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young Feanor ficlet, take 2
Aug. 3rd, 2006 09:20 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
martal0712.livejournal.comHey guys,
Here is a new draft of the young Feanor drabble I posted last night. This one is 150 words.
The original version, a true drabble, is available at http://martal0712.livejournal.com/29178.html . Rhapsody and Tehta identified many things that I hadn't thought of before. I'm interested in your opinion specifically: have I addressed your concerns?
Any other concrit is welcome as well.
Sand and Flame
Fëanor paced down the shore, skipping pebbles across the lake. Indis, that damnable sycophant, had been kind enough. What did she know of any craft but flattery? His master had granted him a rare smile, even Father had praised it. A fine first cutting.
He saw past their cosseting words. The script was wobbly, a humiliation, but they would not allow him to destroy it. Crystal was Aulë's gift; who was he to reduce it to shards?
Plunk. His stone sank straight away. He sighed in frustration, took another step, and... he stopped. The sand rustled under his boot. The sound was not new to him, but the idea of using them was. Those grains were small but strong. Would fire meld them together and make something large enough to etch?
He scooped it up and ran to the forges. What he created himself, he could destroy whenever he wanted.
Here is a new draft of the young Feanor drabble I posted last night. This one is 150 words.
The original version, a true drabble, is available at http://martal0712.livejournal.com/29178.html . Rhapsody and Tehta identified many things that I hadn't thought of before. I'm interested in your opinion specifically: have I addressed your concerns?
Any other concrit is welcome as well.
Sand and Flame
Fëanor paced down the shore, skipping pebbles across the lake. Indis, that damnable sycophant, had been kind enough. What did she know of any craft but flattery? His master had granted him a rare smile, even Father had praised it. A fine first cutting.
He saw past their cosseting words. The script was wobbly, a humiliation, but they would not allow him to destroy it. Crystal was Aulë's gift; who was he to reduce it to shards?
Plunk. His stone sank straight away. He sighed in frustration, took another step, and... he stopped. The sand rustled under his boot. The sound was not new to him, but the idea of using them was. Those grains were small but strong. Would fire meld them together and make something large enough to etch?
He scooped it up and ran to the forges. What he created himself, he could destroy whenever he wanted.
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