Teenycontest 1 CLOSED

[Wednesdays Child]

Mini-Contest 1
Start:
0000 US Central, Tuesday 18th February 2020
End:
2359 US Central, Saturday 22nd February 2020



TOPIC

Thoroughfare
worldbuilding || characterisation
A character walks from their home in a busy village to the marketplace. Make me want to live there. Alternatively, make me want to not live there.
(thanks to Airan)

Word Limit:
Up to 1000 - but shorter entries get an edge.



JUDGING

Judges:
Vin

The atmosphere of a place is not defined by anything tangible, but by subtle impressions and small details. It's the quiet movement caught in the corner of the eye or the sound that echoes from somewhere beyond vision. I'm looking to see how you fill space. Think of it like painting. The character walking is the focus, like the large object at the center. Everything else is the little details that accentuate the scene. What really makes it pop is how well you fill the negative space. Fill that space with sight, sound, smell. I don't want to feel like I am simply looking at a scene or observing it. Make the negative space surround your character and surround the reader.

multiplemint

Immerse me -- immerse your character -- in this place. Don't just rely on visuals, but use all the character's senses. Smell is very important to memory and can paint a very vivid image. Don't forget touch, as well -- what are the paths to market like. Use clues from this road to tell us more about the town they live in (an old village might be a well-worn dirt path, but somewhere that needs/can afford infrastructure because of size or wealth might have cobbles, or gutters for rainwater). Similarly, use the beasts in the town to tell me about it. Their fashion (or lack thereof), their mannerisms. Think about how some corn-fed hick farmer acts and looks compared to an urbanite, and how a detail like that can bring a town to life more naturally than simply saying "it was a hick village".

Wednesdays Child

Give me details that anchor me into a believable place and that make me see that place as part of a wider world, prose that shows off the hecticness of the environment, and things that show me the character's place in all this chaos.

HOW TO APPLY

You don't need to pre-register or anything - Teenycontests are meant to be quick, easy, fun and optional.

Step 1: Write your entry.

Step 2: DM it to ALL THREE judges (all three judges names above are actually hyperlinks that link through to the Send A DM To This Person screen). You can send it as full text in a DM or an access link to a Google Document, your choice.

Step 3: Wait!

[Wednesdays Child]

This is just a little bump post to highlight that I've edited the above post a bit to include what judges are looking for and a bit more information on how to enter.

Ta!

[Wednesdays Child]

Teenycontest 1 is now officially CLOSED

We've had seven entries - thank you to everyone who's applied!

The judges will now spend the next couple of days reading through and making notes on the entries, and we'll post our thoughts and our winners when we're done!

A reminder - we now need volunteer judges for the next Teenycontest, and suggestions on which prompt we should use next - see the Your Input Wanted thread over in Mini-Contest Discussion for details, and feel free to suggest new prompts to go with what we've already got!

[multiplemint]

All right. Here are the long-overdue entries and comments from the judges. At the end will be my choice for winner, and then Wednesday and Vin can reply with theirs after.

#1: Masika

[spoiler]Nyika breathed in the briny sea air as she stepped outside. Unlike most cats, Nyika loved living a near the ocean. True, she was no otter, but whoever said a cat couldn't love the smell of the ocean, the fresh-caught fish, the sound of the gulls squawking (even if they squawked a little too much)?

The cat looked out to the docks, where the fishing and trading ships were moored. Nyika rather liked whenever the trading ships returned. The otters and weasels and other beasts often asked her to help unload the ships. She quite often wished she could go sailing with them, see what was out there.

Maybe someday, I will. But for now, I suppose I better get going, 'fore ol' Dorian has my tail fer being late.

The cat headed down the cobblestone road. The streets were already filled with Dibbun hedgehogs and weasels and mice and hares and such, playing Warrior, sticks clacking against each other, their parents shouting warnings of "Be careful!". Nyika sidestepped a hedgehog as his stoat companion backed him into the cat's path.

"Watch it you, or ye might just have t' deal with th' Warlord Nyika!" she playfully teased as she passed. The Dibbuns simply giggled.

Many newcomers to Karravale were often surprised to see woodlanders and vermin living together peacefully. As far as Nyika knew, the little village had always been this way. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case, but she'd never stop to ask the history of the place. She'd been born here, and only went as far the little river in the woods just past the farmlands, and everybeast here, furred or feathered, was treated equally and without suspicion. That wasn't to say there weren't fights between beasts, but never over anything too serious.

As the cat reached the marketplace, she could pick up snippets of conversations as the beasts at their stalls advertised their wares.

"Fresh-caught fish for sale! Fresh-caught fish for sale!"

"Get yore veggertibbles here!"

Nyika headed for a food stall. "Four eggs, half a loaf of honey bread, and two pints of October Ale...and two pints of October Ale...and two fish, t' go, please."

"Surpintly, Miz Nyika! Cooming roight up!"

Why can't some beasts learn to talk normal?

After a about a half hour, the mole had Nyika's order cooked and on a tray. "Fifteen pounders."

The cat paid for the food with a nod. "Thanks."

"You just make sure ol' Dorian gets his brekkist, burr hurr. Doan't goo spillin' et!"

"I won't. Bye!"

Nyika made her way past the general store, which sold clothes, blankets, ropes, and the like, and was adorned by flowerbeds by the door. The cat knew the place well, for she was good friends with Fiora. The cat had met the vixen from ol' Carrough's school.

Wonder if the old mouse is still teaching there.

She'd for some reason always thought Fiora thought the vixen would become a Seer, or a healer, or perhaps a cook. She was always good at cookin' an' herbal cures.

Finally, the cat made it to the forge. "Morning Dorian!"

"You're late," the badger rumbled.

"Blame Mister Fenrow. I can't make the mole cook any faster...unless you'd like your breakfist burnt."

The badger grimaced at the thought. "Well, um, let's just eat it before it gets too cold. We've got orders for quite a few broadswords, and a few daggers as well."

Nyika nodded. "Yes, Master."

Comments:
Vin
There are a couple of moments that really stick out here. When she's heading down the road and the kids are playing in the street was one I really liked...though it did make me pause before I realized there aren't any cars in Redwall so it's probably safe for the kids to be out on the street. The "snippets of conversation" she picks up, with the shouts of the street vendors, was also a good description. I do think parts of it read a bit like exposition. For example, that bit in the middle about vermin and woodlanders living together in peace could have been shown through the interactions of the characters rather than being told through Nyika's thoughts. If you want good examples of how to do this, just look at Vizon's and Matra's entries. Nobody lays out the exact vibe of the communities in their entries but you know exactly what that vibe is anyway.

Wednesday
My favourite part of this is: As far as Nyika knew, the little village had always been this way. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case, but she'd never stop to ask the history of the place. It's a small detail but it tells us that Karravale's peace is a peace that was created at some point, that before it there was strife, that some beasts or other had to make it work this way.
Aside from that you've written a kind and familiar atmosphere and it's an easy read to boot. Very well done.

Tibs
One detail in this that made me grin: you painted the picture of a town without prejudices, where all races live in peace. But, even there, people grumble at molespeak! I liked the marketplace description. It did a good job at illustrating a bustling port town in a few words (though I question other cats not wanting to live in a fishing town -- seems like cat heaven to me!). It's interesting to contrast this with Grey's entry, which is similar, but feels like a much larger market -- more salesbeast lines, the oppressive crowds, etc (and wonder how much is personality-based and how much is an actual difference -- a lesson in a narrator's ability to look at the same thing in a different, biased light). Another line I wanted to highlight that, along with her longing for adventure, did a good job of describing Nyika: "Watch it you, or ye might just have t' deal with th' Warlord Nyika!" she playfully teased as she passed. The Dibbuns simply giggled. Now, true, somebeast older might still want to play along with kids, but this made me picture her as an early teen without telling us that explicity.
[/spoiler]

#2: The Grey Coincidence

[spoiler]"Oh Harlapple darling, we're out of sugar again."

The young mouse, his paw already on the doorknob scowled darkly, knowing what this meant. As quick as he could he stripped off the mud-brown cloak and the loose, rusted pieces of armour he wore underneath it. Shoving the unwanted things behind the umbrella box (which housed his mother's collection of umbrellas) he turned just in time for her arrival.

Hardpear was an elderly mouse missing half her tail. She had lead a long and stressful life, and the last thing Harlapple wanted was to add to it. Which was why his secret hobby of playing at war (in a very literal sense) had to be kept hidden from her.

"Could you go and get some from Honeyfur? You know, the local beekeeper?"

"Of course mother." Harlapple replied. "I was just on my way there. Thought I'd get some honey too, we're nearly out."

"Such a thoughtful boy." She praised, tapping his nose. "Well go on then. Don't let me keep you."

"I will be right back." Harlapple promised. With that the mouse turned and left.

The market was not far from where he lived but Harlapple rarely visited it. There was too much noise for his liking but he could bare that for the sake of his mother. She didn't like her teas as much without the sugar.

As soon as he got off the grassy path that lead away from his home in the hills, and as soon as he put footpaw down upon the town's cobblestones, he was lost.

A dozen beasts seemed to materialize behind him, appearing from behind stalls and corners like ghosts. Half as many were all of a sudden in front of him. From all sides Harlapple was assaulted by noise.

"Barny's Barnacles! Bestest barnacles in town!"

"Berny's Barnacles! Better an' cheaper dan Barny's uns!"

"Buya wanna get wanna free!"

"D'ye have any of them pies with them swirls on top?"

Gritting his teeth, and doing his best to avoid getting stepped on by the oblivious creatures around him, Harlapple pushed through the crowd. The mouse squeezed past a pair of rats shouting aggressively at one another, neatly side-stepped a fast-moving otter (who promptly crashed iinto the aforementioned rats) and strolled under a wolverine determined to sell their collection of stolen banners. All the while voices both vague and oddly familiar shouted out prices and numbers.

"Southard lace! Only three silvers!"

"Authentic Sword of Martin The Warrior! Complete with shield and battle armour!"

Harlapple was tempted to have a look at some of the offers (especially the last one), but knew that if he strayed off the path there would be no getting off the streets before nightfall. It was easier to get lost here than in the thickest of fogs.

So he persevered, shoving the few creatures smaller than him out of the way, and in turn getting shoved to the side by anybeast marginally taller than he was.

"We need bigger roads." He muttered to himself.

"I'll be speakin' te yer manajjer!" Echoed a particularly loud voice that drew several gazes towards a hapless weasel and an aggressive hedgehog.

"Or less people." Harlapple growled.

"Perfume! Perfume! Lovely scents from the tropics!"

"Sampetra Sundaes!"

"Flea killer! Get yer flea killer 'ere!"

With every breath he took Harlapple smelled something new. Everywhere he went a dozen voices filled the air. Something was always new at the market. Beasts were opening stalls and going out of business all the time. It was a whirlpool of life.

Inevitably, someone trod on his tail.

"Yowch! Watch where you're going you bucket-kissing son of a pine tree!" Harlapple shouted, nursing his wounded appendage.  A few faces turned but none took credit for the accident and the culprit had no doubt vanished into the crowd by now.

Scowling, Harlapple trudged on. The sooner this was over, the better. Instinctively he clamped his nose shut as he passed the local fish-sellers. Rumour had it that they had been trying to sell seven-season old fish under the pretext that it was some delicacy they called 'haggis'. Harlapple was of the opinion that they were trying to create a new type of poison.

A few stalls down from the poison-makers lay Honeyfur's cart. The badger seemed to be trying his hardest to pull a few coins off of his paw.

"Rose honey you know," he said conversationally, catching sight of the disgruntled young mouse. "Very sticky and these little silvers you mice use. If I had a silver for every silver I've gotten stuck on me..." The badger shook his head. "Out on errands are you?"

"Mother would like some honey and sugar." Harlapple replied matter-of-factedly. He had never warmed to the badger. The Traumatic Incident Of The Dreaded Beeswax was still fresh in his mind and having gotten stuck to the badger one too many times he knew better than to offer a pawshake.

"That'll be twelve coppers." Honeyfur pawed a large packet of sugar and three jars of honey towards him.

Harlapple reached a paw into his pocket, and found to his horror, that he had forgotten his wallet. Glancing back towards the crowd and the marketplace that separated him from his home he felt his ears drooping in misery.

"Hold that for me please, while I fetch your payment." The mouse grunted, turning on his heel and vanishing into the sea of beasts.

Comments:
Vin
This is great. From the moment he sets foot in the market we get a sense of just how crowded and loud the space is. From the shouts of the vendors, to his struggle to move by people, it's evident exactly how cramped and packed the market is. I think my favorite bit (aside from the Barny's and Berny's shout-off, which made me laugh) was when he walked by the fish vendors. By the end, when he realizes that he has to push back through the crowd and then home back again...it's priceless, because you've already shown so well why walking through this market sucks so much.

Wednesday
scowled darkly, knowing what this meant - excellent start. We know immediately that the boy is about to be sent on a much-hated chore and that he knows how these things go and they are Never Fun. Barny's and Berny's Barnacles gave me an immediate chuckle. I rather love that we are being given our details through the eyes of a mouse who very clearly cannot abide busy places. The thickest of fogs indeed - capturing the haze and disorientation of a busy place in a punchy way. The Traumatic Incident Of The Dreaded Beeswax is another marvellous self-contained set-piece that maintains this wonderful self-aware comedic tone.
Oh no. He forgot his wallet. Oh no. My sympathy is endless.

Tibs
This was an excellent way to describe the town in a way that also avoids describing the town. I should explain. I'm a massive introvert, and, for work, have to regularly run large-scale meetings. So, him trying to shut out the stimuli of a crowd like that resonated with me. Clearly, yes, you gave us good descriptions, the crowd pressing and flowing, the smells, the endless noise, but what I thought was a good bit of characterization was how much Harlapple wishes he didn't have those descriptions to give us. Like my fellow judges, I too loved the Barny's/Berny's scene. Those two lines alone painted the vivid image of old rivals directly across from one another, constantly bickering and fighting for customers. It was a great example of using the minimum of words for the maximum effect. Comparing this to Masika's leaves me wondering: is the town actually that much bigger than Karravale, or does it just seem that way because of Harlapple's personality.[/spoiler]

#3: Twyla
[spoiler]Dear Diary, Its Lyn. I finally have the chance to catch up. I'm living with Twyla Evergreen, my squirrel friend. Shale, my home, was plundered by air pirates. Stupid crows. My parents got me to the Evergreen family, our close friends who were visiting. They... they never came back. I am going to live in Oakton now, with Twyla. I hope I can make new friends. I'll sign off here I gue-

"Lyn! Lyn! My dear sparrow friend Lyn! Are you going to come out?"

"Yes Twyla," I replied. "Coming!" I stepped outside, into the bright morning sun. It was warm, but not too hot. I flew after Twyla, the cool breeze feeling good on my outstretched wings. The path of bridges up in the sky was not hard to follow, as long as I stayed below the canopy. As Oakton grew closer, I caught the scent of bread baking and exotic spices from the traveling merchants visiting from faraway places.

"Oakton is a good stop, not too far from the path, and close to the river. That's why we get so many travelers," Twyla explained. The town was magnificent, the platforms seemingly defying gravity. The bridges connecting the many shops and clearings were twined with flowers. We tried a variety of flatbreads with sweet-smelling syrup and berries from the forest brush below. If you wanted to know something, you could just ask, and everyone was nice. Oakton is a town that seems big, but most of that is just visitors. The main community is small and tight; you could rely on a neighbor to help you out. We wandered around the square and saw many things. The stalls were filled with a rainbow of berries, fabrics, trinkets, and charms. Everywhere you looked, there was a new shop, another artifact, or a unique food to try.

I flew over to a stall, heavily shaded with thick layers of fabric woven from fibers not native here. I entered, and there was a magpie there. She was a trader, known throughout the land as The Collector. She had herbs and potions I had never seen, and small metal figures that seemed to break the rules of nature. There were weapons too, some crudely made daggers, others the fine metalwork of the smiths of Salamandastron. I was getting uncomfortable here, this was too weird. However, I left with one treasure and three fewer bits in my bag.

Comments:
Vin
I love the concept of Oakton, this floating sky village. The descriptions of the platforms and bridges was simple, but that made it work better— if you went overboard, we would have been like, we GET it they'e in a tree. It's a good example of less is more. This way we get a feel for the space without being beat over the head how awesome it is. For the description of Oakton's structure, that worked really well. For the market itself, I think one thing you can work on is not just saying things like, "I saw the cool sight, and smelled the thing. I heard the person speaking." The simple description works for describing the architecture because that's background noise. The things that Lyn is interested in like the shops are more important, so they should get a little more attention and detail.

Wednesday
I adore the flower bridges but my favourite detail is again the slightly off-beat She had herbs and potions I had never seen, and small metal figures that seemed to break the rules of nature. A little bit of an incursion of the wider, darker world into such an idyllic place is definitely noteworthy, and tells us a lot about both The Collector and Oakton itself - that she is widely travelled and knows strange and different things, and that Oakton is still happy to have her regardless.

Tibs
I enjoyed that you gave us an outsider's perspective to this town. She's a refugee of sorts, and so a peaceful place with a friendly populace has got to feel like a much-needed haven. Honestly, Oakton, to me, feels a lot like one of those tourist-y artists villages. A Sedona, Arizona or Berea, Kentucky, which this line did a great job of evoking for me: "Oakton is a town that seems big, but most of that is just visitors". You can tell locals apart easily in a place like that. And, since Lyn isn't a local I'd love it if you immersed me a little more in her head. She's not a tourist, but she's not really accepted by the locals, yet, so give me some of that 'I'm getting used to a place where I'm a little out of place' feeling from her.
[/spoiler]

#4: Matra
[spoiler]Bastion Flats

Dawn carried desert grit and the crier's call across Bastion. Soon the settlement's central lane churned with the line for morning's bread.

Guard hares on loan from Salamandastron populated the front, some risen early and some cutting the queue simply because they could. Sun and sand wrested color and thread from the uniforms of fresh leverets. The experienced traded their mountain standard for linen-wrapped ears and bared fur stained with cactus pulp.

Behind the hares squabbled the squirrel merchants, who never quite lined up so much as clouded around their fringed carts. Some settled prices for the tools and cloth bolts they caravaned from Southsward, destined for Mossflower to the North. Others traded huffs of indignation over waiting at all for "inferior grain."

The locals stood silent at the rear, all voles and mice in cloaks embroidered with their house's sigil. They remained in the long shadows of Bastion's sandstone commons, and only passed through the sun when the line's advance demanded progress. Quick pawsigns passed between the knowing as the emerald Southsward banners above turned into the crimson of Salamandastron by the north-end's bakery.

A vole gram behind the counter bid the last merchant, who wrinkled their nose at a petrified and blackened loaf, farewell before greeting the first local. The scent of hearth and warm bread mingled in the dry air, yet the northern-style ovens carved into the sandstone walls remained empty and cold.

The first local waited and listened. First the ceaseless chatter of homesick hares drifted from the lane outside and towards Bastion's distant gatehouse. Next the ceaseless groaning of squirrels - always at odds with sand in their silks - pressed North to cross the Breakwastes at midday.

Then nothing but the whistle of dawn's breeze through the cracks in the bakery's walls.

Pawsigns passed, and the vole gram kicked away sand concealing a trap door behind her counter. Within rested three fired tandoor and a tray of dough wads. She slammed the wads against the inner walls of the three cylindrical ovens, pressing and rotating the take with a wooden spatula.

Each wad thinned and crisped against the hot clay, transforming the dough into broiled flatbreads dusted with cinnamon or cracked pepper. Locals hurried their coin across the counter as fast as the flatbreads baked. Some drizzled olive oil pinched from southern ninnies or maple glaze "borrowed" from inattentive hares.

All ate well and walked free into Bastion's streets with no mind for the sun or shadows.

Comments:
Vin
I adore this. You've taken this really simple concept— a bread line— and really built the scene around it. Just that opening line: "Dawn carried desert grit and the crier's call across Bastion." Immediately we are getting an understanding of the space. I feel like there's a little bit of a twist in this one, too, in that it doesn't feel like someone experiencing the city of Bastion but almost rather the city itself experiencing the people inside it. The descriptions of the hares vs. the traders vs. the locals is on point, but what I really loved was the implication of that description. We know exactly what the social dynamics of local vs other are in this town not because you told us, but because we can see it in how each of the groups acts and what they do.

Wednesday
Here's the detail that sets the whole piece for me, and does it perfectly: The scent of hearth and warm bread mingled in the dry air, yet the northern-style ovens carved into the sandstone walls remained empty and cold. It's a microcosm of the whole passage, a sentence that tells us that these beasts have learned that home can be maintained in the face of occupation, but only through stealthy means. Well done!

Tibs
This was an app that did a great job of telling a lot in a little space (and using our assumed knowledge of history to help it along). Cloaked locals communicating privately with each other behind the backs of their "on loan" foreign guard? Feeding familiar, but lousy fare to them, and breaking out the tandoor for the locals? My mind immediately went to those Middle Eastern countries under British control. The mix of Salamandastron and Southsward banners makes me think of a place like Casablanca that was supposed to be a neutral zone. My only nitpick is that the narration approaches this from a seemingly neutral place. True, I probably wouldn't want to live in a border town that seems to be at the edge of an empire, but the locals seem to have adapted well. Maybe show more of that discontent that seems to always simmer at colonized places.[/spoiler]

#5: Sammy the Tabby
[spoiler]Sammy the tabby cat is walking out of his house. He sees  so many lush green ferns, grasses, trees, and cattail plants. He knows the town is wealthy because there are big houses and yards. The path is as rough as sandpaper because it is a sand dirt path. His job is a warrior. His town pays a TON of minnows in jobs. His town has been attacked by wolves a LOT so one wolf is 10 minnow fish!

Sammy is going to the market to get a cure for his wound.  He got his wound from a wolf bite not long ago. Half of the town is trashed: homes broken, town statues wrecked,16 deaths, and 34 wounded.  The town has little hope, not none, but little.

The market is HUMONGOUS. There are millions and millions of items. Sammy looks and looks, none of his treatments are in stock. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Sammy cried.

Comments:
Vin
Noooooo! Poor Sammy. I definitely know what it feels like to need medicine and go to the store and they don't have it. I love that the economic system is based on fish. My favorite description you had was of the path being as rough as sandpaper. I think you should work on giving us even more description like that. Closing your eyes and imagining the scene in your head, then writing down EVERYTHING you see really helps.
This is a really good first try at writing! The ideas here are really fun and interesting— I want to learn more about this town that is under attack by wolves and is struggling to stay hopeful. Keep practicing, and you'll get better and better before you know it.

Wednesday
Oh, this is a town on the edge. Open war with the wolves and a bounty of ten minnows on each wolf's head? We'd best hope that Sammy finds a cure soon so that he can help fix all this!
Things I would like to know - How does Sammy feel about his town being so damaged? Are there any buildings or landmarks that he wants back? And why does the town still have hope?
Thank you so much for writing!

Tibs
I admit, it's hard not to be impressed with Sammy's martial prowess. A single tabby cat able to take on not just a singular wolf, but wolves? You're good at giving us a simple, factual breakdown of the town, but how about giving us some more specifics? 34 beasts were wounded, so show us a single house packed with the wounded, nurses having to shimmy through too-tight corridors because they've run out of rooms. This line jumped out at me: "The town has little hope, not none, but little". Show us beasts with the last shred of hope. Trying to crack jokes that fall flat. Trying to cling to routines that have been interrupted by war. In other words, make the writing more personal.
[/spoiler]

#6: Vizon
[spoiler]Warren set off from his doorstep with a spring in his step, walking stick tapping rhythmically between each footfall. Bright white clouds contrasted sharply against a brilliant blue sky as the morning sun cast its warm glow across the hedghog's face. He inhaled deeply, smelling fresh cut grass as his neighbor, Norton, obsessed over his immaculate front lawn. The hare stood up with a grunt when Warren approached.

"Good morning, Norton," the hedgehog saluted. "Seems you're keeping yourself busy!"

"Like a bally bumble bee, wot! Can't let the bloomin' weeds take over again, by jove!"

"Indeed, a constant battle!" Warren grinned, well aware of the ongoing struggle between Norton's pristine landscape and his wife, Collette's, ever-expanding flower garden. It was the sole point of contention between the two, as far as he knew.

Warren lifted his foot over a large tree root. Every bump, crack, rise and slope of this trail was familiar, and he hardly had to think about it anymore: *Thump thump* the Hay Creek bridge,*Tap tap* the cobblestones of Rutabaga drive, *Brush brush* the foxtail weeds outside Jonquill's cottage. When the scent of fresh-turned earth reached his nostrils he slowed, listening for the telltale *CHOCK* of Tindle's pitchfork as the mole hunted earthworms in his field. Instead he heard another beast approaching from an adjacent walkway. He smiled, recognizing the wide gate and labored breathing without ever turning his head.

"Hello Hobb."

"Well, how'd you know it was me?" The portly vole chuckled as he came up beside the hedgehog. "Don't tell me it was the onion in my breakfast scone." He checked his breath, puffing into his paw.

Warren only chuckled, shaking his head. "Are you heading to the market?"

"Nay," Hobb scuffed a boot. "I'll just be crossing paths with you here. On my way to the orchard!"

"Oh ho! What's at the orchard?"

"Not what, my friend – who!" The vole sounded positively giddy.

"Ahh. Rosita's returned!" Warren smiled, genuinely happy for his friend. "That would explain the bouquet."

Hobb shrugged, pulling the flower arrangement out from behind his back with some embarrassment. "Can't hide anything from you, can I?" He quieted as they walked side by side, then turned an anxious face toward the hedgehog. "Do you think it's too much?"

Warren shook his head and patted the vole reassuringly on the shoulder. "When a lass comes just once a year, you've got to seize your chance while you can. Besides, who would appreciate blossoms more than a beekeeper?"

The vole seemed bolstered by the encouraging words. "Thanks, Warren. I'll see you later then!" He hurried off, whistling a jolly tune.

Warren continued past the split in the road toward the town market. He could still remember the face of his own childhood sweetheart, Ruthy, and wondered how things might have been different, had he not gone to fight.

Up ahead the path became rutted and more treacherous, its surface eroded by constant traffic. Warren stepped more carefully now, focusing intently on the obstacles at his feet. Other beasts hurried by. Several greeted him, but he returned the salutations absently.

So distracted was the hedgehog, that he almost missed the struggling efforts of a hogmaid across the way. She grunted, giving her wagon a hard shove.

"Are you stuck?" Warren addressed the unfamiliar traveler.

The other hedgehog huffed with irritation. Her legs and pinafore were coated in mud. Her cart angled crazily, one wheel sunk deep in a rut while the other spun in the air.

"Can I help?" He tried again.

She shrugged, scrubbing a paw self-consciously at her muzzle, adding more filth to her already homely face. One eye drifted lazily above a crooked, scabby nose.

Warren hesitated.

She turned back to her wagon, renewing her efforts. She heaved and strained, then slipped and fell, knocking her elbow hard against the edge of the cart. She began to weep, clutching at her throbbing arm.

Warren stood before her, offering a paw. She sniffed softly and took it, rising to her feet.

"Please, let me assist you, miss."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Together the two hedgehogs were able to lift the wagon and free the wheel.

"You must be new to town," Warren commented as he and the hogmaid rested from the effort. "I've not met you before. Name's Warren."

"I'm grateful for your charity, Mr. Warren. My name's Witchazel. And yes, I live in Thornington."

"That's a bit of a trek. Why not sell your wares there?"

Witchazel shrugged, looking at the ground. "My parents want me to get out more often –  meet other beasts." She picked at a bald spot on her head where several spikes were missing. "They don't want me to spend the rest of my adult life hiding in the greenhouse, and seem to think my chances are better out here." She snorted, her lazy eye rolling.

"I don't get out much myself," Warren admitted. "It's more comfortable to stay where things are familiar and predictable. But it's also good to get out and make new friends." He patted her on the shoulder with seeming sincerity, though his eyes refused to settle on her ugly face. "A bright, young, pretty maid like you should have no trouble finding new friends and companions – wherever you go!"

Witchazel burst into tears. "I...I should go." She stood.

Warren's brow knitted, "I'm sorry, is it something I said?"

"I know you're trying to be kind," Witchazel sobbed, "But I know I'm not pretty, sir." She wiped her eyes clear, chin trembling.

Warren put a paw to her arm as she started to turn away. "Pardon me miss, but I only spoke what seemed true. I lost my sight during the battle of Longspur five seasons ago."

"You...you're blind?" Witchazel gaped.

"Aye. But I can still see that you are pretty. And sweet as any posy."

Witchazel smiled through her tears and seized Warren's paws in her own. "I'm glad to have met you, Warren. Perhaps we can brave the world together."

Comments:
Vin
I love the interactions between Warren and his neighbors. I think when a lot of people think of description, they think of sensory things. What can you see, taste, feel. But when you're describing an occupied space, dialogue can be just as important in painting the scene as the senses are. Nobody ever says, this is a friendly town with a peaceful air, but you can just tell through the way that the characters interact. (If somebody isn't quite sure what I mean, a good example of this you may have seen is the movie Hot Fuzz. Everything seems so picture perfect, but when you watch the main character interact with everyone in the town, you can tell that something just isn't quite right.) It's not just the dialogue, though. A lot of the sensory description was absolutely vivid as well. In particular I liked this line: "Up ahead the path became rutted and more treacherous, its surface eroded by constant traffic. Warren stepped more carefully now, focusing intently on the obstacles at his feet."

Wednesday
"Don't tell me it was the onion in my breakfast scone." I too have often been concerned that my breakfast choices betray me to anyone downwind. This is a very sweet collection of little scenes that feel decidedly like they've been plucked from a book about little old English villages. There are a couple of moments close to the end but before the reveal where it feels like the third-person narrator is telling us slightly more than Warren would actually have been able to perceive... but this is a very minor quibble.

Tibs
I think I enjoyed reading this entry the most, but I can't help but wonder how interesting it could've been if you stayed closer to Warren's POV. Warren's blind, so I can't help but wish we had gotten an entry with no visual narration. Auditory clues for movement, instead of a third-person narration, crank up the sensory clues more (Hobb's voice cracking or squeaking as he mentions his lady love, etc), the like. The ending was touching, and makes me want to read more. Warren taking her under his wing, helping her work through her feeling of being an outsider.[/spoiler]

#7: Cobb
[spoiler]Glorianna Longfoot gathered her brood around her and picked up her basket. Her youngest was swaddled and sleeping in the sling she had secured around her neck. "Now, Blesinde, don't you go lettin' go o' Shonna's paw. Clovis, you 'ave the other basket, aye? Roderic? ... Roderic! Get yer paws outta yer sister's ears!"

Grabbing the young hare's paw, Glorianna marched her troop out into warm, morning sunshine. The path to town wasn't too long, but having to drag the dibbuns along seemed to lengthen it into eternity. It hadn't rained in a few days, so the group kicked up dust as they went along, the girls skipping ahead, only to stop to pick some wildflowers growing next to the path.

"Mummy, I wanna pick th' flowers, too." Roderic tugged on the haremum's arm. "Muummyyy."

Glorianna let the young lad go. "You stay wi' yer sisters then, Roddy. But when we get t' town, you 'old me paw again, you 'ear?"

She sighed and looked down at the leveret in the sling. He was getting heavy, so she shifted his weight a bit. The wind blew gently through the trees in the nearby woods and cooled her. She could see the beginnings of the town just up ahead.

"Do y' smell th' pies, Clovis?" The hare smiled down at her second oldest. "If there's a blackberry one, we should get it for dessert."

The young hare lifted his nose and sniffed, his nostrils quivering, trying to suss out the many smells on the breeze. "Tha's Pa's fav'rit!"

Glorianna and Clovis caught up to the other three dibbuns and the haremum grabbed Roderic's paw again. As they approached the town, the path became smoother, more worn down by beasts' footpaws. The low din of beasts haggling and chatting with neighbors in the marketplace reached their ears. The occasional shout of a young beast could be heard ringing through the air.

"Now, don't any of you run off. Stay close t' me. I know you are hungered, so if'n you mind me, we'll get some scones an' cider fer a treat."

Glorianna nodded at the chorus of "Yes, mum," and marched into the crowd. There were beasts of every kind in Summerpass, and all did their shopping in the market. In the mornings, the crowds were mostly made up of mothers and their dibbuns. In the evenings, the crowds were more mixed: the males joined the fray, heading towards home or to the pubs, and the unmarried beasts came out to flirt under the watchful eyes of the town spinsters.

The hare family wandered to a stall with cheeses of all kinds on its counters. Glorianna let go of Roderic's paw to pick up a block of cotswold. As she was about to ask the price, the young hare grabbed a wedge of applewood cheddar and opened his mouth to nibble a bit.

Glorianna snapped at the boy just before he could take a bite. "Roderic!" She turned to the mouse in charge of the stall. "I guess we'll be takin' the cheddar, too."

After making their purchase, Glorianna once again took Roddy's paw, and marched the family back into the streets. "If'n you touch summat you oughtn't again, there'll be no treats fer you," she scolded him.

The neighboring stall was filled with vegetables of all kinds. There was asparagus, spring onions, beans, squash, aubergine, and early greens. Glorianna filled Clovis's basket, and they were ready to move on.

At the next stall, the hare bought some fabric to make new britches for the dibbuns. As she was browsing, her paws trailed over the soft silks. There was a fine damask that she admired, but with 5 little ones, she would just have to make do with the linen she bought.

The leveret in her sling started to squall. "'Tis alright, Tobias. We'll be 'eadin' home soon." Glorianna had wanted to stop by the tent with the homegoods in it, but it seemed she would have to leave that for another day. She bounced the baby in the sling to settle him.

"Come along now. Blesinde, you 'old Roddy's paw, too. We'll get those scones an' cider an' be on our way home."

When the family reached the stall with the baked goods, the smell of yeast wafted up from the still warm breads. The otter that ran the stall knew the family well.

"Mornin', Glorianna. I've got a blackberry pie 'ere."

"Monrin', Treave. I'll take th' pie, a loaf o' yer potato bread, an' four scones and ciders."

Comments:
Vin
I really like the first half of this app, up to when they get to town. The description is lovely and even almost quaint. It just feels like a peaceful, gentle summer day where you're walking along with this family as they head into town. And when you get to town, I like the subtle details describing it, like the low din and the occasional shout, and the crowd. Once they get to town and start shopping, the description is still good but it felt a little more like I was reading a list of places that they went rather than any kind of naturally flowing movement through space. It read like, first they went to this stall, then they went to this stall, then they ended up here. I wasn't drawn through the market like I was drawn up the road and into town.

Wednesday
Now I can't possibly imagine you've been, but when I was young my mother and I were volunteer Tudors in a re-enactment spot called Kentwell Hall... and what you've written here has sledgehammered me with nostalgia for the place. A detail I enjoyed: ...and the unmarried beasts came out to flirt under the watchful eyes of the town spinsters. Oh, the town spinsters, always watching...

Tibs
Lordy, I have been in this situation.... Like Vin points out (and the datestamp in my PM), it's clear that the ending was a little rushed. Before that, though, you do a great job of painting both the town itself and her place in it. Sellers recognize her and call her by name -- not surprising, as a household of seven probably needs a lot of market visits. Comparing this to Masika's and Grey's is interesting, because unlike Nyika who immerses herself in the market and Harlapple who wishes he could drown it out, but can't, Glorianna has one thing on her mind: get in, get out, and try to minimize the damage her kids would cause. Which, I think, serves to paint us a picture of her better than it paints the town itself. So, in my opinion, this does a better job almost as a proper character app than it does a contest entry about setting.[/spoiler]

And my choice for winner: I feel that Vizon and Matra are the two opposite sides of this contest's coin. One is short and snappy and wastes no words to paint a picture of the village for us. The other is as long as it possibly can be, but uses that to really immerse us in the life there, making us feel the community of a small town from one of the inhabitant's perspective. In the end, I went with the piece that I enjoyed reading the most, that got me invested in the world and the characters inside it, and that's Vizon's.

[Wednesdays Child]

Thank you to Mint for putting this up!

I'm in the odd position of having to acknowledge that I like someone's writing style too much to be impartial about it. As a reader I absolutely love being presented with just enough information to fill gaps and infer depth, and Matra's entry has that in spades for me.

So I think I'd better pick a different winner (sorry Matra, you know I love everything you write!)

I'm going to give this one to Harlapple, because the whole passage has this wonderful comedic tone - with enough serious veins to keep us grounded but not to disrupt our amusement. From the very beginning scowled darkly, knowing what this meant to the final twist that will hit every introverted reader with a deep and sympathetic pain, the tone is consistent, identifiable, and makes me smile. Very good, well done!

[Twyla]

Thank you for the wonderful reply! I will definitely use this in the future.

[Matra Hammer]

I really enjoyed a good many of these. A big thank you to the writers and judges for making this happen.

[Mara the Wolf]

Well, Minty, Vin, & Wednesday, thanks for the feedback. I kinda feel the need to respond to some of your criticisms.

First of all, thank you for not getting on me for accidentally repeating "and two pints of October Ale", or my two typos near the end! I honestly can't believe how many typos I seem to miss all the time despite constantly rereading my work to see if the story flows nicely!

Second, Vin, you seem to think the parents calling out their little ones to be careful was because of the streets. In actuality, they were telling them to be careful with their wooden weapons (I have been whacked on the hands multiple times by wooden swords and bamboo (or something similar) when I was younger or playing with kids, and let me tell you, it hurts!), and to also watch for people in the streets.

And to Tibs: First, is this a fourth judge or a nickname for multiplemint? Second, a fishing town sounds like cat heaven to you? I just factored in most cats wouldn't want to live so close an ocean, as most cats hate water, and plenty don't seem to know how to swim. And finally, the molespeech...oy! I have no problems reading molespeech, but writing it? :twitch: Dear Vulpuz, I hope to never write another mole again! It actually exhausted me constantly checking the molespeech guide! :P Fenrow was actually supposed to be Nyika's next-door neighbor who loved gardening, and the mole Nyika gets breakfast from was to be a second mole, but I couldn't get Nyika's and Fenrow's pleasantries to come off as anything other than boring and stiff.