It’s kind of fitting that on my first weekend back in the writers’ seat, that I pass the 10,000 word mark for chapter four, which leaves me with about a third to go before I can get stuck into the concluding two chapters. All in all, today I have written a good 1,105 words. Go me! ^__^
Current wordcount: 62,876
Current pagecount: 229
Hannah scribbles through a page of writing, before tearing it from her book, screwing the paper into a ball. She casts it aside, and writes again.
The cold fog pressed in on them. Grey and mercilessly, the fine rain stings their faces and penetrates their gortex jackets. Slowly, steadily they make their descent off the mountain. Conversation is muted, as they walk in single file, heads down, watching the footwork of the pair of boots in front of them. Hannah, turns her head, says something to Helen, behind her in the line. A response comes. The subject; it doesn’t matter. Somewhere ahead a song is attempted, followed lacklustre chorus and it fails to hold the tune.
Hannah looks up; across the room and out the window. Clouds pull across the sky, shutting out the moon. She picks herself up and moves to the window, settling again on the sill, and tucking the calves of her legs against the warmth of the radiator. She sets her beer down on the ledge in front, and focuses again on her words.
The wind is stronger now, gusting over the ridge and funnelling down the valley. Hannah can’t help but think of her friends that didn’t come on this expedition, sitting now in a warm bar with big mugs of hot chocolate served, as is the Icelandic way, sprinkled with flakes of chocolate and floating a ball of slowly melting ice cream on the surface.
Cold shards of rain spike her face, and the warm, cosy images are gone. So too are the trail of boots that she follows. Her heart beat skips a beat and races. She moves forward at a pace and almost crashes into the back of Alice. She stops for a second or two and composes herself, before setting off again.
Helen grabs the map from Hanna’s hand, zoning in straight away to the northern highlands. Her fingers the contours of the mountain; she shakes her head at the impossibility of what she realises.
Hannah looks up. Her eyes wide, and burning blue. Her mind is active in it’s realisation. She remembers with sudden vividness what she had thought she had forgotten, and chases that memory.
“Helen!” Hannah calls her friends name. She turns and runs back, calling out in desperation. The wind howls across the ridge and the rain drives at her face. Freon’s hands are on her, holding back, and his voice, at her ear, instructing her to stay. She fights against her desire to run, and returns to where the group are gathered.
“It’s not possible.” Helen shakes her head.