Elian reads Angusel the riot act in RAGING SEA Ch4/Sc2A #amwriting #MFRWAuthor

What happens when a parent previously thought to be dead reappears in the child's life?

One of my favorite movies of recent vintage, How to Train Your Dragon 2 , deals with this subject in a sensitive and poignant way. I won't spoil it in case you haven't seen the movie—though I do urge you to watch this wonderful fantasy that's a treat for adults and children alike.

As with Hiccup and his long-lost mother, Angusel must come to terms with the reappearance of a parent too. But unlike Hiccup, Angusel won't have the assistance of a flock of friendly dragons to help bridge the decade-long gap in his life—and the father-shaped hole in his heart—that Gull had wrought upon his departure.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea  Chapter 1: Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5 |Chapter 2: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B | Scene 2 |Chapter 3: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B | Scene 2 | Scene 3-A | Scene 3-B |
Chapter 4: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B |
Raging Sea Chapter 4, Scene 2-A©2015 by Kim HeadleeAll rights reserved.
Angusel’s tunic-clad shoulders scraped against the chimney’s stones. Behind him lay the completed cottage, though he called it a prison for his having no choice but to work, train, eat, and sleep so close to the man who had sired him and abandoned him.

Elian was standing near enough that Angusel could have counted the centurion’s nose hairs, had Angusel not grown another handspan since the last full moon. It might even have been funny, if not for the reason-robbing rage coursing through his veins. Elian’s fury was all too evident in his sharp glare and clenched jaw.

It was nearing the fifth market day since Gull—and he’d sooner chop off his sword hand than ever call that man “Father” again—had revealed his identity. Samhainn had come and gone four market days ago, unremarked by the cottage’s residents save for the bonfires Angusel had chanced to notice blazing across the countryside on three consecutive evenings. Not that it mattered. He saw no point in celebrating an eternal reward to which he would never be entitled.

Though only late November by Ròmanach reckoning, the winter gales had begun to blow often enough to force the trio to work inside most days. Conversations with his sire were curt, awkward, and far too frequent for Angusel’s liking. Some days the silence felt as oppressive as the grave, but Angusel couldn’t trust himself to keep a civil tongue.

Gull never volunteered an explanation for faking his death, and Angusel refused to ask. When a man walked out on wife and son and kin and clan and country, reasons mattered less than a wagonload of dog vomit. Such a man stood so far beneath contempt that Angusel couldn’t imagine a worse deed. Even his failure to rescue Loholt seemed like stellar heroism in comparison.

After enduring a long string of commands from Gull this morning to fetch and sweep and wash and chop and stack and do just about everything else short of draining the sea, Angusel had decided that enough was damned well enough. He had suggested where Gull could stack the wood—somewhere dark and painful—and stalked off.

Elian had overheard and ordered him back into the compound before he could make good his escape.

“I don’t care if he’s your great-great-aunt Alisa, back from spending one night in the Otherworld to find that fifty years had passed in this one.” Bracing both hands against the chimney, Elian kicked it with his wooden leg, producing a loud thock. “And I especially don’t care if he works you every minute of every day from now until the Last Judgment. You answer to me, and I order you to obey him. Without exception.” He jerked a nod toward Gull, who stood near their supply shed.

“Aye, Centurion.” Angusel submerged his anger to keep his tone even. He would obey both men as duty demanded, but bestowing respect upon one of them was another issue altogether.

***

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