I’ve been kind of unreliable with blog posts lately. This time if year isn’t good for me. Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my husband’s death. I can’t say it’s any easier this year–if anything, it’s harder. I’m more aware, less numb. People have been good to me, though, and have cut me a fair bit of slack around things that they have no reason to cut me slack over.

Some of that slack has been time to work on dragging my muse kicking and screaming back to the keyboard. I still have the Christmas story to finish, but in between bouts of staring blankly at the screen, I’ve been playing with a second world fantasy that I started a while back. My courtesan and my barbarian prince.

“I’m not tired, just comfortable.” The practiced words slipped easily from Iyani’s lips. He smiled his most appealing smile and swayed towards the prince.

Ganelon fended him off, but gently. “Sleep tonight, then tomorrow we’ll talk. Maybe when you aren’t as tired, you’ll make better decisions.” He looked down at Iyani’s hands, still clasped in his own. “For now, I want you to bring me the knife.”

Iyani took a step back and tried unsuccessfully to pull his hands out of Ganelon’s grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tugged again, his heart racing. “It was agreed. I agreed. No knives, not even to cut my food. Would I risk my amnesty for a piece of steel?”