forced to look at everything you say, to see what’s necessary and what’s fluff.

Below, I’ve taken the first five paragraphs as an example of what you might do. I’ve included my reasoning, for what it might be worth.

1 & 2 Atop his garron, Griff watched the sun slip down below the treetops that covered the western horizon. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself to ward off the slight chill in the air, the signature of the autumn wind blustering down from the north.

“We should make camp soon, milord”, Old Tom declared, ‘It’ll be dark soon” He sat atop his shaggy garron, deep lines cut into the thin skin around is rheumy eyes.
- - - - - -
As a reader, I don’t know what a garron is, so it could be a floating speedster of the kind seen Star Wars, or a watch platform in a tree. And if he’s watching the sun set he’s not riding, just sitting and watching, which seems kind of silly. So to fix that, we swap 1 & 2. Now, Tom has a reason to suggest they stop, which establishes him as both cautious and observant. Then, when Griff is mocking, later, no one has to tell us that he’s a bit arrogant and foolish. And since we establish that Tom is mounted (shaggy tells us that it’s a living mount not technology) there’s no need to mention it again for Griff.

At this point, since Tom’s called Old Tom, and Griff isn’t studying him, no need to mention his eyes, here. And as I mentioned, we can handle the chill more compactly by having evening near, changing the sun to an autumn sun, and simply having him draw the cloak close. And that reduces the two paragraphs to
- - - - -
“We should make camp soon, milord”, Old Tom said, from atop his shaggy garron. “It’ll be dark soon.”

Shivering, Griff pulled his cloak more tightly closed. A glance showed the autumn sun had slipped the treetops of the western horizon.
- - - - -
Forty words as against seventy-five, or close to a 50% increase in the rate events happen, which adds impact. But of more importance, look at the flow. Old Tom makes a suggestion, and includes a reason. In doing so he identifies our protagonist as nobility, and himself as being in service to him. And, we know they’re mounted.

The scene-clock ticks and Griff, in response, and realizing that it is near night, coupled with the temperature, shivers and addresses something he had probably been ignoring. Here, if you want thre reader to know that it's not just he and Tom you might add something like:
- - - - -
"What?" Griff broke off his conversation with Lord xxx and glanced at the autumn sun, which had...
- - -
But that aside, again, the scene-clock ticks. That givs the reader a sense that time is passing in the story, as we read. So, finished with his instinctive response to learning that it’s later than he thought—pulling his cloak closed, Griff looks to the sun to see how near to dark it is, as you and I would. A natural response that lets us know where it is and what’s going on (scene setting), so WE observe the time in parallel with him. And at the same time we learn the season with the word, "autumn," not via an exposition. And because of that, the action moves more quickly.

3. “It does that around this time, most days” The Lord spoke with the cool arrogance that only youth and high birth could bestow, “I didn’t know the dark unmanned you so, Tom?” If old Tom realised he was being laughed at, he showed no sign of it.
- - - - -
Other then the dialog, this is 100% exposition, with you stepping on stage and explaining. But at this point we don’t have to know his age. And in general, arrogance is arrogance. Remember, we already know that he’s nobility and Tom’s not. So fine-tuning it to a specific kind of aristocratic arrogance really doesn’t give the reader much more than the fact of it would. But, defining it so closely takes fifteen words in YOUR voice. That needs trimming to place both the tone and the reason for it in his viewpoint.

Added to that, we can move the last line to the next paragraph, as part of Tom’s response as-Griff-sees-it. And that reduces the paragraph to:
- - - - -
“It does that around this time, most days,” Griff said, dismissively. “Does the dark unman you?”
- - - - -
Notice that just the way he phrases the first question, and how he says it, is enough to tell the reader that the second is dismissive and sarcastic.

4. “Beggin’ your pardons milord”, the old man’s voice was a croak, “but you don’t want to be in those woods in the dark.”
- - - - -
Here, we have no idea of if he’s croaking because he’s frightened or because it’s his normal voice—which we can't hear in any case. So the line serves no purpose. But again, the time to read it slows the narrative. So, to show how Griff reacts/perceives it, I trimmed the line, added the end line of the previous paragraph, and polished it a bit:
- - - - -
If the old man knew he was being laughed at, he showed no sign of it, as he said, “Beggin’ your pardons milord, but you don’t want to be in those woods in the dark.”

5. A slight sense of unease tickled Griff, like a cool breath disturbing the back of his neck. He scanned the treeline ahead of them. Silver trunks stood sentinel, like the sullen ranks of soldiers waiting for a battle. The grey green gloom made it impossible to see more than ten yards through the thick underbrush.
- - - - -
Here, we don’t know why he feels that way. Remember, the reader is a stranger in the neighborhood. And after all, he just dismissed the man as an idiot. Why be worried by his fear? And, specifying the feeling that extensively is unnecessary. Unease is unease, so no need to go poetic on it.

And why would soldiers be sullen as they prepared for battle? Alert, angry, or tense might better apply. But here, they’re just trees. If they’re evenly spaced you could equate them to soldiers. But are wild trees evenly spaced? I left the spacing implied, but trimmed the excess description. I also showed that Griff isn’t stupid, by having him react to what Tom said, which shows that he can recognize his own mistakes and is, thereby, acceptable as a protagonist we might learn to care about. It also shows why he tries to stop the others from going into the forest, later.

I also trimmed the description of the forest for several reasons. First is that a forest open enough to ride through has a canopy thick enough that there isn’t a lot of underbrush, other then at the edges. But since most people aren’t aware of that, mentioning dense brush there would seem to imply that it’s throughout. But underbrush that dense would require they bushwhack, and the reader might see that as being an error. And based on what we’ve seen of Griff so far, he would come to that false conclusion and ask. So…why not say it’s hard to see and night is coming. What else is necessary?

As a personal observation, as a scoutmaster who has spent a lot of time in the woods, without a source of light it’s really hard to walk through dense woods at night, if for no other reason than bumping into trees, tripping on things, and falling down sudden drops. So you’ve made the lord who goes trotting into it—who should know his own environment—seem an idiot.
- - - - - -
The man was an uneducated fool, but still, he had a point. He scanned the treeline ahead of them. Silver trunks stood sentinel, like the ranks of soldiers waiting for a battle, while underbrush, coupled with approaching dusk, meant that entering the forest might well be a mistake.
- - - - -
This is the reason for him opposing the fool who decides to keep going.

Hope this helps.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[wordman]

drew harvey mysteries has struck again,enjoyed the chapter