That means a long night out so the preparation for tomorrow's stint at the book stalls has to be ready now!
I've not done as much as I wanted today to my lingering WIP but I am splicing the exciting ending better than it was a few days ago.
I've done something similar before when there is action happening in different areas with different characters. The trick is to be sure that the events are 'timed' properly otherwise the 'sequencing' of the story falters.
If that doesn't entirely make sense - no problem - because it's not quite there yet with me either.
Meanwhile here's a bit of the 'maybe' it will go in and maybe it won't in my WIP.
This is near the end. My character, Aran, has been handed over to the Roman Emperor Severus as part of the treaty with the northern Brittanic Celts.
By Taranis! He was getting used to mouthing to the god of the Celts.
If Severus didn’t kill him first, then Callum was bound to.
He was supposed to look after the twins and here he was, yet again, separated from them and unable to do anything about it. Half-run half-dragged it seemed no time at all before he was facing the turf walls of the temporary camp at Durno. The fright he’d been feeling as a prisoner was replaced by that treacherous excitement again. He’d stood at the very same part of the land in the twenty first century when all there was to show for a Roman temporary camp was a bump in the field. What faced him now was incredible.
On the far side of a shallow ditch was a wall of sharpened stakes at the top of the banking that formed the outer wall of the camp - a temporary palisade. Behind it he could just see the worn leather of many sizeable ridge tents. He knew that a contubernium group of eight men shared each tent, but when he was marched in through a tightly-lashed wooden gateway the sight of those tents was even more impressive. Precisely packed behind the earthworks were rows and rows of accurately positioned shelters with clear walkways between them - town streets full of tents.
Aran found himself shoved into the opening of one of the tents but he knew it was no ordinary accommodation. The rectangular tent reeked of officer status. There was a table set close to the far wall with a mound of scrolls upon it. A low cot was positioned at one side of the tent flap. Heaps of bits and pieces lay on top of low trestle tables and items of clothing and weapons hung from racks.
An order was barked into his face. He guessed it wasn’t the man telling him to make himself comfortable and there wasn’t much chance of escape during the daylight with Roman soldiers crawling around like ants in an anthill. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure it would be better when darkness descended either.
The man who had frogmarched him into the tent stood talking to the soldiers.
Aran reached for the tiny nub on his armband knowing that it might be his only opportunity to use the language function. The second the flap opened, he depressed the red lips icon. When a message scrolled across the tiny display, it was a huge surprise. ‘The others are safe. You will be reunited soon. Do nothing rash meantime and learn what you can.’ Catching the words moving along the panel was an art because they fed along at a spanking pace.
It seemed he had to sit tight and work his way through the next stage of this weird adventure. He wished the twins were with him, yet he’d no time to dwell, or make plans, because someone was coming back in. He snapped the flap of the armband shut wondering why they hadn’t removed it from his arm.
Should I keep it or not? Compared to most of the novel it's a bit heavy on the narrative.