Hail, Cæsar! Read this schedule.*
Word Count: 1755
Novel progress: Chapter 30
Current Emotion: One More Day
“Leave me be,” he says, pushing Oin’s hands away.
Oin hesitates, hands hovering over Thorin, and straightens up. “I want absolute rest from you,” he says sternly, “while we are here. Take advantage of this time to mend.”
“I would,” counters Thorin, “if only I were left in peace.”
Oin huffs, then turns and walks past Grace, towards the back door, shaking his head to himself.
Thorin breathes a short sigh and catches Dwalin watching him. He gives him a look, as if to say, Et tu, Brute?
“Are you fit?” asks Dwalin, his voice matter-of-fact.
Thorin raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to go a round?”
“No.” Dwalin’s moustache twitches as he smiles. “I don’t fancy another knocked tooth.”
“That was your own fault,” says Thorin, closing his eyes.
“Aye,” says Dwalin, his expression softening as Thorin rests his head against the hay. “That it was.”
Thorin gives an amused chuckle at the memory, but cuts it off short with a wince.
“I can’t hear a thing,” complains Balin, finally stepping away from the door. “There’s no way we will cross Mirkwood with what we have on our backs. We need the Skinchanger’s help.”
77869 / 50000 words. 156% done!
* Shakespear, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I
Novel progress: Chapter 30
Current Emotion: One More Day
“Leave me be,” he says, pushing Oin’s hands away.
Oin hesitates, hands hovering over Thorin, and straightens up. “I want absolute rest from you,” he says sternly, “while we are here. Take advantage of this time to mend.”
“I would,” counters Thorin, “if only I were left in peace.”
Oin huffs, then turns and walks past Grace, towards the back door, shaking his head to himself.
Thorin breathes a short sigh and catches Dwalin watching him. He gives him a look, as if to say, Et tu, Brute?
“Are you fit?” asks Dwalin, his voice matter-of-fact.
Thorin raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to go a round?”
“No.” Dwalin’s moustache twitches as he smiles. “I don’t fancy another knocked tooth.”
“That was your own fault,” says Thorin, closing his eyes.
“Aye,” says Dwalin, his expression softening as Thorin rests his head against the hay. “That it was.”
Thorin gives an amused chuckle at the memory, but cuts it off short with a wince.
“I can’t hear a thing,” complains Balin, finally stepping away from the door. “There’s no way we will cross Mirkwood with what we have on our backs. We need the Skinchanger’s help.”
77869 / 50000 words. 156% done!
* Shakespear, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I