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Ten Minute Writing: Amphibious

The writing process, warts and all.  

I'm going to try some 10-minute writing exercises.  For today, I've collected three prompts from randomready.com.  I will write for 5 minutes, pause to assess, write 5 more minutes, then edit that writing.

Here are the prompts:
  • Frogs
  • Trees
  • Canoes

Warbler

The canoes slid through the silky water.  Warble gripped his spear tightly.  There was no telling where they'd attack from.  Were they crouched in the dim recesses of the trees?  Were they lurking underneath the water?

‘We will fight like we’ve always fought.  Like rocks.’  The battle elders had given Warbler this advice time and time again.

Warble looked at the other members of his party.  The band of sixteen Salamandeans were distributed in four canoes.  Other than the rowers, all had weapons ready.  A spear here, and axe there.  The Salamandeans were skilled in hand-to-hand battle.  Veritable boulders compared to their slender foes.  

But how do boulders fight against streams of water most devious?

Without warning, a whistling sound arose.  One of the Salamandeans gripped his thick neck with a pudgy clawed hand.  He'd been hit with a dart.  He toppled over into the water, dead.  Poison.

More darts filled the air.  The Frogkin had found them.  Warble leapt madly out of the canoe.  He had to make it to land.  He splashed down into waist-high water and trudged forward.  While his kind were comfortable in the water, they were too exposed to the Frogkin's ranged weapons.

If I fail here, my people will never change.  They will bash their heads against the rock of conventional strategy again and again until they are wiped out.

He scrambled up the shore and into the relative safety of the trees.  Seven other members of his party made as well.  The rest had been felled by poison darts.  

Darts were no longer effective in the thick underbrush. The Frogkin would have to finish the fight by hand, wielding sickled shaped blades coated with more poison.  

For too long, the had prevailed with their cunning use of darts and poison, destroying the stronger but less cunning Salamandeans.  Warbler smiled.  Today would be different.  They had their own cunning now.

Warbler made motions to the others, who dropped to the ground and concealed their weapons under their bodies.  One by one, their smooth, bright red skin changed color, becoming a mottled mix of brown and green.  In moments, they all but disappeared, matching the undergrowth almost perfectly.

Warbler waited patiently.  At last, the slight form of a Frogkin wandered by, large eyes peering straight ahead.  It paid no heed to the forest floor.    

A little closer.

A little closer.

Now!

Warbler lunged upwards and struck the Frogkin with his short spear.  His foe collapsed with a strangled croak.  Just as quickly, Warbler ducked back down and hide again.

Another Frogkin came from a different direction.  Another Salamandeans struck it down with a quick axe blow.  As the minutes passed, more arrived, finding their fellow Frogkins mysteriously struck down.  The Salamandean sneak attacks continued.

Croaks of fear rose in the forest.  The Frogkin were used to attacking large, lumbering foes.  Warbler struck down two more before a general retreat was call.  The remaining Frogkin ran away.

The Salamandeans arose and celebrated their victory.  Then, they began to build a fort of deadfall to further secure the forest foothold.  Soon, more Salamandeans would arrive to bolster Warbler's forces.

Warbler’s blunt face split with a toothy smile.  Today his idea won out.  No longer would his people fight like rocks along.

We will fight water with water.








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