Curious what I'm working on? What other stories I have percolating in my brain, notebooks and harddrive?
Well, this is the place to look!
Original stories, fanfictions, they're all (mostly) here. If I've got even a little bit jotted down, I gen...
Awesome. Apparently in trying to work on 'Daughter of Dale', my muse has decided that, well naturally, poor Beorn is all alone, so there needs to be a 'Daughter' for him.....
So it's dreamed up a female Skin-changer - Idunn or Idunna, I haven't settled yet - rescued from the Ruins of Dol Guldur by Radagast and, recognizing her heritage, brings her to the only other Skin-changer he knows to recuperate and heal.
Still not 100% on the title. Either 'Daughter of the Vales' or 'Daughter of Wilderland'? Still thinking on it since a specific geographical region/kingdom isn't *really* super defined by Tolkien as their 'homeland' beyond Rhovanion - which is, like, the whole North-East of Middle Earth - and/or the 'North'.
Oh, and it's apparently trying to recast Beorn in my head with Jason Momoa (?!?!?) after seeing this (see below) while looking for images to use on the cover ...*facepalm*
....muses are dumb. Let's throw rocks at them....
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Sneak Peek
Just as his fingertips brushed her shoulder she jerked away, a panicked, pained attempt at a snarl tearing out from deep in her throat.
It emerged as little more than a desperate whine.
"Oh! Oh, my poor dear," he babbled sadly, his hands darting back to flutter and wring before his dirty jacket. Then he stilled, the almost frantic, worried energy that surrounded him fading to that of gentleness as he began to croon in a soft, melodic chant. Slowly, her racing heart began to slow, and her terror began to bleed from deep within her bones. Her breath slowed, her lids growing heavy as his voice settled around her, warm and soothing as the summer sun on her skin. Though it was uttered in a language she'd never heard, she somehow nevertheless understood the promise—the oath—spoken in his unintelligible words.
She was safe, and he would do nothing to harm her.
As he reached for her again, though somewhere in the back of her mind a small part of her still feared, she did not shy away.
Her breath left in a shuddering sigh as his hand, warm and calloused and impossibly gentle, stroked the ragged, filthy fur of her shoulder and she believed it.
