WIP - A Bag Of Rocks
Final Draft [Scroll Down for previous versions]
“You know,” Desmond spat, “you’re about as smart as that pile of rocks there, boy.”
He motioned downward from atop his mare to a conspicuous group of boulders lying just off the scrubby path.
Little Robert stood just ahead of Desmond, blinking confusedly. He raised his eyes from a torn, old map.
“But, mi’Lard, I swears it. I know this pass like the back of mi’mittens. Left at the footpath on Cragg Top. A left. Always a left!” he exclaimed.
Desmond practically shot out of his saddle.
“We took a right at Cragg Top, you imbecile!” he shouted, fuming.
Little Robert continued to puzzle over the map. Slowly, the look of perplexion on his face turned to a smile.
“By golly, we did take a left, mi’Lard! You’re right again! You know mi’mum always said I was terrible with directions,” he chuckled.
Desmond reeled on him, snatching away the map.
He moved lightning fast. His frail, gray appearance belied a wicked strength.
Desmond’s hand caught Little Robert across the side of his dirty cheek. Gold and gemmed rings left the skin welted and bruised.
A small, bloody gash now stretched down his bulbous cheekbone.
Little Robert began to sob.
“No more of these mistakes,” whispered Desmond.
“My sister left you in my charge. I have honored that agreement for years — carried you around like a bag of stones, a useless weight around my neck. A dimwit man-child no more fit than to live in the stables,” he cursed.
Little Robert only looked away and tousled the mane of Desmond’s horse as warm tears slowly trickled down his face.
“You’ve led us into the most desolate region of the Cragg. We’ve lost a day’s ride,” Desmond muttered.
Then, with that realization, his complexion changed: the old man’s cold eyes hardened into black coal.
“I think I should leave you here. What do you say, Rob? I’ll leave you and no one will ever find you.”
Desmond dismounted, gingerly stepping onto the uneven ground.
“Look at me, you idiot!”
Little Robert didn’t dare to raise his eyes from the ground. He dabbed at the bleeding wound on his face with his tunic.
“You know,” smirked Desmond, “I think my sister’s inheritance should go to better use than caring for an overgrown simpleton.”
“But,” and Little Robert finally raised his head to face his uncle, “mi’mum says that the money is for me, Desm—”
The old man struck him with a closed fist, his jeweled fingers again tearing the flesh.
“Never address me by my name!”
Little Robert backed away, tripping after two awkward paces, where he landed with a thump at the foot of a tremendous pile of boulders.
Desmond was slowly approaching him when a peel of thunder rang out across the Cragg. A low, moaning rumble, like the churning of great cosmic machinery. The ground itself seemed to shake.
No, it really was shaking.
Desmond felt his feet going out from under him. He landed roughly on his back, peering up at the brilliant blue sky.
Strange. Not a rain cloud in sight.
Sitting up in pain, he turned once again to Little Robert, who still lay crumpled on the ground.
Desmond’s eyes grew wide in terror.
He was face to face with the mountain itself. By some magic, some profound coalescence, the boulders where Little Robert had fallen now stood before him: a towering stone giant.
The creatures eyes burned with sparks of dark flame, like the coals of the world fire, or the magma that once burst from the earth to form the Cragg Top where they now stood.
“Stay down!” the giant growled.
Desmond howled in fright.
Little Robert timidly peeked out from between his fingers upon hearing the voice — and Desmond’s shrieks.
Terrified, Little Robert again covered his eyes with his hands.
“Take him! Take the boy!” screamed Desmond, as the giant towered over him.
“Please, I’m nothing but a frail old man,” he pleaded. “It’s the boy’s fault we came this way...take him!”
The creature leaned in close enough for Desmond to feel the warmth of the elemental fire burning within.
“Sure,” it grunted.
The reek of sulphur and ash washed over Desmond as it barked its monosyllabic reply.
Then the old man was gone, screaming and cursing as he dashed down the mountain trail.
The dusty old mare trotted lazily beside him.
Little Robert was still quivering on the ground when the giant gently tapped him on the shoulder.
It took all the courage he could muster to uncover his eyes and face the creature.
He peered up, fully expecting to be smashed to mince pie. Instead the giant gently — as gently as a giant can, anyway — lifted Little Robert up and placed him squarely on his right shoulder.
In the distance, Desmond was still scurrying away over the hard earth; his mare was nowhere to be seen.
“You know,” Little Robert said, still in shock. “mi’Lard, erm, Desmond, said I was as smart as a pile of rocks…”
His thick lips pulled into a gentle smile: “By golly! What a nice thing to say!”
And the giant let loose a thunderous laugh that rolled across the Cragg.
3rd Draft [Scroll Down for previous versions]
“You know,” Desmond spat, “you’re about as smart as that pile of rocks there, boy.”
He motioned downward from atop his mare to a conspicuous group of boulders lying just off the scrubby path.
Little Robert stood just ahead of Desmond, blinking confusedly. He raised his eyes from a torn, old map.
“But, mi’Lard, I swears it. I know this pass like the back of mi’ mittens. Left at the footpath on Cragg Top. A left. Always a left!” he exclaimed.
Desmond practically shot out of his saddle.
“We took a right at Cragg Top, you imbecile!” he shouted, fuming.
Little Robert continued to puzzle over the map. Slowly, the look of perplexion on his face turned to a smile.
“By golly, we did take a left, mi’Lard! You’re right again! You know mi’mum always said I was terrible with directions,” he chuckled.
Desmond reeled on him, snatching away the map.
He moved lightning fast. His frail, gray appearance belied a wicked strength.
Desmond’s hand caught Little Robert across the side of his dirty cheek. Gold and gemmed rings left the skin welted and bruised.
A small, bloody gash now stretched down his bulbous cheekbones.
Little Robert began to sob.
“No more mistakes,” whispered Desmond.
“My sister left you in my charge. I have honored that agreement for years — carried you around like a bag of stones, a useless weight around my neck. A dimwit man-child no more fit than to live in the stables,” he cursed.
Little Robert only looked away and tousled the mane of Desmond’s horse as warm tears slowly trickled down his face.
“You’ve led us into the most desolate region of the Cragg. We’ve lost a day’s ride,” Desmond muttered.
Then, with that realization, his complexion changed: the old man’s cold eyes hardened into black coal.
“I think I should leave you here. What do you say, Robert? I’ll leave you and no one will ever find you.”
Desmond dismounted, gingerly stepping onto the uneven ground.
“Look at me, you idiot!”
Little Robert didn’t dare to raise his eyes from the stoney ground. He dabbed at the bleeding wound on his face with his tunic.
“You know,” smirked Desmond, “I think my sister’s inheritance could go to better use than caring for an overgrown simpleton.”
“But,” and Little Robert finally raised his head to face Desmond, “mi’mum says that the money is for me, Desm—”
The old man struck him with a closed fist, his jeweled fingers again tearing the flesh.
“Never address me by my name!”
Little Robert backed away, tripping after two awkward paces, where he landed with a thump at the foot of a tremendous pile of boulders.
Desmond was slowly approaching him when a peel of thunder rang out across the Cragg. A low, moaning rumble, like the churning of great, cosmic machinery. The ground itself seemed to shake.
No, it really was shaking.
Desmond felt his feet going out from under him. He landed roughly on his back, peering up at the brilliant blue sky.
Strange. Not a rain cloud in sight.
Sitting up in pain, he turned once again to Little Robert, who still lay crumpled on the ground.
Desmond’s eyes grew wide in terror.
He was face to face with the mountain itself. By some magic, some profound coalescence, the boulders where Little Robert had fallen now stood before him as a towering stone giant.
The creatures eyes burned with sparks of dark flame, like the coals of the world fire, or the magma that once burst from the earth to form the Cragg Top, where they now stood.
“Stay down!” the giant growled.
Desmond howled in fright.
Little Robert timidly looked peeked out from between his fingers up from the ground upon hearing the voice, and Desmond’s shrieks.
Terrified, Little Robert covered his eyes with his hands.
“Take him! Take the boy!” screamed desmond as the giant towered over him.
“Please, I’m nothing but a frail old man,” he pleaded. “It’s the boy’s fault we came this way...take him!”
The creature leaned in close enough for Desmond to feel the warmth emanating from the fire burning inside the giant.
“Sure,” the creature grunted.
The reek of sulphur and ash washed over Desmond as it barked it’s monosyllabic reply.
Then the old man was gone, screaming and cursing as he dashed down the mountain trail, the dusty old mare trotting lazily beside him.
Little Robert was still quivering on the ground when the giant gently tapped him on the shoulder.
It took all the courage he could muster to uncover his eyes and face the creature.
He peered up, fully expecting to be smashed. Instead the giant gently, as gently as a giant can, anyway, lifted Little Robert up and placed him squarely on his right shoulder.
In the distance, Desmond was still scurrying away over the hard; his mare was nowhere to be seen.
“You know,” Little Robert whispered, still in shock. “mi’Lard, errr, Desmond, did say I was as smart as a pile of rocks…”
Then his thick lips pulled into a gentle smile: “By golly! There’s nothing wrong with that!”
And the giant let loose a thunderous laugh that rolled across the Cragg.
2nd Draft [Scroll Down for 1st Draft]
“You know,” Desmond spat out, “you’re about as smart as that pile of rocks there, boy.”
He motioned downward from atop his mare to a conspicuous group of boulders lying just off the scrubby path.
Little Robert stood just ahead of Desmond, blinking confusedly. He raised his eyes from a torn, old map.
“But, mi’Lard, I swears it. I know this pass like the back of mi’ mittens. Left at the footpath on Cragg Top. A left. Always a left!” he exclaimed.
Desmond practically shot out of his saddle.
“We took a right at Cragg Top, you imbecile!” he shouted, fuming.
Little Robert continued to puzzle over the map when the look of gentle perplexion on his face slowly turned to a smile.
“By golly, we did take a left, mi’Lard! You’re right again! You know mi’mum always said I was terrible with directions,” he chuckled.
Desmond reeled on him, snatching away the map.
He moved lightning fast. His frail, gray appearance belied a wicked strength.
Desmond’s hand caught Little Robert across the side of his dirty cheek. Gold and gemmed rings left the skin welted and bruised.
A small, bloody gash now stretched from bulbous cheekbones down to protruding lips.
Little Robert began to sob.
“No more mistakes,” whispered Desmond.
“My sister left you in my charge. I have honored that agreement for years — carried you around like a bag of stones, a useless weight around my neck. A dimwit man-child no more fit than to live in the stables,” he cursed.
Little Robert only looked away and tousled the mane of Desmond’s horse as warm tears slowly trickled down his face.
“You’ve led us into the most desolate region of the cragg. We’ve lost a day’s ride,” Desmond muttered.
Then, with that realization, his complexion changed: the old man’s cold eyes hardened into black coal.
“I think I should leave you here. What do you say, Robert? I’ll leave you and no one will ever find you.”
Desmond dismounted, gingerly stepping onto the uneven ground.
“Look at me, you idiot!”
Little Robert didn’t dare to raise his eyes from the stoney ground. He dabbed at the bleeding wound on his face with his old wool tunic.
“You know,” smirked Desmond, “I think my sister’s inheritance could go to better use than caring for an overgrown simpleton.”
“But,” and Little Robert finally raised his head to face Desmond, “Mi’mum says that the money is for me, Desm—”
The old man struck him with a closed fist, his jeweled fingers tearing at his flesh.
“Never address me by my name!”
Little Robert backed away, tripping after two awkward paces, where he landed with a thump at the foot of a tremendous pile of boulders.
Desmond slowly approached him when a peel of thunder rang out across the cragg. A low, moaning rumble, like the churning of great, cosmic machinery. The ground itself seemed to shake.
No, it was shaking.
Desmond felt his feet going out from under him. He found himself on his back, peering up at the brilliant blue sky.
Strange. Not a rain cloud in sight.
He turned once again to Little Robert, who still lay crumpled on the ground, and his eyes grew wide in terror.
Desmond was face to face with the mountain itself. By some magic, some profound coalescence, the boulders The boulders where Little Robert now stood before him as a stone giant.The creatures eyes burned with sparks of dark flame, like the coals of the world fire, or the magma that once burst from the earth to form the Cragg Top, where they now stood.
“Stay down!” the giant growled.
Desmond howled in fright.
Little Robert timidly looked peeked out from between his fingers up from the ground upon hearing the voice, and Desmond’s shrieks.
Terrified, Little Robert covered his eyes with his hands.
“Take him! Take the boy!” screamed desmond as the giant towered over him.
“Please, I’m nothing but a frail old man,” he pleaded. “It’s the boy’s fault we came this way...take him!”
The creature leaned in close enough for Desmond to feel the warmth of the fire burning under the crust of his skin.
“Sure,” the creature replied.
Sulpher and Ashe washed over Desmond as it barked it’s monosyllabic reply.
“You’re as dumb as a pile of rocks,” Desmond spat out.
Little Robert, his companion, blinked confusedly, raising his eyes from a torn, old map.
“But, mi’Lard, I swears it, I know this pass like the back of mi’ mittens. Left at the footpath at Cragg Top, always a left!” he exclaimed.
Desmond practically shot out of his saddle.
“We took a right at Cragg Top, you imbecile! A right!” he shouted, fuming.
Sure as the dawn rises over the fields, Little Robert’s gentle look of perplexion slowly turned to a smile.
“By golly, we did take a left, mi’Lard! You’re right again! You know me mum always said I was terrible with directions,” he chuckled.
Desmond moved lightning fast. His frail, gray appearance belied a wicked strength.
His hand caught Little Robert across the side of his dirty cheek. The gold and gemmed rings on Desmond’s hand left the skin welted and bruised.
A small, bloody gash now stretched from the cheekbone down to his thick lips.
Little Robert began to sob.
“No more mistakes,” whispered Desmond.
“My sister left you in my charge. I have honored that agreement for years. I’ve carried you around like a bag of stones, a useless weight around my neck. A dolt. A dimwit man-child no more fit than to live in the stables,” he cursed.
Little Robert only looked away and tousled the mane of his horse as warm tears slowly trickled down his face.
“You’ve led us into the most desolate region of the cragg. We’ve lost a day’s ride.”
Then Desmond’s complexion changed. A shadow crossed his face, and his mean eyes hardened into black coal.
“I think I should leave you here. What do you say, Robert? I’ll leave you and no one will ever find you.”
The old man dismounted, gingerly stepping down onto the uneven ground.
“Look at me, you idiot!” he shouted.
Little Robert slowly got down from his horse, not daring to raise his eyes from the stoney ground. Gently dabbing at the bleeding wound on his face.
“You know,” smirked Desmond, “I think my sister’s inheritance could go to better use than caring for an overgrown simpleton.”
“But,” and Little Robert finally raised his head to face Desmond, “Me mum says that the money is for me, Desm—”
The old man struck him. Again. His bony hands tearing at Little Robert’s flesh.
“Never address me by my name!”
Little Robert collapsed to the ground, covering his face as desmond screamed and rained down blows.
Just then, a peel of thunder rang out across the cragg. A low, moaning rumble, like the churning of great, cosmic machinery. The ground itself seemed to shake.
Desmond stopped his attack, nervously peering around.
The sky was beginning to darken, but was absolutely clear.
Not a rain cloud in sight.
“Strange…” he thought, and turned his range once again to Little Robert, who lay crumpled on the ground.