The meme asked for 7 lines, 7 lines down, from the 7th page of a work in progress. Well, I have two works in progress, both at the editing and formatting stage, so I’ve extracted seven lines from the right place in each. Well, around seven, because in both cases I had to make minor adjustments to make sure they made some kind of sense – which I assume was the idea!

The first is from Tales from Tara, the second volume of my fae saga.

It was the end of Yarrow’s first month in Tara. He was now firm friends with Stripe and Quicksilver, but still hadn’t found a temporary boyfriend, so his temper was less than perfect. Devil was beginning to chafe at the amount of time spent underground, and the unicorn’s mood was rubbing off on his already edgy rider. So Yarrow could have done without the city trip but guards do not get to choose their duties. They started with a riverside ride, almost a parade. The titania hoped her folk would know she was there and come out to see her. Many did, and their jostling and crowding by the barriers that prevented cars from driving into the Liffey also prevented home-going drinkers from seeing the Royal Ride. Yarrow gazed at the grand buildings lining the street, hoping to remember enough to tell everyone at home on The Edge all about his experience. The words of the song ‘In Dublin’s Fair City’ sprang to mind and he agreed that for a human-built place it was fair. He had no idea whether the girls were pretty and didn’t much care. Unlike Harlequin, he was mostly interested in fae, and mostly in male fae, at that.

The second is from The Lantern, the fourth volume in The Skilled Investigators which centres round a female elf detective with her gay brother and her imprinted (and telepathic) dragon as sidekicks.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the farmer assured them, and then, changing the subject, continued. “Any more than I would dream of ignoring our other guest. We have a goat ready for Scratch. It’s still alive as we didn’t know whether he would prefer to kill his own prey.” He looked at Genef who realised she had no idea.
She sent a quick query to Scratch who replied that he didn’t really mind. He would kill the goat if it would help, but mainly, he wanted to eat it. And eat it dead, of course.
“Would it help if he killed it himself?” she asked. “He’s willing, but doesn’t mind either way.”
“It would,” said Verilla, the farmer’s wife, “and I’ll just bring it to the front of the house so that Scratch can enjoy his meal.” She left the table and went outside to get the goat, presumably from an outbuilding, for all the world as if she was merely bringing another dish to the table. Genef felt pleased that Scratch was being treated as truly one of the company.

Both works are currently in the throes formatting which, let me tell you, is much much harder than writing them in the first place.