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  • Writer's picturePF Legge

Write hard.

Write hard, even when you don't feel it. Its summer so there is more time. No excuses. Before we get to that however, here is a picture of a beach we were on this week and some prose from a novella in progress about murder in the southlands, the setting for Almost a Myth and all the upcoming adventures of Conor and Gray.

They carefully removed the woman's clothing. Viglis had been a policeman and a soldier so the task wasn't shocking to him. He didn't like it, but he wasn’t upset. The healer was all business, running his hands over the woman's rib cage neck, head, stomach. And, flipping her over as gently as he could, doing the same for her back and legs. He nodded to Viglis and they covered her up again.

Then he stood up and moved to a basin by the wall and washed his hands. He indicated to Viglis that he should do the same. He did. Without talking the healer walked out into the evening sunshine took a deep breath and arched his back. Then he turned to Viglis and said,

“There is no outward sign of injury. She seems young and healthy. Have to cut into her and take a look to be sure about that though. She wasn't strangled, stabbed or beaten to death, I can tell you that.”


“She’s been dead less than 10 hours. Can’t get more precise I’m afraid.” Travin pointed into the air, “Its the dryness.”

“Thanks. Should I give her to her family or…” Viglis trailed off.

“I'll send someone around to pick her up and put her on ice. I should have a closer look to she to see if she has anything contagious, or if it was something she ate. We’ll release her body in two days if you want to tell her people.”

Trevin said this as he dried his hands on a small towel he had tucked into his pants.

Viglis nodded,

“Thanks again.”

“Yup,” Trevin said, and put out his hand. Viglis shook it and the healer walked away.

Viglis walked through the house several times. No blood. No weapons. No bruises or cuts on the woman’s body. Maybe she just died. It happened. But it didn’t seem likely. Something had been done in the house, to this woman. That was going to be the starting point. But this was going to be a bitch of a puzzle. Not enough pieces here. He sat in a kitchen chair and thought, but nothing came.

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