The first chapter of a new young adult novel I've been working on - any and all comments are welcome so long as they're not "that's awesome" or "that was terrible." Constructive criticism only please! I know it's a bit long, so even if you just read the first or second section and comment on that, that would be helpful (though of course I would like comments on the end of it as well!). Thanks in advance!

I lay on my back in the cool grass and felt the gentle warmth of the sun on my face. Yet simultaneously, so faint as to be almost imperceptible, I could feel the hard grain of a chair beneath me and the gravel of the road rough against my bare feet. The dew of the grass was wet against my cheek, but my skin remained dry. It was easy to ignore these distant sensations in the presence of the vividness of my surroundings.

Colors were heightened beyond their usual vivacity. They were somehow more full of life than their ordinary counterparts, as though the everyday versions were mere imitations of the real colors which now surrounded me. The air, too, was purer, sweeter than it had ever tasted, not marred with foul odors, as if the very concept of such a thing couldn't even exist in the same world as that air.

Music filled the air around me, but it was subtle, perhaps because it simply was the grass, the air, the sky. It was woven into their very being; it somehow defined them. The music itself was sweet, but not strong enough to make it unbearably so. It was calm, but full of intensity, emotion, beauty.

I loved it. I thought nothing could ever be more pleasant than the world in which I lay. The music began to fade, as I knew it must, and I sighed, a mixture of enjoyment and disappointment. It was the worst aspect to anything wonderful: it always had an inevitable end.

As the notes grew further apart and gradually decrescendoed into nothing, the world around me appeared to sag in discontent mirroring my own. The colors became mundane and common, and the air began to gain smells of smoke, waste, and unwashed bodies. The lovely softness of the grass beneath my back was gradually replaced by the smooth hardness of the chair and the small stones forever determined to leave their mark on my feet.

I blinked, and the world around me had completely transformed. Gone was the meadow and the clear sky, replaced by a simple town square. A large well occupied the center of the square, and at its base tiny flowers showed the first evidence of spring. The clouds were few and the sun had finally begun to warm the chill winter air.

As the well was a central meeting place for the town folk, the town square was always busy with people meeting to gossip and take a few minutes from their work as they drew their water. Today, however, it was a good deal more interesting than its usual state: it was overflowing with jugglers, acrobats, magicians, and merchants, all equipped with something intended for no other purpose than to delight the festival goers. None of these, in my mind, however, compared to the minstrels.

The troupe that had just finished playing was receiving a loud and enthusiastic round of applause. I was still caught up in the vestiges of the magic left by the music, but I reluctantly shook it off, and joined in. It had been a genuinely excellent performance, the best of any at the Spring Festival so far as I could remember.

The minstrels were wiping down their instruments and lovingly placing them into their cases. I made a face – there would be no more music today – and turned to look at the girl sitting next to me. She had pulled a hairpin from the centaur's knot on her head, and was using it to clean the dirt from under her fingernails.

I rolled my eyes at her, amused and exasperated. "Oh, come on, then, you can't find it that tedious, Raven."

Raven gave an exaggerated sigh and slowly slid the hairpin back into its proper place in the black hair that was her namesake. Her given name was Mara, but I'd never heard anyone call her that.

"You're lucky that I'm such a devoted, selfless friend, Maelie, to come and sit through these dull displays." Raven remarked with her natural flair for the dramatic. "You know I care nothing for music."

I fought the impulse to roll my eyes again. "You enjoy it just as much as the next person, Raven, and you know it."

"True, true," she agreed, inspecting her newly cleaned fingernails, and apparently unaware she had contradicted herself. "Now can we please go look at the merchants' wares? There isn't much time left before the picnic, and we've wasted so much time already."

I tried to imitate Raven's melodramatic sigh. "If we must. I suppose it's now my turn to be the devoted, selfless friend." I tried to hold a serious, resigned expression, but a giggle burst free.

Raven only watched me, grinning, amused as ever when I tried to imitate her. I had always thought Raven was wasted as an innkeeper's daughter; she would have taken like a duck to water in a player's troupe.

I stood from my chair and smoothed my skirts, the fabric far softer and cleaner than I was accustomed to, for I saved my sole nice gown for festival days to prevent it from being sullied like my other frocks.

Raven rose as well, and I followed her away from the stage set up in the corner of the square and into the throng. I didn't mind in the least looking at the merchants' wares, any more than Raven minded listening to the minstrels. While merchant caravans often came through our small town on the way to the capital, they usually carried only mundane items for the household. It was now, at the yearly Spring Festival, that the true wonders were displayed.

We approached a merchant's stall which sold cheap magical trinkets that were fascinating nonetheless: small figurines of dancers who actually moved, slowly repeating their graceful movements time and again; a ball that whistled cheerfully whenever it was thrown in the air; a device that would tell you when your meat had heated sufficiently; a small light for reading that burned without oil or wood.

It was simple, commonplace magic that, I supposed, those in large cities probably never thought twice about. It was rarely seen in my village, and so something of a novelty, but even so it could never compare to the deep set magic wrought by music, which even the most learned magician had yet to fully understand.

"Come on," said Raven, impatiently, and I realized I'd been lost in thought. "I think I see Gavyn."

I looked up from the table of magical oddities and, sure enough, striding towards us was a young man, grinning widely. "I just succeeded in selling the last of my grain to one of the merchants," he informed us, a rather smug smile on his face.

Raven tsked at him. "Only a farmer would even think of working on a festival day. It's our one time of year to really relax, Gavyn, enjoy it!"

Gavyn scoffed. "So says the innkeeper's daughter who will surely have to help wait tables tonight because of all the surplus guests."

Raven could not be fazed so easily. "Ah, but that is not until this evening, and all of the enjoyment is to be had now," she retorted.

"She's right, you know, Gavyn," I said, "While you've been off selling grain, we've been listening to music, and –"

Gavyn's groan cut me off mid-sentence. "Don't say it. Shopping." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You don't think I picked this time to work by accident, do you?" He winked conspiratorially at me. Raven cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

"Oh, stop, shopping with us is not that bad."

"Of course not," he said mildly, raising one brow. "But, see, now I've managed to avoid it and sell all my wheat. A day of many accomplishments if I do say so." The smug smile was back.

"Don't," I said, and Gavyn chuckled.

"Let's just go and enjoy the picnic, shall we? Since Raven is so put out that I've missed all the fun, we'd better not miss this part."

The picnic at the annual Spring Festival was a ancient, outdated (in my mind) tradition that dated back who knew how many generations, and it was not one I was particularly fond of. Each young lady made a picnic basket, decorated in spring colors, and filled with a homemade picnic supper. It would then be auctioned off to the highest bidder, who would win not only the basket and the food within, but also the company of the young woman who made it.

For those like Raven, whose simple beauty seemed to come naturally and without effort, there was never any shortage of young men falling over each other – and themselves – to bid on their baskets. For those like myself, however – well, I liked to believe my beauty lay within, and the young men were just too daft to see it. But despite telling myself this repeatedly every year, I could never quite overcome the sting of hurt and embarrassment that always ensued when no one bid on my basket. I had few hopes that this year would be any different.

I forced a smile for the sake of my friends. They truly enjoyed the auction and picnic, and I didn't want to ruin it for them with my whining.

The auctioneer, a skinny reed of a man who, for the remainder of the year, ran the only mercantile in town, stood on the stage where the minstrels had performed, arranging the baskets on the stage in a manner pleasing to the eye. I eyed my basket, wondering what my mother had fixed this year. Typically the lady in question was to do the cooking for her own basket, but my skills at the cooking fire were so dismal that my mother took pity on me.

The magicians, jugglers, and acrobats had all finished their performances; the merchants were closing their stalls. The local villagers and the strangers from neighboring villages were all crowding in around the stage in anticipation of the auction.

I resisted the urge to sigh wistfully. I would prefer the minstrels to come back instead.

"All right, then, ladies and gentlemen." The auctioneer's voice was magnified by another of those magical trinkets, and it carried easily over the crowd. "Let's begin with this lovely little basket right here. Do I hear five coppers?"

I looked around for the owner of the basket, and spotted the blacksmith's daughter, clearly trying not to look self-conscious, but blushing furiously. Tradition stated that no one was to know which girl made each basket, but everyone always knew.

The basket was quickly purchased by a young man blushing equally as furiously, and from there time raced uncomfortably on. Raven's basket, as usual, went for an outrageous sum of money, and the young man who bought it had a look on his face suggesting he couldn't quite believe his luck. I shook my head fondly, and glanced at Gavyn standing next to me. He smiled, then reverted his attention back to the stage. I wondered why he hadn't bid yet – several young ladies' baskets which he had bid on in years past had come and gone, and he hadn't bid a single copper. I mentally shrugged. Perhaps he had newfound interest in someone else and hadn't yet told Raven or me about it.

Several more baskets had been sold while I was pondering this, and I suppressed a groan as the auctioneer pulled mine from atop the pile.

"Well, here we have a quaint little basket, and from the smells issuing from it, a delectable meal. Five coppers! Anyone?"

For one agonizing moment, silence spread over the square. I tried not to squirm and to ignore the eyes covertly – and overtly – trained on me. I was just wishing that I could melt into the ground when a smooth voice called out, "Five coppers!"

I glanced, startled, at Gavyn beside me, who hastily tried to disguise his surprised look. I searched the crowd, trying to locate the speaker, and finally spotting him near the front.

The man stood with his back to me, facing the stage, his arm in the air to make his bid. I couldn't tell much about him, except that he seemed to be about my age and was definitely no one I recognized.

The auctioneer cleared his throat. "Five coppers, then, do I hear ten coppers?"

"Fifteen!" said a new voice to my left. I stared in shock – the voice had come from Gavyn. He stared resolutely at the stage, refusing to meet my gaze, but I could see the beginnings of a blush creeping out from his ears. I didn't know whether to be touched, embarrassed, or outraged. I frowned – outrage was the easiest. I wasn't at all sure which was worse – being bid on out of pity or having no bids at all.

The stranger seemed quite determined to win my basket – was it possible he didn't realize who it belonged to? – but he eventually gave in when Gavyn forced the price up to an entire silver. A silver! Did Gavyn even possess an entire silver?

I stood dazed through the remainder of the auction, aware that Gavyn stood next to me, my basket held lightly in his hands, and for all I could tell completely at ease. I shook myself out of it when the auction ended and people began to disperse, families and couples alike heading out to enjoy their picnics.

Gavyn glanced at me and gestured that I follow, ignoring what I'm sure was a myriad of emotions on my face, and strode off into the crowd.

I hurried to catch up. My anger had faded, leaving only a trace of embarrassment. "You really didn't have to do that, you know."

He chuckled. "It was worth it just to see the look on your face."

I glared good-naturedly at him. "I didn't want your pity bid."

Gavyn's expression morphed from amused to serious in a heartbeat, with a glint in his eye I couldn't quite identify. Hurt? "It wasn't a pity bid, Maelie. How could you think that? We're friends. We've always been friends, ever since our mothers changed our diapers together."

"But you've never done it before," I pointed out softly. "You've always bid on someone you're sweet on."

"Which is why I thought it was high time I bid on my closest friend's. Besides, you and I don't get much quality time together, just us two."" He winked, his serious expression gone.

I gave him a smile in return as we settled under a tree to enjoy the picnic. We had gone a fair ways from the center of town, but I could still catch glimpses of other couples sharing their baskets, often shyly glancing at each other. I flushed, and stared at the ground in an attempt to hide it.

"Well, thank you, Gavyn," I said, thinking about how unsettling it was having the picnic with a young man instead of my family, even if that young man was someone I had been in diapers with, as Gavyn had been so kind as to mention.

"You're welcome." His gaze was on the basket.

Trying unsuccessfully to shake off the awkwardness of the moment, I reached into the basket to discover what my mother had packed. My stomach growled in anticipation: meat pies, soft bread with real butter, a true luxury, dried fruit and nuts, and a bottle of rice wine. I spent a few moments arranging it all, casting around for something intelligent to say.

"Did you really work all day?" was what I finally came up with. Not precisely the witty statement I'd been looking for.

Gavyn chuckled, and I glanced up to meet his eyes.

"Ah, Maelie, 'he who neglects his work today only has more to do tomorrow.'" Gavyn quoted the common proverb and assumed an comically virtuous expression. .

I snorted. "Of course, you only worked on festival day for your own benefit, admit it!"

Gavyn wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. "Well, it was either work, or be subjected to hours upon hours of Raven analyzing every ware for sale. I prefer work to torture."

I laughed, and stuffed a pastry into his mouth.




Time passed quickly after that. Gavyn and I had been friends for so long, that soon all discomfort over the circumstances had disappeared, and it became just like any other time – though times with just the two of us were generally infrequent. Nonetheless, I soon forgot that this was meant to be a "couples" picnic and simply relaxed.

When the sunk began to sink below the horizon, we repacked the basket with the now empty containers and stood, heading back toward the square to seek out our families. As we walked I heard the sound of running feet behind us, and turned to see Raven hurrying to catch up with us.

"Wait up, you two," she panted, even as she reached us and tucked her arm in mine.

I eyed Raven's slightly disheveled state with amusement. "Have a nice time at the picnic then, Raven?"

She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. It was remarkable that even with her hair escaping its knot and her nose furrowed in distaste, she still was the very picture of beauty. "No, it was awful. I swear, every year I get someone who's either so full of himself that he can't do anything but talk about himself, or so in awe of me that I can't get a word of sense out of him."

"Which was it this year?" I asked, trying to be sympathetic, but not quite succeeding.

"Oh, the former. This bloke's head was so large and empty it would probably float in water. Gift of the gods to females, he was. You're lucky, Maelie." Raven gave another of her dramatic sighs.

I gave a startled little laugh. "Me? Why?"

"Because, of course, you got to spend the picnic with someone who might actually be able to formulate an entire sentence, and about something other than himself."

"Oh, I don't know," said Gavyn with a smirk, "I think that gods just might have created me as a gift to females as well." Gavyn sucked air into his chest, trying to look manly and muscular, a difficult feat for his wiry body.

Raven and I shared a glance, then burst out laughing.

We were still chuckling when I spotted my family, reclining on a blanket in one corner of the square. The remains of their picnic supper littered the blanket, and my baby brother Caleb crawled determinedly from one place to the next, attempting to put anything and everything in his mouth. Mother patiently moved things out of his reach and finally pulled him, squirming, into her lap.

I plopped down between my parents; Gavyn and Raven both sat as well, though far more gracefully.

I kissed Papa on the cheek and reached over to relieve my mother of my fussing brother. He settled into my lap and grazed at me with trusting eyes. He smiled, and I couldn't help but reach down and kiss the dimples on his cheeks.

"Where have you been all day, Mother? I didn't see you at the festival at all."

"Oh, I was dealing with a last minute crisis back at the farm. I discovered a whole nest of mice in the last of our flour, and I've been trying to track down someone with some to sell." Her lips pursed at this unforeseen expense. "I heard you were selling your surplus today, Gavyn."

Gavyn looked apologetic. "Yes, but I actually sold the last of it this afternoon."

Mother sighed. "Well, thank you anyway. I'm sure I'll be able to find some one with wheat yet to sell – most have been too preoccupied with the festival to even talk to me about it today."

I frowned, concerned. "Why didn't you just leave it until tomorrow then? It's not as if we need the flour this very day."

Mother gave a weary smile. "Yes, well, I never can seem to let these things go until they're dealt with."

"You do work far too hard, my dear," said Papa. "The farm will keep for one day while we all take a well-earned break." Mother nodded absently; she was well used to Papa urging her not to work so hard. "Coddling," she called it.

Papa turned to me. "I hope you three all enjoyed your picnics?" Papa asked, and quirked an eyebrow inquisitively at me. He knew as well as I did how I felt about the picnic. I worked hard not to blush.

"Well –" began Raven, assuming a tragic expression.

"Raven had a perfectly awful time," I said, cutting her off. "So don't let her start. I can only listen to a rant about the shortcomings of men so many times in one day."

Papa and Gavyn both chuckled; Raven stuck her tongue out at me.

"Very well, then," said Papa, "Raven did not enjoy a pleasant meal." Papa paused, his eyes twinkling, and I was impressed at his restraint in not adding "as usual."

"And, you, Maelie? Did you enjoy yourself?"

I opened by mouth to speak, but closed it again almost immediately, not quite sure what to say. Gavyn rescued me.

"It was quite the opposite of Raven's experience, sir." Raven pretended to look affronted, but he ignored her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "But of course, Maelie and I being such old friends, it was only natural."

"Of course, of course." Papa turned back to me. "And how were the minstrels, Maelie? I was caring for Caleb, so I missed their performance."

I gladly launched into the less embarrassing topic. "They were extraordinary this year, Papa. The real world almost disappeared completely, the illusion was so complete." I sighed wistfully. "I wish I could do that."

"You know, Maelie, that troupe of minstrels is staying at the Sleeping Dragon," said Raven. "Mayhap you could come by this evening and talk to them."

I was quiet for a moment, one hand absently stroking Caleb's belly, as I tried to hide my rising excitement. It would be wonderful to be able to talk to master minstrels; I had never before had the opportunity, and this troupe was particularly talented. I glanced at my father, whose face was expressionless, and blurted, "but I can't. I have my evening chores at home. Besides, they're probably too busy to talk to me." I was trying to sound nonchalant, but I don't think I quite managed it.

Raven was shaking her head before I'd even finished speaking. "Of course, they'd talk to you, Maelie! I've spoken to them a few times since they got here, they're all quite friendly, and all masters love to talk about their work." Raven's expression indicated that she knew this all too well from years of serving strangers at the Sleeping Dragon.

"Oh, go on, then," said Papa, "I can feed your cows for one night."

I grinned and kissed him on the cheek again. "Thank you, Papa!"




Shafts of dying sunlight pierced the smoky air of the inn's common room, illuminating certain tables with dim light. Oil lamps burned in the corners where the natural light did not reach, casting a flickering light that battled with the shadows. The room was bustling with locals taking advantage of their brief respite from constant work by indulging in a vast amount of ale and gossip and with strangers who had traveled here for the festival and who either joined in gaily with the gossip or furtively glanced around, avoiding conversation.

In one corner sat a single minstrel, strumming lightly on his mandola and singing the familiar ballad "The Lady of Tendan Isle." Before him, though it was difficult to see in the trembling light, was the Lady of Tendan Isle, a mere foot tall but exquisitely detailed down to the embroidery on her flowing ball gown and the expression of near desperation on her miniature features as she danced to please the evil tyrant who held her captive.

The depth and variety of the illusions created by music never failed to fascinate me. Whether it was the nearly absolute illusions created by masters like those I had heard earlier, through which the listener was drawn into the illusion itself and, in the best of them, barely realized it was an illusion at all, or the far simpler version that could be conjured by any decent minstrel which created small, slightly transparent illusions which danced or acted out the story of the music.

When the minstrel caught my eye, he smiled at me and winked, then returned his focus to his music. The elderly musician and I had long been friends, since I had been begging him for more and more knowledge of music since I was old enough to formulate a question. Taegan had patiently taught me much of the theory of musical illusions, demonstrating that as the music grew more intricate and difficult, the illusions also grew in detail and complexity. Occasionally he even let me try a few simple chords on his mandola, but as I had no instrument of my own and could not often get away from the farm to practice, all I could manage was to create a few shimmering colors in the air.

"There they are," said Raven, indicating a group of a dozen or so men and women in one corner of the room, all eating, drinking, and clearly determined to relax after a day of working at the festival.

I hesitated, uneasy about interrupting a group of strangers in their revelry, but Raven had no such qualms. She latched onto my elbow and pulled me forward.

Up close, I saw that the group ranged from an elderly man, probably near the age of Taegan, down to, I noticed with a start, a youth and a girl around my own age. All of them stopped eating and talking as they noticed Raven and me.

"Well, hullo, there, lass," said the eldest. "'Tis Raven, am right?"

"It is, sir," said Raven, bobbing her head politely. "This my friend, Maelie." I bobbed my head, too, and tried to smile though inside I was quivering with nerves. "She's always been somewhat fascinated by music, and was wondering if she could have a talk with you about it."

The old man's face broke into a smile. "Why, certainly, lass. There's nothing a minstrel loves more than meetin' another music lover. Come, lass, sit yerself down." The man's expression was so open and friendly that I felt little hesitation about sliding onto the bench across from him, next to the girl who was around my age.

Raven bent and whispered in my ear. "Good luck!" She winked, and before I could utter a sound, she'd disappeared into the masses of people.

I turned back to the troupe of minstrels, feeling a little lost, and having no idea what to say. I was spared having to come up with something, for the old man promptly began to speak again.

"Well, then, lass, me name be Daragh." he began, going on to rapidly name the rest of the company, who all seemed to be related to him in some way, and whose names I forgot almost the moment he informed me of them. I only noted the names of the two youngest ones: his granddaughter, Alessi, and his grandson, Dom.

I smiled shyly at each of them as he finished the introductions and fell silent. There was a moment's awkward silence before I realized they were waiting for me to speak. "Oh, my name's Maelie."

"'Tis our pleasure to meet ye Maelie," said the one sitting next to me, Alessi. "Are ye from this village here, or are ye just visitin' for the festival?"

"I live on a farm not too far out of the village; I've lived there all my life." And, indeed, I'd never been further away than the nearest village, but I didn't want to say that to this group, who had clearly traveled the world and, given their strange manner of speaking, were not from Lithyan.

"Ah, a farm girl, then," said Alessi. "There isna much o' farmland in Mesana. The ground is too rocky, or so I'm told. A minstrel's daughter doesna know much o' farmin', but I've always gathered

'tis hard work."

I nodded. "Very hard. And sometimes with little reward, if the weather's bad."

"Aye, there be many fishin' communities in Mesana, and the storms can make fer bad fishin' as well."

Dom, the youth sitting across from me, sighed a dramatic sigh. I tried not to smile; he reminded strongly of Raven. "And why is it we're talkin' about the weather? I thought she wanted to talk about music."

Next to me, Alessi rolled her eyes. "Just ignore me wee brother, Maelie. He doesna understand the concept of 'small talk.'"

"Wee?" Dom's entire countenance was that of utter mock outrage. "Well if I be wee, then ye be wee also, for I be only three minutes younger than ye!" He gave a triumphant laugh.

"Three minutes?" I repeated, surprised. "Are you two twins?"

"Yes," said Alessi and Dom together, both in tones of long suffering, then, sharing a glance, both burst out laughing together.

"Ye see, we only pretend to fight, on principle. 'Tis what siblings do, as I'm sure ye know."

"My only sibling is my younger brother, and he's not a year old."

Alessi looked startled. "That young? I canna imagine such an age difference."

I shrugged. "It's fairly common around here."

"How –" began Alessi, then she stopped. "No, Dom's right fer once. Ye came over here to talk about music." Alessi ignored Dom's smirk at this. "How is it a farm girl got so interested in music?"

I shrugged again. "I've always been fascinated by it. I grew up always looking forward to the spring festival, our only real break from work all year, and every year there'd be music. Taegan – he's the one playing now, over there –" I jerked my head over to where Taegan was strumming a jig on his mandola, "he noticed how much I loved it even when I was a young child, and he befriended me. I've always wished I could play, but I never had the time to learn." Or the money, I added silently. "Though Taegan has taught me some of the theory, and a few chords on his mandola, and I often sing to myself while I work. But all I can manage to make the air shimmer a bit." I grimaced regretfully, thinking of my lack of skill.

My reaction was not shared among the minstrels; rather, they exchanged glances, full of meaning that I could not decipher.

"Ye say ye can make the air shimmer, lass?" asked the old one, Daragh. "Would ye mind givin' us a demonstration?"

My cheeks reddened at the thought of displaying my meager skills in front of these masters. "I can't. I don't have an instrument."

"Well, there's no stopping you using the instrument we all carry around with us, lass."

"Yer voice," Dom added in response to my bemused expression.

"Oh, I couldn't," I protested. My usual audience consisted of the pigs, the cows, and the barley, an audience far less demanding than any human, and likely to be far less critical.

"Lass, if ye've any desire to be a minstrel, ye must get over yer shyness over performin' before strangers." Daragh's eyes were understanding. "Ye might as well start now."

"Very well." I took a deep breath, and, hoping my voice would not quiver and betray my nerves, cast around for a song. Remembering what Taegan had been singing when I first came into inn, I began the ballad of the Lady of Tendan Isle, the familiar words rolling off my tongue.

As I sang, I forgot that I was singing for strangers, forgot to be nervous, and became completely absorbed, enthralled by the winding melody and the dancing colors in the air, and the room around me disappeared as surely as if I had been listening to masters play.

I finished the ballad, and reality reasserted itself with an unpleasant suddenness. The noise of the crowded common room returned, and I felt my cheeks warm again as I realized the gazes of all the minstrels were fixed upon me.

The silence stretched as they stared at me and I stared at the table before me, examining the remains of someone's supper.

Then Daragh cleared his throat. "Well, lass, ye've a great store o' talent."

I shook my head in denial. "But you saw – all I

Wildbluefaerie,
I very much enjoyed this. Since you asked for constructive criticism, I would explain who the characters are either before you start the story or before to jump to a new one (for example, her other friend Gavyn -- the reader don't really know how the others know his name, even though it's inferred. And on that note, who is Dom? Another elder? The only other comment would be that the chapter seems unfinished, but the computer probably did that, so yoiu can fill us in , in Chapter 2. I hope this advice helps.
~Davidf

Thanks :)



I don't really like to do that - I prefer to show who the characters are through their interactions with each other. I thought it was pretty obvious that they knew his name because they were friends. Or at the very least, when they first see him, it's obvious that they at least know him. Later on I say explicitly that they've been friends their entire lives. Honestly, I don't see where the confusion is coming from. Are you suggesting I say something like

"Come on," said Raven, impatiently. "I think I see Gavyn."
I looked up from the table of magical oddities and, sure enough, striding towards us was Gavyn, the third member of our trio of friends, grinning widely.



"Well, then, lass, me name be Daragh." he began, going on to rapidly name the rest of the company, who all seemed to be related to him in some way, and whose names I forgot almost the moment he informed me of them. I only noted the names of the two youngest ones: his granddaughter, Alessi, and his grandson, Dom.

...
Dom, the youth sitting across from me, sighed a dramatic sigh.



Yeah, you're right, I didn't notice that the computer chopped it off. Here's the rest of it:

I shook my head in denial. "But you saw – all I can do it make a few mere shimmers."
"Lass," began Daragh gently, "I do no' ken how yer minstrel friend has failed to tell ye this, but 'tis extremely rare for one with no training to make any illusion at all. That ye can make even these 'mere' shimmers shows that ye do indeed have a substantial amount of talent, even if it would take a good deal of trainin' to make a master o' ye."
"But I'm not going to be a master," I said. "Why, I'd have to have lessons, and an instrument, there'd be no one to teach me but Taegan, and I can't leave the farm very often."
Daragh waved all these protests aside. "Why not go to the capital? I wager you'd find many a master there to teach ye."
I paused. "I haven't the money to pay for lessons," I finally admitted. "And besides, I could never leave my family. They need me to help with the farm."
"Ye ken, Maelie," said Alessi, "though we've not been to yer capital before, we've heard tell from other minstrels that there be masters there who will take ye on talent alone, if ye've enough of it."
"She's right," said Daragh. "No master worth his salt would turn away a truly talented student just because she doesna have the money to pay for lessons. And as fer leavin' yer family... well. That's up to ye, now, is it no'? If ye really have a desire to become a minstrel, ye'll find a way to make it happen, find the courage to leave home."
I was silent for a moment, and the minstrels let me think. The thought of learning to sing and play properly, to be immersed in music, was enticing. To be free forever from tedious farm work, and instead working in music would be rather like a dream. But how could I ever leave? I had never been farther from home than the next village, and that only a few times. And my family. Mother, Papa, and little Caleb. How could I ever leave them? And what about Gayvn, and Raven? I couldn't imagine leaving all that was familiar, all that I loved. The thought of the capital city, with its thousands of people, and not knowing a single one of them, was intimidating at the least, and downright terrifying to consider facing alone.
"Grandda," began Dom thoughtfully, "we be heading that way once we leave the village. How would it be if she came with us?"
Daragh nodded to his grandson before turning his kindly brown eyes back to me. "That's right, lass. We be staying for another week or so here, to take a little rest from our journey, but then we be heading off to yer capital. We'd be right pleased if ye came with us. We could see ye safely to the capital, and we'll likely stay there a good moon afore moving on, so at least ye wouldn't be completely alone."
I was taken aback. "That very kind of you," I started, but I was interrupted by a raucous commotion from outside the inn. I frowned. "What's going on?" I tried to hear what the voices were shouting, but it was impossible to pull one voice out from the many.
The door of the inn burst open with so much force that it slammed into the wall. The resulting crash caused the entire common room to grow quiet. A young man I didn't recognize ran inside, panting with exertion. "F-fire!" he managed between gasps. "F-fire! The farmhouse over by the creak! It's up in flames!"
For an agonizing moment I thought my heart had come to a halt. Then it came to life again, thundering painfully in my head, drowning out the roar of noise and action that met this pronouncement. Before it had even managed to thump a score of times, I was on my feet and sprinting past the man and out the door of the inn.
The wind, bitter with a persistent chill, pulled my hair loose from its ties, and it whipped around my face as I ran with all my might toward the flames eerily stark against the sky.
Mother! Papa! Caleb! I repeated their names like a litany as I sprinted towards them, my skirts hitched up to my hips so I could run that much faster.
I heard the rattle of a wagon on the road behind me, and it soon overtook me.
"Maelie!"
I heard the voice as through a thick fog; I had focused my mind entirely on running, on reaching my family before it was too late.
"Maelie!" the voice persisted.
I stopped running, and nearly fell to the ground as my head began to spin and my side to throb. Gavyn leaped from the wagon seat and put his arms around me to support me. "There's no way you can run the entire way to the farm! Come on," and he helped me into the wagon and whipped the horses into a gallop. Dimly I noticed that the bed of the wagon was full of pots, pans, and buckets.
"To fill with water," said Gavyn, noticing the direction of my gaze. "Thank the heavens that your farmhouse is on the stream!"
I couldn't respond, my entire being centered on the sickening sight of the flames licking the sky in the distance. The rest of the world had ceased to exist. The nightmarish sight only continued to grow as we approached, and as Gavyn halted the wagon at my farmhouse, I barely registered that there was already a crowd of people gathered here. They descended on the wagon frantically, pulling vessels from the bed and running toward to creek to fill them.
I jumped from the wagon seat and ran to my parents. Mother was screaming and crying hysterically, fighting desperately against Papa to return to the house. Papa had tears streaming down his face, but he made no noise, only staring in mute horror at the sight of the flames hungrily devouring his home.
"Caleb! My Caleb!" screamed my mother.
For a second time, I thought my heart had ceased to beat. Wildly, desperately I searched the crowd, now realizing which face was missing from it. Caleb! He must be still in the house!
I stood frozen with terror and despair. Mother broke free of Papa's grasp and ran toward the house.
"No, Cara!" shouted Papa, sprinting after her and disappearing into the flames.
I broke free of the terror that immobilized me and started to run after them, but something restrained me. Gavyn. He had locked his arms around me. I kicked and screamed, but his arms would not yield.
A horrendous, deafening crack resounded through the night, silencing the shouts and the screams. Everyone had frozen in their tasks, faces turned towards the house as it collapsed into itself with a mighty crash.
A scream filled the air, loud and shrill and heartbroken, but it was a few moments before I realized that it issued from my own throat. In a final desperate move, I jabbed Gavyn with my elbow, taking advantage of his stunned shock, and broke free of his grasp. But in the sudden release of energy, I toppled forward. Pain blossomed in my head and I knew no more.

wildbluefaerie,
Much better. I like your edits and the rest of the story.
~Davidf