Word: wroth

wroth

\ rawth, roth or, especially Brit ., rohth \  , adjective;

1. stormy; violent; turbulent: the wroth sea .

2. angry; wrathful (usually used predicatively): He was wroth to see the damage to his home .

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“Oh cheer up.  So you’re not a hunter.  You have plenty of other skills.”  Lyra said.  Lars didn’t respond, choosing instead to sulk quietly to himself.  The two made their way back to the camp site where Caruss was still setting up the tents and fire pit.

“How’d it go?”  The large man asked when he saw the two of them.

“As well as could be expected.”  Lyra asked.  “I managed a rabbit, but there isn’t much that’s really edible in these woods.  Most of it has already been hunted by now, and what hasn’t been eaten already has gone underground.”  She sat down and placed the dead rabbit on the ground near where Caruss was setting up.

“I see.  And what about you?”  He asked Lars, who just mumbled his reply. 

“I told him he wouldn’t be able to do much with his blades, but he insisted.”  Lyra said.

“I can imagine.”

“How’d you manage to catch food before we met?”

“Usually Grena laid magical traps in various places.  Those usually did the trick.  That, and we usually pick up food whenever we’re in town.  We mainly used hunting to supplement that.”

“I see.”  She said. 

Just then Lyra looked up, seeing something in the bushes.  To her, it looked like the ears of the largest rabbit she had ever seen.  She quietly reached for her bow, thinking it may have been some kind of magical beast.  Caruss noticed her action and followed her gaze.  It took a moment, but he eventually came to recognize the ears.  He smiled and looked at Lars, who hadn’t noticed them yet.  He whispered to Lyra to take a few steps back, towards the opposite end of the camp.  She was confused by the request, but she followed him.  Lars looked quizzically their way when he saw them moving.

“You can come out now.  We see you there.”  Carrus called out. 

A face poked out from behind the bushes, looking around the camp curiously.  It was the face of a girl, normal looking except for her eyes and ears.  Her long ears stood on the top of her head, and her eyes were jet black.  She crept out slowly from behind the bush.  Her figure was lean and wiry, with small hands and large feet.  Lars took one look at the girl and his face contorted with rage.

“You.”  He said slowly, his voice dripping with malice.  The girl looked at him and beamed with joy.

“Ah!  Silly man!”  She said happily. 

Lars bellowed, grabbed his swords and charged the rabbit-girl.  She easily sidestepped his attack, laughing all the while.  Lars swung wildly at the girl.  She darted around the clearing with impeccable speed and agility, rendering all his attacks useless.  Caruss just smirked as he watched the show. 

“So, I guess you know her then?”  Lyra asked.

“Oh yes.  We met her a few months before you.  She left quite an impression on Lars.”

“I can see that.  So, what exactly is she?  I mean, she’s not human, right?”

“No.  She’s a rabbit.  Well, a rabbit that’s been magically given the form of a human.  We were hired to get her out of a town.  She gave Lars the runaround for awhile, and then left on her own.  I still don’t know why.”

“I see.  Is that why he’s acting like this now?”

“Yes.  She did quite a number on his ego.”

“Huh.  Well then, this should be entertaining.”

Carrus nodded.  As he watched the two run around, he couldn’t help but notice something.  There was something different about the girl.  She seemed larger somehow.

“Something wrong?”  Lyra asked.

“I’m not sure.  It’s just that… Well, when we first encountered her, she was a child, about nine or ten.  Now she seemed to be in her late teens, even though it’s hardly been six months or so.”

“You said she was a rabbit?  Well then there’s no problem.  Rabbits don’t live nearly as long as we do, so it makes sense she would age faster.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Just then, the girl bounded closer to Lyra, sniffing the air quizzically while still avoiding Lars’ furious attacks.  She looked at her oddly for awhile before bouncing off again.  This was not lost on the archer.

“Should we stop them?”  She asked.

“Well, I suppose it is getting dark, and we wouldn’t want anyone to trip.”  Carrus said.  He waited for the rabbit to move past him.  Then, as Lars was getting closer, he held out his thick arm.  Lars ran right into it and was knocked off his feet.  Carrus helped his companion to his feet, but held the swordsman fast, despite his furious attempts to brake free.  The rabbit saw this and fell over, laughing.  

“Let me go!  I’ll cut her head off!”  Lars shouted. 

“Easy there.  Let’s find out what she wants before decapitating her.”  Carrus said.  Lars huffed, but stopped thrashing against the large man’s powerful grip.  Lyra helped the rabbit to a sitting position, while the girl sniffed the air.

“You smell, you smell.”  She said to Lyra.

“Like what?”  Lyra asked.

“Magic.  It’s not here, but it was.  I smell it.”  She said, taking a deep breath.

“You can smell magic?”  Lyra asked.  The rabbit nodded furiously.

“Well, that explains a few things.”  Carrus asked.  Lyra looked at him for an explanation.  “Grena laid out traps for her, but she managed to avoid all of them.  I wondered how for some time.  It makes sense now though.  Is that why you left so suddenly?”  He asked.

“Yeah, yeah.  I smelled something fun.  But it wasn’t there when I got to it.”  She said.  Her long ears folded down sadly at the memory of what she had missed.

“Well, that’s interesting.”  Lyra said.  “Does different kinds of magic have a different smell?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Lots of different smells.”  The rabbit said happily.

“And you can even smell it if it’s a long way off?”

“Think so, think so.  Hard to tell sometimes though.”

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”  Caruss asked.

“I think we should keep her with us.  That nose of hers might come in handy.  Well, at least until Grena gets back.  She might have some ideas as well.”

“Agreed.”  Caruss said.

“No!  Definitely not!  I refuse to travel with that!”  Lars shouted.

“Two to one.  She stays.”  Carrus said with a slight smirk.  Lars slumped down, refusing to be cooperative.

“So, do you have a name?”  Lyra asked.

“Name?  Name?  No, no name.”  The rabbit asked.

“Hm.  Well then, you’ll need one.”  Lyra thought about it for a moment.  “I think I know.  I once traveled with a man from a far Eastern nation.  They have a peculiar language really, and I picked up a few words here and there from listening to him speak sometimes.  I think the word for rabbit was something like Usagi.  Of course, I’m not completely sure, but I think it’ll do for now.”

“Fine by me.”  Caruss said.

               “Why do I need a name?  No rabbits have names.”  The girl said.

               “We humans use names to identify ourselves.  When we want to address a specific person, we use a name.  If you want to be with human’s, you’ll need one too at some point.”  Lyra said.  The rabbit thought about it for a bit.

               “Fine, fine.  That name is fine.  Any name is fine though, but ok.”  The rabbit said, completely indifferent to getting a name.

               “Well then, Usagi.”  Lyra said, “Why did you come here today?”

               “Smelled something good.”  She said.  “Not magic.  Good food though.”  She sniffed around, looking not in the group’s bags, but around the trees and bushes.  She soon found a group of berries to nibble on, looking quite content with them.

               “Well, I guess foraging will be easier at least.” Caruss said.  Suddenly, Usagi looked over to the middle of the camp and her eyes grew wide.  All three followed her gaze to the dead rabbit.  Caruss and Lyra looked at each other with a sudden realization of what that meant.  Lars smiled wickedly with the same thought.

               “Well now,”  He said, “To welcome our new member, why don’t we cook up some dinner.  How does rabbit stew sound?”  He sneered at Usagi, who was tearing up at the sight of her slain brethren.  Her face shot up when he spoke.

               “Ahhh you meanie! Meanie, meanie, meanie!”  She shouted.  She quickly began pounding on Lars’ arm while shouting at him.  Neither Lyra nor Caruss thought it to be a good idea to tell her who killed the rabbit in the first place. 

               “It will certainly make things more…lively, won’t it?”  Lyra said.  Caruss nodded.  This was going to be a long trip.     

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It's been awhile since we've seen these guys, hasn't it?  I've actually been waiting to use this situation for quite some time now, and I just needed an excuse.  Hmm, but there seems to be a character missing...I wonder where she could be...  She's off on her own little quest for now.  If I get the right word, I might even write about it.  And after that, even I don't really know.  I'll figure it out at some point though.  Probably.

Word: omnium-gatherum

  

omnium-gatherum

\ om-nee-uhm-GATH-er-uhm \  , noun;

1. a miscellaneous collection.

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             “So do you have any hobbies?”  Jack asked.  Mary, his date, didn’t seem to hear.  Or if she did, she didn’t feel the need to answer.  Instead, she chose to run off and pick something up off the ground.

               It was just another odd thing she did.  The blind date had gone fairly well in Jack’s opinion.  Mary was pretty and quite energetic.  She had an acute sense of humor, and seemed to find humor in almost everything.  Conversation had gone well, and he found that they had enough in common to find a good amount of topics to talk about.  Although, he did find her a bit eccentric.  Although he generally knew what she was talking about, what she said sometimes needed some thought.

               She examined the object she picked up carefully and smiled.  She bounded back over to him and showed him her treasure.  It was a piece of colored glass, most likely from some piece of costume jewelry or craft set. 

               “I collect stuff.”  She said holding out the glass for a moment before pocketing it.  It was another thing he needed to think about.

               “What, you mean you collect bits of glass or rocks or something?”

               “Well, all that is stuff, so yeah, I guess I do.”

               “So you have a glass collection?”

               “I have a stuff collection.”  She said proudly.  “A big one.”  Jack thought it through for a moment.

               “So what, you pick up random things off the ground, and that’s your collection?”

               “Exactly!”  She said excitedly.  

               Jack thought about it for a bit, then couldn’t help but start laughing.  It was a completely ridiculous idea, but it fit her perfectly.  Jack couldn’t help but imagine her amidst piles of what other people would consider junk.  He almost missed it when Mary started laughing right along with him, without even knowing what he found so funny.

               “So, what exactly makes up your little stuff collection?”  He asked once he had calmed down a bit.

               “All kinds of stuff.”

               “Well, is it just things you pick up off the ground, or do you buy some of it?”

               “Most of it I just find on the ground, but there are some things I got on the shelf.”

               “Ah.  So it’s mainly rocks and beads and the like.”

               “No, those are only a small portion of what I have.  Let’s see, I’ve got string, rubber bands, bits of metal fixtures, rocks, bolts, screws…”

               She kept listing the many things she had in her collection for quite some time.  It was not only completely random, but also very extensive.  It seemed like she simply picked up whatever she felt like, regardless of form or function.  Jack started to wonder if she was a bit of a pack rat, or just odd.  Suddenly though, she simply stopped talking and looked lost in thought.

               “You know, it might just be easier if I showed you my collection.”  She said.

               “Huh?”  Jack asked.

               “Yeah, you can come over to my place and see my stuff collection.  That’d be easier than me telling you what’s in it.”  She looked up at him with her big, bright, happy eyes as she spoke.   Jack didn’t know what to say to the invitation.  He knew it was completely innocent, and that she really was going to show him her collection, but he still felt a bit out of place going to her home on the first date.  But, he also had to admit he was more than a little curious about it.

               “Alright, sure.  Why not?”  He said.

               “Yay!”  She shouted gleefully.  She grabbed his hand and started pulling him along at a brisk pace.  Jack just smiled and did everything he could to stifle his laughter.

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What do you think?  Would you want to see a stuff collection like this?  Or maybe even start one.  Certainly a conversation starter, that's for sure.

Word: subjoin

 

subjoin

\ suhb-JOIN \  , verb;

1. to add at the end, as of something said or written; append.

2. to place in sequence or juxtaposition to something else.

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Catlin looked at the big “C” printed in blue ink at the top of the page and blinked in disbelief.  She had worked hard on the story and to find it was only worth a C was horrifying.  She sat at her desk and flipped through the pages to try and find any hint of what went wrong.  The pages were littered with red ink, but not in any way that gave her a hint as to the poor grade.  Paragraphs and sentences were circled seemingly at random, some were even crossed out entirely.  There were also more than a few of the more standard grammatical corrections, but it was those circled out areas that made her really wonder.

She stuffed her notebook into the shoulder bag she used to carry her things in, but held on to the story.  She approached her professor, Prof. Greenwood and waited in front of his desk.  He was busy looking at a few papers that Catlin could tell had nothing to do with the class that had just ended, and he wasn’t paying any attention to anything else.  She waited politely for him to take notice of her presence, but soon started getting impatient.  She cleared her throat lightly and Prof. Greenwood slowly looked up at her, peering over the rims of his thick, square rimmed glasses.

“Yes, Ms. Park, what can I do for you?”  He said.

“I was just curious about the grade I got on the story.”

“I see.  I hope you’re not going to try and get me to change it.”

“No, sir.”  She knew better than to change Prof. Greenwood’s mind about a grade.  He was legendary for never faltering on that front.  “I was just wondering why I got a C.  I mean, I did everything you told me to on the last draft.”

“Suggested, not told.  I don’t tell you to do anything when writing a story.”

“Ok, I did everything you suggested.”  She put her emphasis on the word ‘suggested’ when she spoke.

“Yes, I know.  That’s the problem really.”

“Huh?”

“You did everything I suggested, exactly as I suggested, and that’s all you did.  You kept to the letter of the law, whist ignoring its spirit.”

“But I thought it was what you wanted me to do.”

“What I wanted you to do is to take those suggestions I made and make them your own.  Use them to improve it, but don’t necessarily stick to them 100%.  After all, I might make suggestions on how to improve it, but it’s still your story.  Only you know what will truly fit.”

“So what exactly did I do wrong?”  She said, feeling ashamed with herself.  In hindsight, it was quite obvious.  It was what he had talked about on the very first day of class.  She had just forgotten about his ideas on the subject of suggestions and improving stories.

“Did you look over the story?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a look at those sections I circled, do you notice anything about them?”

Catlin looked closer at the pages.  She read over what she had written, paying particular attention to the highlighted areas.  At first, she didn’t notice anything really different about them.  Then it dawned on her.  Most of them were things she added for the most recent draft.  Not all of them, but most. 

“It’s all the revisions I made.”  She said after coming to that conclusion.

“Correct.  Do you know why I pointed those out to you?”  He asked.  Catlin shook her head.  “Reread the story as it is later, and then go over some of your earlier drafts.  It should become clear then.”

“Why?  Is there something wrong with them?  I mean, other than taking your suggestions too literally?”  Prof. Greenwood leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.  She had seen him doing that before.  It meant he was thinking about what to say.

“Simply put, they feel tacked on.  Like they don’t really belong in the story they were put it.  You try and force the story to go in directions it doesn’t want to go, and use descriptive language that doesn’t belong.  In some parts you use too much descriptive language all at once, like you just put a string of adjectives together without any thought.  In others, you have no descriptions where you should put some of those words from earlier.  Spread that kind of language out over the pages, not all jumbled together in a few sentences.”

Catlin nodded and wished she had kept a pen handy to write his words down.  As it was, she could only try and keep as much of it in her memory as she could.

“Many of the story elements don’t quite belong either.  There were times when I felt like you were trying to tell two different stories at once and just mashed them together.  The biggest offender in that regard is actually the ending.  The entire thing feels like it was simply added in after the fact.”

“But I thought you said that the story needed a proper ending in the last draft.”

“I did.  And it does.  The problem is, what you have is not the ending to the story you were telling.  It’s the ending of a different story that you changed just enough to work with the rest of it.  The problem is, it doesn’t fit.  It’s just tacked on there simply because you need an ending.”

“Oh.”  Caitlin said.  Her head hung with shame.  She thought the ending was good.  She never considered that it would feel so hastily added.  “So what should I do to fix it?”

“Well, I’d say the best thing you can do right now is start over.  Completely rewrite the story, using the previous drafts, even this one, as a starting point.  Take note of all the suggestions given to you, but don’t rely on them completely.  Use your own imagination.  Tell the story you want to tell first, and then use those comments and suggestions to make it something others would want to read.  But make sure that it is, first and foremost, your story.”

“O-ok, I’ll do my best.”  She said. 

“Very good.  Now, is there anything else you wanted?”

“No, sir.  Thanks again.”  She said.

She stuffed the pages of her story into her bag and made a beeline for the door.  She was already going over what to write in her mind, even as she started making her way across campus.

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 Those who took this kind of class in college may relate to this.  Not just writing either, but other kinds of art based classes as well.  Those who only had more fact based classes, not so much.  When you get a bad grade in those, you tend to know why.