You Can’t Tell ‘Em #SampleSunday

This week, I took in the final chapters of THE WOLVES OF PORT NOVO for critique. Here’s a brief sample from near the end.

You Can’t Tell ‘Em

by Marian Allen

A young woman dropped lightly from her perch on a ledge above us. “Cameron,” she called quietly.

The man who had stopped Cousin Constantine and me came over to her. “What is it, Nola?” he asked.

“Wardens. On horseback. Coming from every which way.”

Aldo stood up. “Veiled or barefaced?”

“Didn’t notice.” The young woman swarmed back up the building.

“I don’t think they could be from other parishes in the Eel,” Muriel said, uncertainly. “I don’t think Aunt Isabella believed she needed any help; and, even if she did, I don’t think she’s had time to send for any and get it back.”

Nola dropped again. “Barefaced. And they have Fortunatos riding with them.”

“Just after the nick of time,” said Loach. “Hurrah, we’re saved.”

“Nola,” said Cameron, “run around and tell everybody we’re finished here, and they’re to slip away home. If priests and wardens are going to turn loose on each other, we don’t want in the middle.”
Nola darted off.

“You, too,” I said. “And you, Aldo.”

“And leave you here?” said Aldo.

“My friend,” said Loach, “if there’s anyone in the Eel who doesn’t need protection, it’s her. You can stay and keep me safe, if you want to –”

We heard the horses coming, then, at a steady amble.

“Go on,” I said.

“No disrespect intended,” said Cameron, picking up a broken board and a cobblestone.

I sighed.

“You can’t tell ’em,” said Loach, putting an arm around my shoulders. “They just have to learn themselves.”


A WRITING PROMPT BASED ON MY POST: Someone tries to keep a truculent person or group from fighting.



I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, but now live in the woods in southern Indiana. Though I only write fiction, I love to read non-fiction. The more I learn about this world, the more fantastic I see it is.

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