I love the beginning, and I love your style, but I felt that the dialogue, while It got across what you wanted it to, was a little lacking. Almost childish. Perhaps it's only that several of the lines felt cliche, like “Jonul. I might have known you’d be here.” “You only use that tone when you’re up to something.” I liked the present tense, and I thought you did it well. A little work on the dialogue - that's really all I can offer. Of course, I know very little of what's going on, but seeing as how this isn't the whole thing, that's perfectly fine. I'm looking forward to seeing more. And I know that this is going to go to the back, so Arr. And Stuff.

Cheers,

lavendershy

TOP!

This is amazing! (I agree.) Olive is the one speaking (or typing) in the brackets. I think this story has good potential. But there's a lot of .......... (the last . was a period) Sorry, I'm (we're) not very good in grammatical stuff. One more time. GREAT STORY! 

(TOP TOP TOP TOP TOP TOP TOP WITH THIS STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry, had too much sugar today.)  

I like it, especially your beginning, with the description of the storm. And you make up good names. I don't especially like things written in present tense, but that's just me. Oh, and WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? 

I have no comment, other than that I like the present tense a lot, and that the billy goat at my sister's farm is named Tyrone. 

Only one correction. You said, "Like an vicious dog."

Cool story! I liked the description of the storm. I don't like present tense that much, but I think the story is really good. WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!

So I finished chapter one. I have no idea what's going to happen next, but whatever. As always, critique is welcome.

* 

Chapter One

It rains.

This is not, strictly speaking, the truth. Yes, there are thick storm clouds overhead, and water is indeed falling from the sky. There, however, the similarities between rain and this storm end.

This is not rain. This is nature’s direct assault on the tiny stretch of farmland wedged between mountains and forest. Bluish lightning flutters across the clouds, now streaking down to set fire to a barn, now causing a small panic when it strikes just a little too close to home. Thunder shudders and rumbles constantly along behind its quicker, more visible companion, like a vicious dog confronting a horde of angry rats. Crops are flattened by the wind. When the water hits the ground, it leaves punctures two inches deep.

Inside their homes, the people cower, powerless against an army such as this.

All but one.

He is not a tall man, though his presence has a certain weight to it which more than compensates for his height. His black hair is quite long and tied back. At the moment it flaps wildly against his chin, beaten by the wind. His only other submission to the ferocity of the storm is to curl his shoulders up a little and keep his back to the wind.

Presently he becomes aware of the faint thud, thud of horse hooves, unnaturally loud even against the cacophony of thunder and rain against collapsed wheat. The corners of his lips rise very slightly.

“Good evening… Tyrone.”

“Jonul. Of course.” There is a loud sigh. “Please go away.”

The man called Jonul turns, still smiling slightly. Before him stands an enormous bay horse, and comfortably in its saddle is a broad-shouldered man in shiny mail. Jonul tilts briefly forward from the waist in a mock bow.

“No.”

“Surely you have more important things to do?”

“At this time? In this place?” Mock surprise passes over Jonul’s face. “I can think of nothing more… important.”

“This is hardly your area. You certainly haven’t any business here. At this time. In this place.”

“No.” Jonul shrugs. “But this is… interesting. Besides, in time, everything falls into my… area, as you put it.”

Tyrone raises an eyebrow and leans forward in his saddle. “Not for quite some while, in this case. Unless you have something planned?”

“Of course not.” His smile widens slightly, and he spreads his arms wide. “Why should I? I am nothing if not… patient.”

The horseman’s thick eyebrows draw together. “You’re lying.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mot would tell me.”

“No. I’ve… ordered him not to. It is really no concern of yours.”

“Quite the contrary.” Tyrone bares his teeth, a faint snarl rising in the back of his throat.

Jonul raises his hands, palms outward. “Peace, Tyrone. I have no intention of interfering with your little… experiment. I am merely… intrigued. I don’t suppose you could tell me what you’re doing?” he adds hopefully.

“No.”

“I thought not.” Jonul sighs. “Regrettable indeed.”

“Hm.” Tyrone frowns at the pale man. “Incidentally, do you know what all this is about?” He gestures around at the devastation and the greenish thunderclouds overhead.

“Haven’t the slightest,” Jonul replies calmly. “And it isn’t… important.” He crosses his arms tight over his chest and lets out his breath in a short burst of air. “You have everyone in quite the little… uproar. Even my… charges have noticed, and you know what they are like. Surely I’ve as much right as anyone to be… curious?”

“Hm.” Tyrone’s gaze flicks up towards the horizon momentarily, and then back to Jonul. “You know the rumors.”

“Of course.”

“Then you know enough.”

Jonul leans back, half-closing his eyes and staring at Tyrone’s scarred face. “For now… I suppose a ride is out of the question?”

Tyrone merely snorts and nudges his horse’s flanks. The big bay tosses its head and plods away. Jonul watches them go, his lips pressed tight together. After a moment he reaches a decision and sets off after the horse.

In the forest, a woman runs.

She wears dark green, and her brown hair streams out behind her as she threads her way through the trees. A rough linen blindfold is tied securely over her eyes.

Thunder groans in the distance, and the woman accelerates.

Jonul follows Tyrone to a tiny village, no more than a collection of rough buildings clustered around a stone church. The storm has driven everyone inside, and the only sounds are the wind, the thunder, and the rain as it strikes every exposed surface.

Tyrone pulls the bay to a stop just in front of the church, and dismounts to find Jonul instantly at his side. He glares briefly at the man before turning to rummage in his saddlebags. Jonul rises onto his toes in a vain attempt to see over Tyrone’s shoulder.

“Really, Jonul,” Tyrone says as he transfers a small, round object from the saddlebags to the crook of his arm. He pats it absently as he turns and begins to walk toward the church.

“What?” Jonul follows him.

“You’re being quite unreasonable. Childish, some would say.”

Jonul smiled slightly, and half-closed his eyes. “I like to consider that I am… above such accusations. I am far from… childish, Tyrone.”

“Hm.” The heavy wood doors swing open and Tyrone steps into the church. Jonul follows, glancing right and left as he crosses the threshold.

“Why… here?” he asks. The sounds of the storm are barely muffled by the solid stone walls and wooden roof.

Tyrone ignores this, and walks swiftly past the hard benches to the altar. It is a large, rough slab of stone. He leans down and gently places the round object on it, then turns to leave.

Jonul is right behind him, peering closely at the altar. “A stone? All this… trouble for a… stone?” He leans down until his nose is inches away from the stone. His eyes narrow. “Quartz… yes?”

“Yes.” Tyrone pauses at the door, his head cocked to one side. “Do you hear that?”

Jonul straightens, turning to stare at the other man. “I hear… many things.”

“Footsteps, I mean,” Tyrone says with a sigh. “Running footsteps.”

A smile flashes across Jonul’s face. “Ah. Yes. I thought she… would be here.”

The woman is a blur, across the ruined fields and into the village. She slides to a halt outside the church. A spray of water flies up and out behind her.

Jonul and Tyrone stand in front of the church, Tyrone glaring and fiddling with the straps on his saddle, while Jonul smiles and bows slightly in the woman’s direction.

“It’s a stone, Ansi,” he says calmly. “Quartz. From the… mountains, I believe.”

Tyrone grunts.

“What,” says Ansi, grinning. Faint white light seeps out from behind her blindfold. “Not even going to say hello? Surely you were brought up better than that, dear.”

“Hello,” Tyrone says through gritted teeth.

Ansi clicks her tongue and moves to peer into the church. “That’s it?”

“Rather… unimpressive, isn’t it?” Jonul asks mildly.

“Mm.”

Tyrone swings into the saddle and nudges the big bay into a trot.

Behind him, Ansi leans towards Jonul and asks, “Do you know what he’s up to?”

“No more than you.”

They watch as Tyrone and his horse vanish into the storm. A few minutes later they are gone, too. 

*

Mmmyep.