My novella, Footfalls of Power (working title), is now about 21,000 words.
So that’s halfway done or more.
Here’s an except to my non-existent readers (no offense readers)
Day one of Arena week.
Tandika was up before the sun, like most of the city. His mother and siblings were still abed. They had stayed up late into the night catching up with him. It pained him to keep things from his mother, but since he had become the breadwinner, he had stepped up. His business was his own. Especially if it could put her or his brother and sister in danger.
He walked through the city. Though it was awake, it was still mostly silent. Not until the markets started and the hawking began would the city feel truly alive.
The wood and stone buildings towered over him and he headed for the center. Around the edge of the city were the slums and poor houses, but here in the center of the city, was the Arena and the rich. The officials too. But then again, the rich were the government.
The Arena joined them all. A pauper could marry an heiress. A prince could marry a street girl. It all depended on the dancing. It was the focus of everything; the reason nothing fell apart.