This is a prologue from a novel I’m writing, first draft ready May 1st! Feedback is appreciated.
The Word hid from view more years than we have numbers to count. It felt easy for the word to hide – simpler when you’re the only one who knows that you exist.
The Word hid in the dark. Relied on memories, on ghost stories, on soldiers, and eventually on troubadours to understand where Word lived and how long before she was needed. Her appearance must be impeccably timed, her knowledge shared with only the most needful of all. Revealing her power too early would be disastrous, or before she found herself in the right spot.
She’d misjudged once and tablets were created. Tall craters of clay shaped and symbols drawn into the malleable forms before drying. She says misjudged because soon after were The Great Ruins and the Word was nearly washed away, forever, or rock could have fallen and sealed the Word into her cave.
She must not misjudge again.
The Word waits. The Word hides.
