{Writing Journal} Day 33: Excerpts from The Rebel’s Bride

I had a little time to work this morning before everyone woke up and wanted mama to cook breakfast. Although lately my youngest wants to cook her own breakfast and has become very proficient at preparing oatmeal with adult supervision. If given the chance I think she would eat it for every meal. Not sure if it’s because she loves it that much or because it’s the easiest meal she knows how to cook so far. The oldest daughter prefers pancakes.

Anyways, I worked on another scene for The Rebel’s Bride bringing me another step closer to the midpoint of the book. Yay! Strangely enough, I’m not experiencing “I don’t want to write the middle!” syndrome that I usually have. I’m actually excited and a little impatient to get back to writing. Which might explain why I was up at 4am today.

Now it’s 7am and I’m off to make homemade bread to go with our lunch. Have a great Sunday!

Total Word Count for Today: 1,699

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Disclaimer: These snippets are unedited and might be entirely different in the final version.

“I need to know why did Cynel left the camp?”

She shook her head, her. “He told me he went to get someone. He seemed to think it was important. What happened?”

Kiptal shook his head. “Not sure. I was told that he left camp by one of the sentries. I decided to follow him out into the desert and found him wounded. He’s fevered and violent.”

She pushed past him and he let her go, falling into step with her. “Why didn’t you bring him to me?”

“Because I don’t know why he was out here. I don’t know what happened or why he killed the man with him. I don’t know if anyone at the camp is involved. We need answers, Mina, and right now he is the only one who has them.”


The infection was raging through his body, taking what was a strong man and weakening him by the hour. He was alive now only by sheer willpower and the strength of his body, but even those couldn’t fight forever. His body would give under the strain it was under.

She’d applied every herbal concoction she could think of to combat the fever and even used her healing magic to slow the damage being done. It hadn’t changed his downward spiral into death. She couldn’t heal him like she’d done with Vokal, a little here and there. The damage was too extensive and she feared caused by a poison on the blade that had nearly punctured his heart. Her only recourse now was to use her healing magic to fix the damage and if she didn’t start soon, there would be nothing she could do. But what she needed to do couldn’t be hidden from the watchful eyes of Cynel’s men. They would notice the drastic improvements to their leader. They would see the toll it would take on her as exhaustion claimed her. If it claimed her before she’d finished healing him, he could be dead before she recovered. To fix him, she needed their energy and strength. If they refused, she would watch her husband die.

Her heart lurched at the idea and the tears finally fell. She tried to be silent and hide the weakness from the men gathered in the cavern. She tried to hide her fear from the men, talking quietly by the fire. A hand rested on her shoulder and she quickly ducked her head, wiping away the tears. It was a futile attempt.

Arms encircled her shoulders, drawing her against a powerful chest, and the sobs she’d tried so hard to hold back were let lose. She sobbed into his chest, her hands clenched the front of his shirt and her cries muffled against the cloth. He rocked her silently for several minutes. Rubbing circles on her back and speaking nonsense to her in soothing tones. Finally she quieted, but he didn’t let her go, and she wondered who was giving comfort to who now.

“Is there nothing more you can do to save him?” Kiptal whispered into her hair, his voice cracking on his grief.

She pulled back enough to meet his eyes and saw the same feelings in her soul in Kiptal’s eyes. Fear and devastation at the thought of losing him. They couldn’t lose Cynel and she wouldn’t watch him die out of fear for her safety. “Who is he to you, Kiptal?”

He swallowed convulsively, his eyes telling her the truth his lips did not. “He’s like a son to me.” Not like. He was a son to Kiptal. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. Cynel was as much a son to Kiptal and she was a daughter to Darton. They were men who had taken pity on orphaned children and raised them as if they were children of their loins.

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