It’s Rose’s turn.
It was difficult to choose an introduction for Rose. She’s a brand new character BECOME: TO RIDE THE STORM.
She’s also the youngest of the POV characters, which means she’ll likely be the one to change the most, in some ways. (Also, it’s quite possible that Rose’s name will change before this book makes it out into the public.)
So, I defaulted to her very first scene. Which also happens to be the first scene in the book–at least right now. All of this is still first draft, after all.
For the third night in a row, Rose dreamed of a very odd palace. It was nothing like the palace here in Versenna, which she’d walked by more times than she could count on her way to the Temple. This palace was all open courtyards and carved arches. Totally impractical. There’d be no way at all to keep the rain or the winter chill out. But . . . other things about this dream made her think that the palace might be somewhere on the other side of the mountains called The Spine of the World. They said it was drier, there.
As on the previous nights, her dream eye was drawn to a young man. The burnished gold of his hair was one of the things that made her think this dream location might be Khatar. At least, the traders that came over the mountain pass from Khatar were the only people she knew who generally had hair that color—well, and a few people whose parents or grandparents had come from Khatar.
This time, the young man rode up to the palace on a horse only a slightly darker shade of gold than his hair, with a creamy mane and tail. Rose had never seen a horse that color, but she had to admit they made a striking pair. Then again, she’d thought the young man was striking whatever he happened to be doing in her dream.
Suddenly she sat bolt upright. “Fatherless, Weather has grown strong and true, taught and guided by blood, protected by blood and Temple. Now the time arrives to seek his lost father and complete the prophecy.”
Her father squeezed her hand. “Wake up now, Rose.”
Her eyes fluttered open and her brows knit, momentarily disoriented. Why was Papa holding her hand? Oh, right. Because she’d had the same dream, or one very like it, for two nights running—three, now. Papa was a Dream Guide, as Rose would be too, someday, and he had to touch her as she dreamed in order to share the dream so he could determine if this was a true dream.
Papa released her hand and began scribbling something hurriedly on the paper on the little table by her bed.
Now, if you want to know what the reference to “Weather” means, well, you’ll just have to read the next blog post, which will introduce another character.