“There’s earth right under our feet,” he said. “Earth and roots and worms – it can break through any time.”
How could I have known the ruined castle would terrorise him so? Imagined tourneys and jousting and round tables was what I expected. Instead, he saw decay, a child’s first glimpse of our impermanent hold on eternity.
“Everything’s okay, sweetie,” I said. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”
He seemed to recover until building began on the plot next-door.
Looking into the foundations’ depth he screamed, “dirt.”
For the next decade he wailed and fought whenever we took him outside.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on plot and endings.