Page critique 1/6/22

Offer up your page (or query) for Nathan's critique on the blog.
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Nathan Bransford
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Page critique 1/6/22

Post by Nathan Bransford » January 3rd, 2022, 3:36 pm

Below is the page up for critique on the blog on Thursday. Feel free to chime in with comments, create your own redline (please note the "font colour" button above the posting box, which looks like a drop of ink), and otherwise offer feedback. When offering your feedback, please please remember to be polite and constructive. In order to leave a comment you will need to register an account in the Forums, which should be self-explanatory.

I'll be back later with my own post on the blog and we'll literally be able to compare notes.

If you'd like to enter a page for a future Page Critique, please do so here.

Title: The Witches of Eastlaund Forest

Genre: Medieval Adult Fantasy Novelette

Words: 250

I am Madoc. A name given me by Darnald, the man who raised me though he claimed no kinship. Our village, Clovenshire, stood neglected on the eastern edge of the kingdom. Few who called it home could name the king or cared to whom they owed obedience. We lived in a fine cottage with two spacious rooms and a wood floor. Despite personal fortune, Darnald did nothing to hide a disdain for the people or place. As a result, tongues wagged and rumors savaged the man who neither tended animals nor tilled the earth. Minds changed on a spring day in my ninth year.

Though many years past, the events never stray far from my thoughts. Near the end of its daily trek the sun paused, as it has for millennia, over Eastlaund Forest. Four armed men approached from the west, their long shadows cast a pall over the village. Peasants up before sunrise to sow seed retreated to mud thatched homes or watched at a distance. After estimating the worth of the villagers, the men split into pairs. Two headed in our direction, one a giant, his arms thick as the limbs of an ancient oak. Hobbled by an uneven gait, he planted the butt of a heavy spear with each step. The second dragged a broadsword across rocky ground and smiled like a man arrived to court a pretty woman. Jon Dore and his child bride, Felice, ran to their tiny hut. The men at their heels.

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