Clearly, my section breaks do not always serve their original purpose.
Hmm, I need to work on that.
I don't own Doyle. I don't own the Secret Saturdays. I don't own...the quick cameo in the first section (who is only there because of another pre-avalanche back-story that I might play around with...though the canon-accuracy of that cameo depends on how much time passed between Argost's flashbacks in War of the Cryptids).
I do own the idiot trophy hunter—who is actually quite intelligent; (adult) Doyle thinks of him as an idiot (as do most characters who encounter him later, but I digress), except when he thinks of him with fear.
*ahem*
I own the idiot trophy hunter, his flunkies, and the horses and dogs.
Episodic, remember? I might (eventually) provide an explanation for whoever's interested, if only because I think Doyle's starting to look like a Gary Stu, or something.
I'd like to get the entire nature of that explanation without it taking up a page or more, but I think the gist of it is this:
I have attempted to maintain a degree of continuity, avoid conflicts in timing (certain conflicts are dealt with in the "histories" dealing with the specific other stories), and retain specific elements from one arc to the next.
However, this generic history is not intended to be thought of as a single story in which everything happened, but rather a collection of stories, a collection of "flashbacks" which might apply to a given story or other. (It may help if you think of my other stories as alternate universes of each other. Or not. Your call.)
Whether it is read that way depends both on my ability to write it that way, and on how the reader chooses to read it. But there's my hand-wave, if readers should decide that Doyle's been suffering too much for one story.
The nature of the longer explanation consisted of naming examples, and factors that determine which stories the events of this arc must have taken place in, followed by the reminder that readers can choose to assume that it did not happen in any other story, if that is their desire.
And the reminder that all arcs within the generic history follow that same principle...or should, if I successfully wrote them that way.
And so on.
Whew! And that was the short version....
Fernanda (and anyone else): The whole point of chapter 29 (Drew's first appearance) was for her to find out where Doyle was...but just miss him. (Or just miss Corb and Zander, in this case....) As are a few other chapters, but we'll deal with that later. She will appear in future chapters, with a bigger (translate: real) role in the story, beyond the "oh I just missed him" theme, and probably with some action scenes—just not with this clan.
This "history" is really just a collection of potential flashbacks for other stories...and thus far, only stories told from Doyle's perspective, or else that ultimately influence Doyle's part in the story. So there's not really a lot for me to say just yet about Drew.
I may eventually write a Drew story; I may not. If I did, it would mean repeating a few chapters, and rewording a few others, in addition to any Drew-centric new material. I figure it can be done, but I'd like to focus on Doyle's side of things for the moment. I've read one Drew history that I like (I believe when that one was posted, there were no Doyle stories), and I don't plan just yet on trying to compete with it. Not until I've gotten this one out of my system, at least.
But this one was meant to be mostly about Doyle, and though other perspectives will show up throughout, I would like to keep it mostly about Doyle. I want to limit those other perspectives to those somehow related to what Doyle is going through, has gone through, or will go through. Whether I succeed....
So what do my readers think? Should I try a Drew story? Or at least a more in-depth look at her perspective of this story?
Timing: A few months following the previous chapter. Probably spring time, if only to keep too much time from having passed since the previous chapter.
Say, four calendar years following the Avalanche arc (only because Stray began late in year two and bled into year three).
The Hunted
Doyle rushed to keep up with the wagon. The men had grumbled constantly about how he slowed them down, but not one would let him sit on a horse or in the wagon. The first time he'd suggested it, their boss had struck him with a horsewhip.
He kept quiet after that, and tried not to give them a reason to grumble.
This had been a strange job, and it was not the first time Doyle wondered if he shouldn't have accepted it.
He'd been watching a small pack of wolves chase down a deer when it happened. Doyle was not big enough to catch such an animal himself, and the pack had not asked him to join. He'd planned to pick over what they left; he'd hoped he might even see how they brought it down.
But they'd chased the animal into a clearing and found themselves running through a herd of horses.
This pack had no experience with livestock, and did not recognize the scent of man, or know what the presence of these animals meant. They had only known that the horses smelled like a different sort of prey, and that this prey could not run.
Doyle knew exactly what it meant, and he abandoned the hunt, yelling and flailing his arms at the wolves. He knew what it meant that the horses were tied down, and heard the humans, shouting in reply to the horses' battle cries. He did not want the wolves about when the humans returned.
The wolves scattered at his strange behavior, and he worked quickly to calm the herd before they could draw in other predators.
The hunters arrived while he worked his way among the herd.
One man approached and, after finding a language that both understood, asked if Doyle wanted a job tending to the animals. He offered food and shelter, and after a few moments' thought, Doyle agreed.
After a few days, Doyle began to doubt that decision.
These hunters were not like Benton. Benton caught and killed prey animals for their meat.
These hunters skinned the animals and left the meat behind. They left an easy meal for scavengers, but those scavengers could feed after any predator. Why did these people hunt?
Benton provided that meat to those who needed it, those who could not always buy or catch their own meals.
These hunters sold the fur or feathers to people who had money, people who did not want to hunt for themselves.
Sometimes, these hunters trapped strange animals; they sold these animals, live, to people often stranger than the prey.
The latest one, a half-scorpion, had looked shocked to see Doyle. He'd seemed to recognize the child, though Doyle was certain he'd never seen this man before.
But the scorpion-man had said nothing about it in Doyle's hearing; he had merely spoken with the hunters in private, and they had shared a laugh about something.
The scorpion-man had watched with a strange smile, as the hunters had taken Doyle and left to find new prey.
—
The boss finished the new list and handed it to one of his employees.
The underling quickly glanced over the list out of habit.
Then he looked at it again. He whistled. "Uh, boss? These are some pretty powerful sedatives. You thinking we'll need them for the creature?"
The boss shook his head. "Given the sort of monster we're chasing, I'm thinking we'll need them for our own men."
The other man nodded in the direction of the town. "People are going to wonder."
The boss scowled. "Then you'd best better keep them from wondering."
"So, exactly how much can I tell them?" the other man asked, and the boss's scowl deepened. "I know. I know the drill, don't let on to what we're doing. I was just thinking, these people are terrified of this monster. If I tell them we're getting rid of it, that might shut them up." He shrugged. "Best case scenario, anyhow."
"And worst case?" the boss asked.
"The optimistic ones—or rather, naïve—might pray we regain our sanity before it's too late," the other man said with a laugh. "Most of them would just pray for our souls."
"You do that, then." The boss shared the laugh. "Make sure you tell me how many of them are praying, all right?"
The other man nodded, mounted up on one of the horses, and rode off to the town.
Once he was out of earshot, the boss gestured to his other people, signaling them to get into position.
Within the hour, the wagon and the rest of the herd came into view, with that child struggling to keep up.
—
The wagon rolled to a stop, and Doyle had to brace himself against it as he fought to catch his breath.
He did not drop to the ground, no matter how badly he wanted to. He did not know if it was wise to work with these men, but he did not want them to decide to chase him away; he needed them to think he was useful.
He forced himself to push away from the wagon. The men had come up to unload the supplies, and he had to help before he could get to his other work.
Doyle gave a puzzled look at the horses; he'd always thought it seemed wrong, somehow, to leave them in their gear. The men had already whipped him once for asking questions, though, and he did not ask again.
The hunters were constantly on the move, and he'd finally reasoned that they could not afford the time to unhitch the animals every time only to hitch them up again so soon after. But that didn't answer other concerns, like waiting to feed the animals....
They took everything out, food, tents, even the skins. When the wagon was completely empty, Doyle dug through the supplies to find the things for the animals, and got to work on his next job. He poured out the rations for the dogs, filled bags of feed for the horses. The men had left them in reach of a stream, so that was one task he didn't need to worry about.
He was hunting for the brushes when the boss approached him.
"Got another job for you," the boss said. "Interested?"
Doyle suppressed his annoyance at this statement. What he was doing was important—the animals seemed to think so, at least—but whatever the boss wanted him to do now, he'd have to do before he could get back to the animals.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"Why don't you unhitch that mare," the boss said, nodding towards the wagon, "and take her for a bit of a walk, huh? Poor thing's been attached to that wagon for eons."
Maybe if you let me unhitch her every time we camp— Doyle thought. Only sheer willpower kept him from saying it, or of reminding the man of Doyle's current task. Instead, he replied, "Walk, sir?" through gritted teeth. He merely waited for the man to elaborate; he did not want the boss to think he was questioning orders.
"Yeah, don't worry about the grooming," the boss said. "Rest of us can take care of that. But none of us can take that horse out much; she's small, not used to riders, and any of us would be too big for her. But a little bitty thing like you—" He shrugged. "I figure you both need the cool-down, anyhow."
Doyle's eyes snapped open, and he stared at the boss. "R—riders?" He'd ridden Viper a few times, but only for a few minutes. That was nothing compared to what he'd seen these men doing. "You don't mean—"
The boss laughed at the longing in Doyle's eyes. For just an instant, uncertainty flickered into his own expression. But the look passed before Doyle noticed, and the boss laughed again. "Sure, why not? You been watching us long enough; you can manage this one, can't you?"
"Yes, sir!"
Rather than take a chance at putting the other gear on wrong—or at the boss changing his mind if Doyle tried to ask—he sent a quick thought to the mare, and she readily agreed. She wanted to be free of the thing behind her as much as he wanted to free her from it, and she was willing to carry him bareback to do it.
Doyle examined the harness to make sure he knew how to remove it. He found and loosened the fastenings...then encountered a real puzzle. The men were large enough to simply pull the harness up once it was undone. He, however, was neither tall enough nor strong enough to do so. He could not simply have the mare step out of the harness, either; part of it looped over her neck.
He finally tried to work his way in under the harness, and lift it from beneath. He sent a thought to the mare, to show her what he wanted to do. He had no fear of trouble from this mare. These horses were used to the creatures the hunters caught; not one of them spooked easily, and the mare was the sturdiest of the lot.
For one moment, his arm was trapped between the mare's side and the weight of the harness....
He "felt" something sting the mare's flanks....
And the mare screamed, reared, and bolted.
Doyle had no time to react. Could not react. Did not understand what had happened.
The harness slipped. Doyle was amid a forest of pounding hooves.
He struggled to pull free. To evade the hooves. To speak to the mare. To calm the mare. To stop her panicked race.
The harness came free. Doyle fell to the ground. He rolled to a stop.
In time to see the wagon
Come
Right
At
Him
Must...resist...urge...to...explain...ideas!
Must...have...faith...in...story!
Self-deprecating humor aside, does it sometimes maybe look like I feel the need to explain myself more than I should?
I mean, I try not to write over-involved author notes, but I'm starting to wonder if I should worry about more than length when those things sneak their way in.
Or am I imagining things again?
Anywho, whether it's for author notes or the actual story: as always, constructive criticism is welcome.
As much as I love the ego boost that the short and sweet "please update" provides, what I really need is an analytical reader.
Preferably one that isn't my mother. She's great when reading my original fics, but I cannot seem to get her to understand that fanfiction can be a useful and legitimate tool for developing said originals.
So....
Volunteers?
Reviews of the analytical kind?
Anything?
Please?