Heart Song submitted! And a snippet of Heart Sense

So, I've finally submitted Heart Song, sequel to Heart Sense to Prizm. Cross your fingers! Heart Song tells Mikael's POV, and the aftermath of Heart Sense. The as-yet-unnamed third book will focus on Soren, Katjin's cousin, and bring about my final plan to take over the world. *cackles*

In any case, here's a snippet from the world of Heart Sense:

Springtime on the plains. Nothing could possibly be better, especially after a moon span in a dirty, crowded town. He'd never understand how anyone could live like that: on top of their friends and family in small, stone houses; the ghosts of thousands of fires blackening the ceiling and the smells of a thousand years clogging your nose. You couldn't feel the wind in those houses, even with the shutters opened. You couldn't smell the outside, the surroundings--not that the pisspot of the city, with its dirt and moldering rubbish were worth smelling. So many people cramped into one space, surrounded by those high walls. No wonder Apa always insisted on staying outside of town. No wonder Apa had never forced the life of the Lowlands on him.

Springtime on the plains meant the heady warmth of the sun beating down on him, the muscles of his horse's back bunching as he rode after Apa across the grasslands. It was the scent of sun-bleached and rain-damp fodder, just coming out of the months and months of winter rains. Even the wet-animal smell that their yer sometimes got after moons of rain was preferred to the smells of the city, especially if he was trapped inside the yer for a moon at a time on the edge of some city, as often happened when the rains came to the Lowlands. Springtime on the plains meant going home, back to Meke and Febe and the rest of their family for a much-needed rest. Even if it was only half a moon’s span of rest. He wouldn’t even mind an entire span, one full moon to the next, if he could stand his family for that long.

It was high time for it too; winter rains would soon enough give way to the humid heat of summer. At that point, Katjin would gladly trade the robe off his back for the cool, high pastures of Spring camp, a welcomed relief.

Katjin hummed softly to himself as they rode along, trying to keep the rhythm of the bells that were tied to the saddle and bridle of both their horses. He could tell it was annoying Apa, from the hunched shoulders and the tightness around his father's mouth. Even Apa's dark hair seemed to be pulled unusually tight, tied back from his dark-tanned face. Usually, his father didn't seem to mind Katjin's off-key humming. Half of the time, they even sang together. They were traders, after all, so it wasn't like they had to rely on stealth as they rode between the cities of the Lowlands and the grasslands of the Horse Clans. Apa even said that his and Katjin's singing probably drove the bandits away.

Not that Apa was a traditional trader, really. Not like the ones that moved between the cities of the Lowlands. They didn't haul wagon-loads of goods with them on their seasonal treks across the Empire. Sometimes, Apa might have a packhorse or two to carry their wares between the places they visited, but it was never more than just the two of them and their horses. Apa seemed to deliberately choose goods that were small and portable, like the infamous rugs that the villagers wove on the Lowlands/Clan borders. Katjin would’ve thought that carrying the occasional large item would look less obvious, since he’d had his suspicions for a while now about what Apa actually traded. The romantic in him sometimes wondered if Apa were some kind of spy for the Empire. Or against it, since Apa seemed to associate with those the Empire might deem ‘dangerous’ sorts. They seemed to stay a lot longer than most traders would, even traders who were wooing reluctant merchants. He and Apa could be in one town for up to two moons spans, which was longer than they even stayed on the plains.

When Katjin was younger, he hadn't really thought about their unbelievably good luck on the road. Now, he wondered sometimes if Apa had made some kind of a pact with a witch on one of his rare visits to the Highlands, since they'd never encountered bandits or anything like that. Or were questioned by the Empire. Not that there were many bandits, what with the Empire's 'path-led army hunting down anyone who ever had an evil thought or feeling in their lives, ancestors bless the Empire and their foresight for this. Empire citizens, from the smallest villages on the shore to the vast Horse Clan grasslands, never had to fear for their lives. Their thoughts, maybe, but never their own mortality. Not unless they had anything to hide.