Once she’s fully clothed, he stands up so that he’s visible from his bellybutton up. “Lara,” he calls.
Her head whips around in his direction. “Aren’t you freezing?” she asks through chattering teeth.
“I’m a water baby,” he replies with a grin. “It’s done. Take my clothes. Tell the others I’ll meet them at my home.”
“But-,” she starts to say as he plunges back into the water before he can hear the rest of her words.
As the current pushes him rapidly towards his home he worries about the crown Haashir gave the now deceased Novak. If the sword he half buried in the centre of the river is poisonous to the possessor’s will than what will the crown do? Is it just metal and gems, or does it give the wearer thoughts or abilities that will turn out ill? And the books? Do they contain contents meant for human eyes? If he crafts the war hammer and Lara gives it a soul, will it be for good or bad. A constant with the crown and the soul swords is they seem impervious to damage. Once made, can they ever be unmade? He ignores the fish and silver colored eels that swim by him. His thoughts solely on who will wear the crown now that Novak has been murdered.
Once stripped and in the water, Lara swims uncomfortably close to him.
“I need to get rid of something,” she says glancing furtively around.
He looks into her eyes and at the shape of her face. What her father did to her mother makes him burn with rage but a stronger parental feeling breaks through. Her eyes are her mother’s but the thin shape of her face isn’t. However, it’s always the eyes that make the final decision. “Okay,” he says.
“I’m a good swimmer,” she says, “but I don’t want anyone to know where I hide it.”
He didn’t see her bring anything with her but maybe it’s an amulet or something else. “I’ll hide it for you,” he says.
She whispers a word he can’t quite make out three times. Her body jolts forward for a moment before she adapts and straightens out. She presses what feels like the handle of a sword into his hands under the water. “I wish I never needed to create such horrible things,” she says.
He knows what this is. “Does anyone else know how to call it?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
He nods and dives horizontally into the water with his free arm stretched out.
It feels wonderful to have the flow of water around his body again. He swims like an otter underwater through spiked water-milfoil and other aquatic plants until he reaches the deepest section of the river. Struggling against the current he manages to slide a quarter of the sword’s blade into the mud bottom. He lets go and as he’s pushed in one direction by the current, he grabs onto a rock. Swimming back to the vertical sword he kicks his feet to stay in place as he hammers the top of the pommel until the tip of the sword hits something solid.
Now that both his hands are free, he swims easily back through the floating crowfoot to the bullrushes. Crouching within the bullrushes he peers at Lara. She’s looking around as her teeth rattle. After some more time passes, he sees her move to the shore and step towards the cover of the elder shrub where her clothes hang. The skin of her pale back glistens with a blueish hue covered in goosebumps and with a barely visible tinge of green. She’s much taller than her mother and leaner. Watching her wipe her bare body with her leggings he waits to see what emotions he feels towards her naked body. Passionate desire doesn’t fill him, only the desire to protect her; like a father.
I have listened to orchestras play Bach, Beethoven, Mozart and so forth.
For me I grew bored quickly. The music was played properly but I found it doldrum.
Then I heard music soundtracks.
John Williams, James Horner, Hans Zimmer and more.
I wonder if Bach, Mozart, and other composers altered the tempos and pitch of their original scores with each concert. Just to liven it up with the unexpected. Sped up here, slowed down there. To PULL the listener in one moment and PUSH them away the next.
Rick Beato has done numerous excellent interviews with musicians that the next generation might want to pay a close listen to. Below are YouTube links to his channel where you can hear him interviewing Hans Zimmer and Billy Joel:
I remember seeing a clip of a bunch of musicians playing what I’ll call Chaotic Jazz. They would just play up and down the scales or jump around and play a few notes along the scales. There didn’t seem to be any coherency and it irritated my ears. However, as I reflect, that’s a great way to find a bar or two of original music. Learn the smooth flow of notes but also play discord (a state of disharmony between notes) as Billy Joel mentions in his interview above. Don’t wreck your instrument but do go wild sometimes. Try unorthodox finger positions or breathing.
There’s also mood music. Are you or the character you’re representing angry, sad, bored, joyous? See what speed and note length each emotion brings out. Try talking. Higher octaves talking to lower octaves. Maybe the middle keys calm an argument between the two.
I did try this with the Steam Punk story: Books by Authors Who Never Existed
The idea was to create very short concept videos with music so that maybe one day they could be expanded into a full show:
Don’t be afraid to experiment and see what works with the desired atmosphere of your lyrics, stories, or films. Sometimes playing what you don’t like leads you to play what you do.
He sits at the front of the wagon beside Haashir. Before he drinks any of the water downed mead they have sitting in a clay jug between them, he orders Haashir to drink first. As they roll along, he watches the Carnival Owner for any signs of drowsiness.
“Not poisoned,” he scoffs and starts drinking and drinking from the jug. There’s a constant itch between his shoulder blades. Similar to how it feels when he gets a shaving of bronze in one of his fingers.
“Swords are not as efficient as hammers and axes for the dwarves,” Haashir says in a raspy voice. “Especially the ones related to the first king. Their shoulders and hips are too wide.”
“How did you get the crown you gave Novak?” he asks and takes another swig.
“I had carnivalers located along the river to see where you were going,” he hears Haashir admit.
“Who dove down to get it?”
“Jedreck. It might be cursed. It took a long time for Jedreck to give to me.”
“What made him relinquish it?”
“It was too big for his head.”
He looks at the giant riding ahead of them. Lara is riding beside him. From the easy sway of their upper bodies, it appears they’re familiar with each other. “They seem to enjoy each other’s company,” he says with a yawn. He feels exhausted.
“It’s an innocent attraction,” Haashir says and he sees the Carnival Owner smile.
“Innocent?”
“There’s no politics or hidden purpose. It’s generic not forced.”
“That’s called true love,” he says and thinks of Lara’s mother. “Now that we’re riding beside the river, I need to bathe.” He sniffs his armpit and makes a disgusted expression.
“I understand,” Haashir says. The Carnival Owner makes a long, single whistle.
Up ahead Jedreck looks back and nods. The giant says something to Lara and the they both slow their horses to a walk and head towards a line of poplars beside the river. Haashir gently reins in the carnival wagon’s horses and pulls over. “I’ll wait here,” the Haashir says.
He jumps down and heads towards an elder shrub.
“Where are you going?” Lara asks.
“I need to bathe,” he replies. He can feel the river drawing him towards it.
“Me too,” she replies. “Jedreck, stay here and let me know if anyone else shows up.”
He glances at the giant. Jedreck’s expression is conflicted between stern protector of Lara and suspicion of him.
“We’ll go behind the elder shrub,” he says. “In the water you’ll have cover from the bullrushes and floating crowfoot.”
The Sword Maker grounds his teeth. He desperately wants to swim underwater. Instead, he has Haashir by the throat and dragging him towards the carnival wagon. Behind him he can hear Jedreck and Lara arguing with a middle-aged dwarf named Wymund. Wymund is the eldest son of the noble dwarf, the half-brother of the now late king Novack. Wymund’s father is the one dying and who the giants and dwarves want to martyr by having his soul put into a war hammer.
“Master Sword Maker,” he hears Jedreck call out. “Please let Haashir go.”
He does, by shoving the carnival owner to the ground. He places a foot against Haashir’s neck.
Wymund runs up to him and bunching up his boulder sized shoulders yells up at him, “I command you to stay.”
“No,” he replies. “You,” he says, forcing himself to withhold cursing out the dwarf, “have insulted and endangered Lara.”
“You must make the war hammer,” Wymund says but with less demand in his voice.
“You know where my shop is, you come to me.” He feels Wymund’s hand on his wrist. He twists his hand free and in one smooth motion draws his sword. “I’ll willingly die killing you and whoever else blocks my passage,” he hisses.
Wymund steps back and holds up his hands. “We’ll bring him and the hammer parts to you,” the dwarf noble says.
With his free hand he reaches down and grabs Haashir by the throat again. “We’re going home,” he says with a growl.
He feels a gentler hand on his shoulder.
“Let him go Master Sword Maker,” Lara says from behind him.
He does, but with a slight thrust of his palm so Haashir falls to the ground. “My sword is still out Carnival owner,” he warns.
Dan Flitton’s second book is another excellent resource for upcoming, new, and experienced teachers.
Dan uses real life experience to help teachers understand how to succeed throughout the school year. He talks about proper mind set, comprehension of students’ attitudes, the usefulness of yard duty, how not to burn out, the importance of report cards, and so much more.
“Yours,” she says before Crimthann can. “Stop the coming war and absolutely stop the river from being diverted. My girls are being handed out to whatever man asks for them first,” she says and doesn’t know why but her lips start trembling. She knows she’s tougher than this but there was a choice, and safety, at Savory Moments, now there’s none. Now the girls are dispersed to be treated like slaves and barefooted birthing vessels. What can their children be treated like other than servants?
“You’re talking about regicide,” Sir Oliver replies without looking at her.
“You’re a Royal Knight with land,” Sir Oisin says. “You have a right to challenge the right to rule if the current king or queen seem unfit. You would become the Queen’s regent.”
“Sir Olaf has already taken that position.” Sir Oliver replies but she can hear doubt in his voice.
“Regent or usurper?” Sir Oisen asks.
She stares long and hard at Sir Oisen. Up until now she thought he only got by on his looks and fighting skills, with not much up top.
“Are you supporting this idea?” Sir Oliver asks and she sees him look long and hard at Sir Oisen.
“I am,” the “Desired One” as she’s heard so many of the girls call him, replies.
“That means asking the giants and dwarves to join me against Sir Olaf and the Queen.” Sir Oliver looks around the table.
She’s amused when both Crimthann and Sir Oliver’s father bang their mugs against the table and in unison say, “Aye!”
She looks around at the depth of the room. It went quite deep into the hill. There were tarps with slits in the centre hanging from one side of the room suggesting bedrooms hidden behind. There long oak beams supporting the roof. Thin boards of strapping ran kitty corner to the beams, likely with slate overtop to keep the dirt from the sod from falling through. Long pine tables with benches covered the centre of the room. She recognized Sir Oliver’s mother and some of his other uncles and aunts.
“Hello,” she heard a teenage sounding voice call from outside. “Oliver and two others approach.”
“Excuse me,” Sir Oliver’s father said brushing past her.
A short moment later, Sir Oliver followed by Endellion and Sir Oisin enter the house. Endellion glances at her than Crimthann. “Congrats Uncle Crimthann and Aunt Swan on your marriage,” Endellion says mischievously
She stares at Endellion’s face. The quarter-eared woman no longer has a furious hate in her eyes.
“We were planning to,” fumbles out of Crimthann’s mouth.
“Endellion and I are married,” Sir Oliver says dryly, “But strictly platonically since she believes we’re siblings.”
“He’s also married to Lara, her sister, and also her mother,” Endellion adds.
“And you, Sir Oisin?” she asks.
With a sly grin she hears him say, “Not yet.”
She embraces Endellion tightly. The girl has been through so much. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“We can’t stay,” she hears Sir Oliver say in a solemn tone. “I need to ask the giants and dwarves to help the kingdom fight off Sir Ganbold and likely now Sir Afamefuna’s army.”
“What?” Sir Oliver mother’s ask. She has thick grey hair tied up in a bun with a few strands of auburn. The sides of her eyes have laughing wrinkles as does the skin at the side of her lips. She is a robust woman with a round bosom and hips but a narrow waist. Her eyes though, are a dark penetrating blue. “Why are friends and comrades fighting against each other?”
“I’ll explain tonight but first thing tomorrow we must be on our way,” Sir Oliver says, sitting on a bench while one of his cousins passes him a pewter mug of mead. “I’ll have to leave the farm in your hands while I’m gone. Every man is to train with bow and sword daily now,” she hears him say towards his father. “Uncle,” he says towards Crimthann, “I could truly use your help in negotiating with the giants and dwarves. Sir Olaf also wants them to help change the direction of the river.”
“I will,” she hears Crimthann reply. “But I’m not sure they should be encouraged to be on Sir Olaf’s side.”
“You mean the kingdom’s?” Sir Oliver says.
“No, I mean Sir Olaf’s. I know I’m putting my neck out here but there’s nothing good about the current regent. And we already know what happens when rivers are diverted from their natural flow. Buttigieg Gardenery has been haunted ever since and the surrounding land foul.”
“Whose side should they be on?” Sir Oliver asks with annoyance in his voice.
“Yours,” she says before Crimthann can. “Stop the coming war and absolutely stop the river from being diverted.”
Book Review of Daniel Flitton’s Lessons from the Front Office: A Guide for New Teachers
Lessons from the front Office: A Guide for New Teachers by Daniel Flitton
In Lead Without Losing Yourself: Stoic Wisdom for School Leadership, Daniel Flitton uses the philosophies of Marcus Aurealius and Saint Francis of Assisi to exemplify the importance of taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly to calmly deal with situations. Now, in Lessons from the Front Office: A Guide for New Teachers, he uses the sayings of Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli to demonstrate the important and necessary qualities of good leadership.
This is the second book in Dan Flitton’s guide to being a great teacher. He leads upcoming and current teachers through the first day to the last day when summer vacation arrives. This is an honest diary of how he learned from his own mistakes and successes how to keep school life enjoyable and important. Throughout the book he demonstrates that every aspect of teaching is an opportunity to help students grow in groups and as individuals. From the classroom to recess and assemblies he goes through how to keep students and teachers involved and the atmosphere controlled and calm.
He doesn’t just focus on good leadership but also the psychology of the classroom. Such as, students will evaluate teachers as much as teachers are evaluating them. He also discusses the importance of teacher-parent communication. He emphasizes that parents want to know that their children are safe and gaining positive skills at school.
I’ve only touched upon all the knowledge this book offers new teachers. I’d also like to point out, like his earlier book, this one is also valuable to business leaders.
Enjoy learning from a passionate teacher and vice principal with over thirty years of experience!
Lessons from the Front Office: A Guide for New Teachers is available HERE
Madame Swan walks Fylste through the forest that hides the hidden valley. She’s glad it’s daylight now because they are alone. Every so often she pats the Cleveland Bay’s neck and talks to the mare whose ears alternate from pricked forward to sideways. Once the land is clear she rides a path towards Sir Oliver’s family farmland. She hopes Crimthann is there.
As she rides closer, she sees Sir Oliver’s brothers and cousins working the fields. English Longhorns with their long curving horns and predominantly white mottled red and white fur pulling a wagon nearly covered in buckets full of potatoes. She sits higher on Fylste and stares around but doesn’t see Crimthann or any of the elders. She rides towards the stone farmhouse built against a hill and roofed with sod.
She dismounts and ties Fylste to a fencepost near the house. She makes sure Fylste can nibble on long grass and reach a nearby trough of water. Next, taking in a deep breath she knocks on the oak door.
Sir Oliver’s father answers the door. He looks past her and around then says in his deep, calm voice, “Madame Swan, come in.”
Before she can step over the threshold, Crimthann has shoved his brother aside and wrapped her in his arms. “Is everything okay,” he asks into her ear.
“I’m good but I’m worried about Endellion. She hasn’t returned to the hidden valley yet.”
“Come in and rest and will discuss a plan.”
She hugs him tighter. “This feels like the war years,” she says and is surprised at the little girl sound to her own voice.
Crimthann takes her hand and leads her to a table lit with candles and covered in plates and goblets. “I’ve not told my brother about our encounter,” he says in a hushed voice.
