Here is a sample of book 2

I've been writing The Outcast (book 2) for some time now and I have made a lot of progress. A lot of that was during Nanowrimo last month in November. When I created the profile for my novel on that site I shared an excerpt from the book. I figured if I did it there, I should do it here.

Hopefully this little teaser will leave you wanting more:

Rowan stumbled forward. He could tell that he was nearing his end. This land was defeating him. His throat burned for want of water and his stomach pained him. His last drink had been juices squeezed from one of the few plants able to grow in such an environment. The prickly plant had yielded much juice, but it had been tainted and now Rowan wished that he had not succumbed to the thirst.

The combination of sun and tainted juice left Rowan sick and weak. He was hungry, but couldn’t bring himself to eat. Nothing could be kept down, and he was unwilling to waste what little food he had left.

Was he even travelling in the right direction anymore? It was hard to tell.

His head spun and suddenly he could no longer tell up from down. The ground was hard beneath him, throwing up dust as his body made contact. The pain was nothing to him, barely even registering as he fought to regain his senses. Rowan allowed himself a short respite to recover, laying where he had fallen as he rested.

When he rose, it was a struggle. He wavered, finding the weight of his pack much heavier than it ought to be. After finding his balance, he took a tentative step forward. Another followed, and he slowly began to walk. He made it a short distance before his vision went white and he again found himself on the ground. This time Rowan made no effort to move.

He was so tired. He had done so much.

A shadow passed over him briefly. It belonged to one of the scavenger birds that had been following him. He knew without looking, for Lauratrea had no clouds. It was as if the sun would allow nothing else to share its sky.

Why do I fight on? Rowan wondered. He knew that if he did not rise soon, he never would. But a weakness that was not entirely physical held him down. Why do I struggle to live when my life no longer has purpose?

Rowan’s eyes closed. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of defeat, but not the kind that inspired aspirations and a need to overcome. It was the kind that left him resigned, unwilling to rise.

Baird’s voice spoke to him then.

You are more than what you have become.

“I am nothing!” Rowan cried. A surprised flutter of wings came from somewhere outside his field of vision. “I am an outcast. A wanderer. A shadow of what you—,” Rowan choked on his words. “…of what I could have been.”

You run from that which you must face. You turn your back on me.

“What would you have me do?”

Silence.

“You abandoned me!” Rowan’s voice broke. Emotions warred within him, equal parts anger and guilt. “You left me behind so that you could die, but we were supposed to fight together!”

You were weak.

“I was willing! You meant to save me, but my life means nothing now. I am lost, and there is no one to show me the way. I have nothing left.”

Silence.

“Please…answer me. I need you.” Tears streaked Rowan’s cheek, burning lines into his dry skin. He cried silently, lapsing in and out of consciousness.