Requiem for an Apology

I really have no idea what that title is supposed to mean, but it sounded cool. Hope it's not going to give anyone the disturbances.

Before I begin, I think I ought to bundle all the 'sorrys' I'm am probably going to drop throughout the post together and get them out now.

- I'm sorry that it's been so long since I last posted. I could throw out the "I've been busy excuse" but I have actually had time to blog that I haven't taken advantage of.

- I'm sorry that my posts have been so boring lately. I know a lot of you are probably not very interested in book reviews. *''* (That's supposed to look like a blushing smiley; it actually looks like two asterisks with a couple apostrophes in the middle. Experiment failure strikes again!)

- I'm sorry that this post is going to be lame. If you're curious enough to see just how lame, I'm sure you'll find your way to the bottom eventually.

So, I've been mulling over several Scriptural points that have hit me in the past few weeks (they churn around in my brain and scream: 'Post about me! Post about me!' until they die of old age or I actually get around to posting them) and I've also been thinking of several new fill-in-the-blanks and, of course, there's news about how my completely revamped life is going. But no, we won't use any of those.

Instead we shall talk about

Rain.

And not really about rain either. Instead, I want to share this picture. 

Now that I've got it big enough so that you can see the pores of her skin...

Actually, we're not even going to talk about this picture. I'm going to post some more that give me that creepy, just-right feeling that a thunderstorm or a thrill or a good idea gives me. Enjoy!

I love how each of these pictures, just looking at them, puts a story in my mind. Lost hopes, shattered dreams, the thrill of hope, the tears of pain. Renewal. Sacrifice. Sorrow. Love. A thousand and a half (also known as 1,500 for you math-brained, unpoetical types) conclusions can be drawn from their expressions, their stances, their surroundings, even the way the rain is falling. It gives me thrills to my fingertips just to think about it! Someday, perhaps, I'll take a group of pictures and write a story or a poem for each one, but that's one of those "I'll do it on vacation or when I retire" pipe-dreams. Maybe someday, though. Maybe...

Have I bored you enough? Perhaps I should go up and add another 'sorry' to the list. But if you're still with me, I just want to say: isn't it so neat how most of these are either muted colors or black and white? Rain just does that to you. Makes you feel black and white, with maybe a little grey around the edges. 

No wonder some people hate it. And no wonder that I love it. 

Till next time,

Ann Recruits the Parishoners (This is NOT a joke!)

though I wish it was...

I found this on Kellee's blog and decided that I feel like doing something fun and mindless. Feel free to copy it to your own blog if you so desire to provide mindless (and hopefully amusing) reading material to your blogging friends! Take the questions, set your iPod to shuffle and let the mismatched craziness ensue!


1. What do your friends think of you?
As Long As It Takes - Meredith Andrews - Haha, that's actually kind of funny if you think about it the right way... :P

2. If someone says "Are you okay?" you say:
Revelation Song - Kari Jobe - Uhmm, ok... If I said that, I suppose they would know that I'm not okay - in more ways than one too.

3. How would you describe yourself?
An Ocean of Memories - Titanic soundtrack - Now that would be interesting

4. What do you like in a friend?
The Council of Elrond - Lord of the Rings soundtrack - I should say not; I don't even know what the Council of Elrond is! 

5. How do you feel today?
Veruca Salt - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory soundtrack - So, does that mean I'm feeling bratty today? 'Cause I'm not...

6. What is your life's purpose?
Robbie Hannan's Jig - Jerry O' Sullivan (The Dance Music of Ireland) - This is a sad state of affairs, I must say.

7. What is your motto?
Dragon Training - How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack - Hahahaha - no.

8. What do you think about very often?
The River - Meredith Andrews - Awesome song, but hmm... I suppose I think about the message of the song a lot...

9. What is 2+2?
Rumour Has It - Adele - Wow. Ok... Rumour has it that 2+2 is...5!

10. What do you think of your best friend?
Jack Dawson's Luck - Back to Titanic soundtrack - I seem to be having a lot of strange thoughts considering my friends here

12. What is your life story?
The Future Has Arrived - Meet the Robinsons soundtrack - Ugh, not really. And I'm not...well, never-mind. It makes it sound like I'm an alien or something...

13. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Who Is Like You? - Meredith Andrews - She seems to be cropping up a lot. I think my iPod is involved in some sort of conspiracy theory...

14. What will you dance to at your wedding?
Simply Love You - Ginny Owens - Well, that's not too bad, actually. You couldn't dance to it of course, but I don't think I'll be dancing to anything at my wedding anyway.

15. What will they play at your funeral?
Learning to Fall - Martina McBride - Hmm, I hope not

16. What is your hobby/interest?
This Is Home - Switchfoot - Well, I do like being at home... 

17. What is your biggest fear?
Bless Us and Keep Us - John Waller - Goodness, what a horrible thing to be afraid of!

18. What is your biggest secret?
Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood - Heehee, not happening!

19. What do you think of your friends?
Star of the County Down - The Irish Rovers - My friends must be Irish today or something

20. What will you post this as?
Ann Recruits the Parishoners - The Patriot soundtrack - Oh drat, I knew I was going to get something like this! :P I suppose it'll arouse idle curiosity if nothing else...

'Till next time!

P.S. The last installment of The Redemption Ring is going up tomorrow! Don't miss out; visit Scribbles!

When you wish you could bang your head on a keyboard...

For me, there is nothing more frustrating and depressing and annoying (except perhaps for getting three cinnamon Jelly Bellies in a row) as sitting in front of a half-written document, knowing where your characters are supposed to go, but being absolutely unable to get them there.

It seems to me that I've been working on one scene for the past week. Erasing it, rereading it, hating it, loving it, tweaking it, rewriting it... All to no avail, however, for that obstinate scene refuses to go anywhere!

My recent response to such a stick-in-the-mud is just to erase the entire thing and start over, but...I like it and I can't just toss it to the fishes. All the poor thing needs is a stupid segue.

And this blog post is heading in the same direction. Somewhere between going nowhere and becoming a rant. I need to meld with my music and think through my plot.

Tata till writer's block is over!

'Till next time,

Wrenches

Wow, I feel productive. I'm actually not writing on a Wednesday and I'm a day early! And I actually have a specific topic to share!

Is it just me or does something feel seriously wrong here?

Let me check and make sure the moon isn't full and the world isn't ending.

So, to begin...

Last night I was in bed thinking about the week I had ahead of me. Behind me, Monday morning/afternoon I had already put another day of skills in the books and studied for an hour the material for the test this morning.  I was thinking ahead about the test and studying for the skills on Wednesday and my fist clinical on Thursday and some plans my friends and I were making for Friday and Saturday and in and around those activities.

As usual, I was organizing my upcoming week and deciding when and where I would do this and that and how I would fit studying in, when I would go shopping for clinical supplies, when I would pack lunches for all these things, when I would talk to people about schedules, when I would get a shower in (yes, I do plan that too...), when I should get up in the mornings to get to clinicals, where I'll put the things I need, when I'll pack the things I need and where I'll leave them and the list could go on. 

I'll spare you, though.

I like my life to be organized and planned out. I like to know what I'm doing and when I'm doing it. And that's not a  bad thing. Not if you don't let your plans overtake your life. 

That's my problem.

I've become so excessive in my planning, so exact about the order in which things will happen that I panic when the smallest thing intrudes in my life. I frantically rearrange my schedule to accommodate the new disturbance and find another level of organization. Another groove where I control everything and everything happens according to plan. 

James 4:13-15 sums this up perfectly:

Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that."  

It's not the planning for the future that's wrong. It's the leaving God's will out of the picture. It's the grasp I have on my life, the control, that I won't give up. That's the problem. 

I'm so focused on what I'm doing next, what's next on the agenda, that I am literally ignoring all else until my work is finished. Brothers and sisters get yelled at for interrupting, frustration builds when chores need to be done in the middle of what I want to do, people get cut off because their conversations take too long and I need to get on to the next thing, I get stressed out because I can't control annoyances and they interrupt and bother me. I have such a tight grip on life that a wrench in my plans can send me into a tizzy. 

And God knows it. I've allotted Him a half hour in the morning and even that has a strict routine to it. I read this and this and this and this and then I review this and memorize this. It's so strict that I'll rush through a passage just to stay on track and I don't stop anymore to savor the words. 

I can't. 

I have to stay on schedule, here, Lord! 

So, basically what God showed me last night (once He got through the tangle of Jell-O pudding cups, plastic spoons, study hours, alarm settings and other planning-oriented things that were churning in my brain) was that  when I have such a tight grip on my schedule, I don't give Him any room to work in my life. 

The things He sends my way are ignored in the interests of my schedule, the blessings He tries to bestow through Scripture go unnoticed or are rushed by, the gifts I should be writing down get a perfunctory look and a rushed "thanks a lot God" in passing. I'm only looking ahead to what I have to do. I don't have time to stop and smell the fall air or bask in the glory of an autumn sun through yellow leaves or even really pay attention to what's really important. 

I'm choking life out through my desire - my need - for control.

So, the main point I'm trying to get across is not a sappy, time-worn adage of "stop and smell the roses!", but more like what my Dad told me when I told him I didn't think I wanted to be a CNA after I finished this course. 

Don't limit God. 

Don't tell God what you're going to do or what you don't think you want to do. Don't get yourself into a mindset that says "No, God. I won't do that." Don't give up trusting that He knows what is best and that He works out everything for good. Don't organize your life so much that you don't leave room for the occasional wrench that gets thrown in.

It's not worth it. It really isn't. 

In a tacky summary: God's wrenches are always for your good. 

He wouldn't send them if they weren't part of His plan and He knows the plans He has for you. And He promises that they'll prosper you and not harm you and that they'll give you hope and a future. You never know what is in store for you. 

'Till next time,

Break Out The Spoons!

Seeing as it's been a week since my last post (and that thinking about a post doesn't exactly get it down on paper...Blast!), I guess I should buckle down and type something out. Seems like I've been "just typing something out" for ages... Be ye comforted, though. You're getting more attention than my journal is. And that's for posterity! (Though I cringe at the thought of future generations reading it)

I suppose I can do my usual (these days) posts where I just dump all the information from the week in and give it a good stir or I could try to categorize.

Hmm...

Break out the spoons!

School has been going incredibly well. We're whizzing through everything and I feel like I'm in a blender. At least, my brain does... I'm getting to know my teammates really well and we love to joke around and goof off during skills. :) We also have a great time telling each other how nervous we are and how overwhelming everything is. Miss Patty, our instructor, has been incredibly encouraging to me lately and just this morning I opened up my school email to find a note from her that was absolutely unexpected and (forgive me for repeating myself) incredibly encouraging.

I also made the disconcerting discovery that it's not really fear about passing that's plaguing me about this course, but instead my own rampant laziness. What I had been thinking was fear was actually just my brain saying "this takes too much time! How are you ever going to be able to do anything fun with all this studying?" And my fear and uncertainty about actually doing this for a living was also stemming from the same onerous sin.

Yeah...

Not exactly the most inspiring discovery - or the most comfortable either.

I'm not saying that this is what I want to do with my life, but it's starting to look a lot better now that I've actually taken to heart that verse in Colossians: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. 


We'll see what comes of all this now.

Other than that, I'm going on vacation Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It's an annual get-together with a bunch of other families at a state park where we stay in cabins and play frisbee all day and play games all night and have hymn sings and devotions and delicious meals and towel fights in the kitchen. It's awesome. :)

I'm reading Agatha Christie right now (nothing like a good murder mystery to relax you!) and I've just bought a million more books at Goodwill on scratch-off day which I have no room for. Right now they're sitting in bags next to my desk, waiting for...something.

I have been doing a little writing lately, but mostly I'm working on editing (sporadically, of course) my only completed novel: a 94,563 word tome which is in desperate need of polishing. It's so frustrating to go through all the work of writing it and then going back over it and find a million more things that need to be added, changed, rewritten, ect.

*sigh*

And I still haven't decided what my main character's brother is going to look like... I keep telling myself I need to figure that out, but I can't seem to make up my mind about it. Writing can be so scarily permanent at times.

What do you care about that anyway?

Good grief...

As a side note: I can't believe I have twelve followers! Thanks so much to all of you for joining and reading! I always write better when I have an audience. (No wisecracks please)

Well, it's time to sign off and gather more material from life for the next post!

'Till next time!

And on our left...

So here I sit with my chocolate-malt ice cream bar; my current favorite album Meredith Andrew's The Invitation playing through my earbuds; an open window with an Indian summer breeze blowing through (*bliss*); and an unplugged laptop whose battery will take a nose-dive soon if I let this get too long. :(

My homework is done; I have a few hours before I leave to go to a friend's house for dinner and a Biblestudy (another installment of The Truth Project - hurrah!); I have a novel to edit; a journal entry to write; and a major discussion to have with my sister about doll costumes and NaNoWriMo plots (heh-heh).

I really wanted to do NaNoWriMo this year, but I'm afraid that'll have to be postponed due to the necessities of life called "college" and "career" (pish-posh; I didn't ask to grow up). I am determined that I shall do it someday. Maybe I'll do the spring one, depending on what God hands me life-wise by then.

Speaking of God, I stumbled across a phrase in my Bible reading this morning that I absolutely loved: sweet fellowship. Fellowship is sweet. And fellowship with God is the sweetest of all when you take the fruit He has given you (i.e. the Bible) and bite deep and find the sweetness beneath the skin. Prayer, too, is sweet fellowship. When you can open your heart to God and tell Him your fears and hurts and thank Him for your joys and the gifts He pours out on you. That is wonderfully sweet. Which makes me wonder why I never take advantage of it like I can. I'm one of the worst prayer-warriors a person could ask for. I constantly forget to pray or rush through my prayers. It's definitely something I really need to work on.

You're probably beginning to wonder if this post has a point that I'm getting too after an obscenely long introduction. I might as well let you in on the secret:

This post has no point.

Sometimes I just feel like typing and spilling things out and wandering through the caverns of my brain (always a dangerous thing to do).

If you want to come along for the ride, climb aboard. It's harmless, I assure you.

Though I can't promise much when it comes to the scenery.

Yesterday my brother and sister and I were having a discussion about how people make cds these days and how there are so many assistive devices that the person doesn't really need to have much talent besides song-writing (and I would say that many songwriters are sorely lacking in that area as well, though I'll demonstrate unusual self-control and not name names) and a voice that can hold up under the basic notes of a given range. It sure pops a delusional bubble when you find out that the song is mostly perfected electronically (they don't even have to sing in tune anymore, they just correct it with a machine).

Oh well.

I suppose the pioneers of yesteryear would say it's cheating to use a microwave.

Ok, I'm puzzling myself.

I am so excited about Christmas.

(See? I warned you about the scenery)

I can't wait for the music, the decorations, the special programs on the radio, the family time, the presents, the church services, our family tradition of watching like nine different Christmas Carol movies (not to mention It's a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story and The Nativity Story)...

I...can't...wait

I had something I wanted to talk about here, but I've forgotten what it is... Hmm...

I've been told I'm really morbid because I like books where people die and movies where people die and I like to write about people dying (if you've read my short story Holly and Ivy, you'd notice this). To me, death is a bigger emotional punch than a wedding or a baby or falling in love. Like Anne Shirley said (yeah, I know. I refer to her a lot...) "I'd rather make people cry than laugh".

Personally, I like to do both.

But death? There's something about it that fascinates me in writing and movies. Especially in writing. Exploring the emotions of the people around the dying person, thinking up the medical, physical and emotional aspects of the dying person's character, and everything else that goes with such deliciously morbid material - I love it.

It makes people look at me queerly, though, when I rave about a person dying in a scene of a book or film. I've found out that more people like happy endings than sad ones and they think I'm strange for liking the sad ones. There's just something about a sad ending that gives me more satisfaction than when everything works out perfectly. Plus, I love killing off characters and making people mad at me for doing it. :) You don't realize how much you really liked a character until they're dead, I always say.

Actually, I've never said that before, but you wouldn't have known that if I hadn't told you, so...

I'm lost.

This seems to be a trend right now.

I'll sign off now and let you get back to your lives - which are probably infinitely more interesting than this.

Though if this was boring you wouldn't have gotten to this message.

Haha.

All right, my computer has just informed me that it's dying. That's one death I don't like.

Tata!

'Till next time,
 

The Not-So-Concise History of Brannon McCrae

Good grief, HOW can it be May already? Yee-ikes. The date of my college class sign-up looms ever closer. Right now a nice big fish would have my express permission to swallow me whole, though I'd need a sojourn longer than Jonah's to avoid this ordeal. Just so long as he spat me out before Christmas... That would have to be a principal measure in the bargain. Unfortunately, since I don't live near a body of water that would be big enough to house such a creature, that plan is mostly rot (don't you just love those jolly, English phrases?). 'Tis unfortunate. I guess I'll just have to go through with the sprint into higher education after all. As Maria says to Liesl in The Sound of Music, "You can't use school to avoid your problems. You have to face them!" Only that's a bit mixed up. Oh well.

I'm going to take a plunge today that I will hopefully not regret later. Today is the first day I'm going to air a segment of my writing to the general public. I know the minute I hit the "publish post" button, I'm going to have three hundred misgivings, but if I don't start somewhere I might as well kick my dream of getting published to kingdom come. Who ever heard of an aspiring writer who was afraid to put her writing out into the world? Such a thing is lame, and I refuse to be lame in this instance. Even the justification for such avoidance that I usually give myself (that someone might see this post and steal my idea) is not going to hold up (it never should have). Anyway, I'm going to ramble a bit before I get out my notebook and copy it off, so if you want to get on with your life and just read the excerpt, run on down to the end if you can get the sidebar mover-thing to slide down. (What on earth is that called anyway? I'm sure I could find out on Google if I typed it in, but I'm feeling rather lazy at the moment.)

The best news I have to share today is that my writer's block is finally dissipating. I actually was able to pound out a chapter of semi-good writing yesterday. I am very enthused. This is about the time where I begin racking up sky-high goals of finishing another novel this summer. I should be able to go through with it this time, though, because I've already written three-quarters of it and am now only in the process of...re-writing it. *sigh* I think I left my point somewhere at the top of this paragraph, so I'll go up and retrieve it. 

What I was going to do, before I derailed, was introduce my scenes notebook. (This is an integral part of my writing process, so it's pretty important to my writing style. Someday I'm going to devote a post to the subject of writing style, but now is not the time, so go ahead and let out that sigh of relief. The boredom has been pushed off to a later date. I should warn you, though, that it is inevitable as death, taxes and badly written books making the top of the New York Times Bestseller List.) 

My scenes notebook is something I started a while back out of sheer desperation. I have a very strict rule about starting a novel at the beginning and only working from there to the end, so it became a necessary piece of equipment before long. I was beginning to forget those wonderful scenes I thought up and couldn't integrate into the storyline because I hadn't gotten to their place yet, so I began jotting them down in my notebook.

The notebook itself is just a regular college-lined, spiral bound pad of paper (probably a cheap make because the spiral is beginning to unravel so that it catches on everything). I did cover it with shiny silver wrapping paper and stuck the letters J-O-U-R-N-A-L on the front that I had colored with rainbow Sharpies, but other than that, it's quite ordinary. I thought, for a moment, of taking a picture of it, but it occurred to me that taking pictures of notebooks and posting them on a blog would be quite tacky. Though I must admit that decorating plain notebooks IS something of a hobby for me. I'm a little desperate for some creative stimulation that doesn't include a computer sometimes. Desperate is probably a good word, come to think of it. And in more ways than one. Ok, I lost myself again. Hold on while I find the beginning. Again.

Ok...So, the point is that what's inside is what's important. During my recent fall into writer's block I, in dreadful need of an activity that involved words, Microsoft Office, and my characters (who failed me cruelly in offering interest), I decided to turn to the oft-ignored task of typing up my scenes into a document (so, in case of fire or loss I would still have a copy of everything I wrote in my scenes notebook). It was an interesting trip down memory lane. I remember distinctly where I was when I wrote every one of them and couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with my head at times. Such melodrama! The scenes are dramatic, funny, serious, short and very long by turns. They are also a jumbled mess. 

I went through a stage where I only wrote on the right-hand side, but when that stage ended, the economical side of me reacted with horror. Thus the scenes from one novel are wildly interspersed with scenes from another and there are numbered segments everywhere that lead to another segment on another page which you can only find by matching the corresponding numbers. I have packing lists in there too, though I'm not sure how they got in. 

These scenes run the gamut of emotions. I have a cemetery scene directly above a heated argument. Turn the page and there's a girl in love surrounded by gossips. There are random notes on location and building dates of certain places where a novel was set, plot/date summaries, and scenes on Indian captives. Suicides, flashbacks, wry humor, prayers, and more arguments (I love writing arguments) abound within the pages, along with post-its scribbled with inspirations I got in the middle of the night. All in all, it's enough to give you a headache. Which is why I put off typing it up for so long. Not only that, but I was a bit afraid to delve into the stuff I wrote when I was younger. The love of violent scenarios was strong within me when I started writing and it was not suppressed in my earliest plots. Thankfully, I have since shredded my first story. Oh the gore and violence I packed into that one! And the poor boy who had to live through it all...I never did extend the mercy of killing him off and thus letting him rest in peace after his misfortunate existence. To be sure, I had too much more planned to allow him off so easily! I'm derailing again... Drat. I'll just cut to the chase.

Here's one scene from my venerable notebook, which I have not yet shared with anyone and has nothing to do with any of my novels in progress (only because I don't know where it's headed yet) and which I am not yet embarrassed to have admitted that I wrote.    

(I feel like some kind of header should be inserted here, but I don't have a title for this story yet, nor any idea what that title would be if I had one, so you'll just have to use your imagination. Keep in mind, though, that it's somewhere in the late beginning of a novel, so introductions will not be made to either the characters or the plot. Also, this is my original work and copying of any kind is prohibited.)

They stood in a cluster a good stone's throw from the ancient hut. Their torches flickered in the dark night, casting an eerie glow on the door. 

"Brinn Korwan!" Duncan McCrae called out. "Bring out the girl and no harm will be done to ya!"

For a moment nothing moved, but then the door creaked open and Brinn's slender form appeared. Her hair was long, dark and silken, her skin smooth and beautiful, but her eyes glittered in the torchlight.

"Ye'll no see your lass again, Duncan McCrae," she cried out to them, "unless ye surrender me Brannon. Give me the boy and ye can have yer bairn back." 

Everyone's eyes turned to Brannon, who turned to look at his father. Duncan caught his breath and brandished his torch towards the cottage. 

"Ye'll get neither, Brinn Korwan," he shouted. "Give me my daughter and keep yer evil eye off o' my son."   

"Yer son!"  Brinn repeated the word and laughed. "Ye speak a heavy word for a man who nivver had a son o' his own blood." 

"Quiet, woman," Duncan commanded. "I know where yer loyalties lie. Give me back the girl." 

Brinn reached behind her and pulled the girl out to stand beside her. Her long fingers dug into Fiona's shoulder possessively, holding her back from running to her father. Fiona cried out at the pain and every man stepped a little closer.

"Give me Brannon," Brinn repeated. 

Duncan looked as if he was about to run his pitchfork through the woman, but Brannon made his choice and stepped forward first. 

"Will she meet me halfway?" he called up to the house. 

Brinn turned her dark gaze from Duncan and fastened it on him. "Come up and get her," she called back.     

"I dinna trust ya," Brannon replied. 

"No doubt," Brinn said. "No doubt yer afraid of me too." 

"No," Brannon said. 

"Then come up here," she invited. 

"Brannon!" Fiona called, reaching out for him. Her round face was white with fear. 

"She's callin' him to the devil, that girl is," Ian McAdam muttered behind Brannon. 

Go up and take her. The voice was so near that Brannon looked for its owner. Don't be afraid, the voice continued. For I have sent my angels to guard you. It was clearer this time, insistent. A voice that was not to be ignored. Brannon looked over his shoulder at his father and nodded. Whatever happened, it would be all right. Then, he turned and walked boldly up to the door of Brinn's mouldering hut.

Brinn beckoned him closer and caught his arm, holding him close to her. Brannon felt as if someone had thrown an invisible chain around him, because suddenly he couldn't move. 

Duncan watched him go with a look of defeat on his face. Even when Brinn released Fiona at Brannon's insistence and his daughter ran to him and flung her arms around him, he didn't feel his spirits lift. Sixteen years he had protected the lad and now he had lost him. Brannon would be fighting his fate alone now. Duncan ran his hand over Fiona's bright hair and sighed. 

"I hope ye nivver know what Brannon sacrificed fer ya," he whispered above her head. "Aye and he's given up more that ye could ever know." He sighed again, more heavily this time. "He was the last hope we had." 

Duncan stared a moment more at the door that separated him from his son before turning away and disappearing into the heavy forest with the rest of the men. A heavy gloom settled over the hut again, sealing off Brinn's domain from the rest of the wood.

And there it is, in all its shabby glory. The accents might have to go, I think.  

'Till next time,   

-- Jamie