I am working on the first draft of book three in the Lost Children of the Prophet series. (No. I don’t have a name for it yet. I’m sure I’ll find the name sometime soon.) I wrote a scene I’d like to share with you, but remember this is rough, I’ve done no editing on it yet.

You may wonder the things that helped me write this scene. Many years ago when I was a little girl, my brother had a friend who lived across the street from us in our small town. One day, this friend wanted me to see a rock he thought was particularly pretty. Instead of running it across the street and placing it in my hand, he threw it to me. I, of course, caught it on my head, not in my hands.

In January, we visited our son in Arizona. He took us to a river purposely kept low to save water during the winter. He and his little boy stood for almost an hour throwing rocks into the river. I stood for a long time watching father and son throw rocks into the water. As I watched, I wondered how I could include this in my books.

Here is a part of that scene:

“It may be my fault. When we were still young boys, Father took us out to the horse farm with him while he checked on the horses. Kimnor hit on a great game, or so he thought. We stood across the stream with a stack of smooth rocks, Kimnor stood on one side while I stood on the other.”

David shrugged and pulled his head down into the collar of his cape. “It was Kimnor’s idea. Peter and I were his younger brothers. We always did what he told us to do. Usually, his games were fun. On that day, we were tossing the rocks from one side of the stream to the other, trying to throw them close enough to the other boy that he could catch it.”

“That does not sound safe to me.” Daphne glanced at David, then faced forward to keep her eyes on the road ahead of her.

“Looking back, it wasn’t very safe. We were young boys. What did we know? I threw a rock to him, and he caught it. Then he threw one to me. We stepped back and Kimnor told me to throw the rock to him. It was a flat, little rock, easy for boys to throw. I threw it, he caught it and threw it back, before we stepped back another step. We did this several times.”

“And then he did not catch it?” Daphne asked. She guided the mules around a rock that stood in the center of the road. “Good boy, Jack,” she called out to the mule.

David caught up to her.

“So what happened to Kimnor? Did he miss the rock?”

David grimaced and swallowed. “We had stepped back a distance from the edge of the stream. I had barely managed to throw the rock to him the time before. I worried it would not reach him this time. Kimnor had yelled at me, called me weak. I didn’t want him to call me weak yet again.”

David stared at the ground between the wagon and his horse. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Daphne glanced his way, then stared down the road. She sat in silence, waiting for David to find the words.

David cleared his throat and spoke once more. “I stepped back with one leg and pulled the rock next to my ear. I flung that rock as hard as I could to Kimnor.” David swallowed again. “He didn’t catch it. It moved too fast. He lifted his hands to catch it, but he missed it. It hit him on the head, here.” David pointed to a spot above his eye and dropped his hand.