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Tag: children

The Barbarian versus The Nomads

Here is another excerpt from my WIP The Barbarian. In this section, the Barbarian, who is still unnamed, has just returned from scouting with his trainer. The main Shandan Nomad (Shandan is the desert they are in charge of ruling with tyrant abandon, if you will) is resting, as is his second-in-command, and the one left in charge, Shenkar, hates the boy more than the other two do. In the distance, they can see a cloud of dust, and the Nomad who has better long range vision sees the group of Wizards riding hard toward them. It’s a bit rough, as it is still 1st draft, but I’m sure you can get the gist of it. Well, have a look:   Nomads No More Shenkar saw the scouts returning at a leisurely pace after exploring the route to the east. Bolthed and Akheem left him in charge when they retired to one of the wagons for a brief respite, with orders to be called only if needed. Two days prior, a scout from the Wastes had brought them news of the annihilation of their allies, the Destined Ones. He also told of the warning relayed that the Nomads would be next. Bolthed immediately put the band on alert” “The way is clear for the next league, my Lord,” the older scout reported. “Get some rest, then prepare to go back out.” As they turned to leave, the trainer pointed to the north. “My lord, Shenkar; look.” A cloud of dust…

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#BlogBattle 47- Forest

Here we are, submitting another story for the #BlogBattle posts. Now, for another surprise, this is close enough to reality to call non-fiction, by the teachings I’ve had. I say, “…a surprise…” because I do non-fiction about as often as Romance, which I did on the last submission I made. Let us not dwell on reasons or excuses, I’ll just write what pops up. Like I can control my thoughts, right?   Be that as it may. On to brighter things: #BlogBattle Number 47 Rules: 1000 words max fictional tale (or true if you really want) PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly! Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related. Go for the entertainment value! State the Genre of your story at the top of your post. Post your story on Tuesday, by 11:59 PM PST Use the hashtag #BlogBattle when tweeting your story, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this page, and/or include a link to this page in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post) Have fun!   My offering this week is a little, and by little, I mean a whopping 340 words, short about when Dad took us camping in our youth. Could be one of the reasons I like mid-70’s station wagons so…

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Deadly Cavern

Deadly Cavern (c) 2012, by John T. M. Herres   “Are you sure this is it?” Jake squatted down and leaned his head into the opening. Barely three-and-a-half feet high and two feet wide, the jagged, oblong hole seemed to want to swallow anyone who dared to enter. Moving forward, he withdrew his green flip-top lighter, the tell-tale ‘click-zip’ of the lid and striker echoing into the darkness. The flame leapt up and began an erratic dance, flashing yellow and blue, leaning toward the black emptiness as if it were eager to lead the way further into the tunnel. “I got a breeze,” he said, the rock absorbing most of the timbre of his voice yet still bouncing it around a few times before fading entirely. “It has to go somewhere.” He backed out and stood, looking over to Harry for some kind of verification. “Well, we didn’t come all this way for nothing.” They secured their backpacks, switched on their flashlights, and ducked into the entrance. There were stories circulating the region that some others had tried exploring the cavern, never to be seen again. The boys shrugged off all warnings, dismissing them as “old wives’ tales”. “Stick close in case there are surprises,” Jake called from the lead. No matter how confident he acted, something in the back of his mind told him not to go in. “Not scared, are you?” Harry’s voice quavered slightly. Maybe he had the same misgivings, but Jake knew him well enough to…

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Family Camping

Jill with A Mom With A Lesson Plan has posted a collection of items to aid in going camping with the kids. Even if you don’t take them into the wild, you can share at least part of the adventure by setting up a “play” campsite. Here’s the picture they posted: Included in the post, they have listed a sampling of tasty sounding treats, such as: Rolo Marshmallows 50 Things to Grill in Foil (I really enjoyed these when we went camping.) Breakfast Burritos (Yum- without the onions, that is.) A whole lot of useful information! Go see what they’re up to, and you just might find some activities that excite you!   #WriteOn! — John

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The Dog Catcher- A Story for the Young

    The Dog Catcher By John T. M. Herres (c) 2011 No one else had a dog on their baseball team, but Bruce was not your average dog. When he was still a puppy, he would run back and forth as my friend, Eric, and I would play catch. The look in Bruce’s eyes was so funny that Eric and I would end up rolling around on the ground laughing. The times we would mess up a throw and the ball would get loose, Bruce would have it before we could get there, and we would have to chase him around for five minutes before we could get it back. As Bruce got bigger, Eric and I had to be a lot more careful, because Bruce was starting to jump high enough to catch the ball before we could get it. “Just throw it harder and Bruce might think it hurts too much to keep trying to catch it,” Eric told me one day. I did not want to hurt Bruce, but thought he should learn not to get in the way of Eric and me playing catch. Bruce was not going to give up. He kept following our throws, and still jumped up and got the ball. We started throwing even harder, but Bruce kept on catching them. When I talked to my Dad about it, he told me he wanted to see, so the next day Eric, Dad and I went out to throw the ball around,…

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The Barbarian, By John T. M. Herres

Chapter 1 The yellow sands of the Shandan Desert stretched from horizon to horizon, desolate and bleak. The hot, arid wind seemed always from the south, sometimes easing the grains of sand across the dunes, but more often hurling them with enough force to feel like tiny pins pricking incessantly at any exposed skin. Five figures moved through the nothingness that surrounded them. The three mules they led forged along, heads lowered, not even willing to voice protest with the granules so abundant. Each beast bore supplies and equipment for the task the men had planned, and each bundle had grey and brown hides covering them. The lead man, wrapped in dingy, white robes adorned with dull red accents, abruptly stopped and fell to his knees, then laid his hands to the scorching ground. His magic had not all been taken away by the forces of the Red Griffin. As he clenched the granules in his fists, another approached and spoke the first words any had uttered in days. “Tambur, is this the place?” They had been traveling due east for two weeks, waiting for some sign to tell them their search was finished. “Yes, my brother. I sense it.” His eyes still closed, Tambur held out his hand to receive a wooden spade. The three younger men, who had been waiting away from them, rushed forward to help begin the digging. “We must scoop out the sand eight feet down and twenty feet wide,” Tambur told them. “There, we…

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