Suns, and Ireland

Um. Hello. I've been writing over ... there, somewhere. I've got 2145 words on Dawning Sun so far, and some fun worldbuilding bits on the steampunk short story I seem to want to pursue.

From today's work on Dawning Suns:

They stood, and the light shifted so that she could no longer see their expressions. For a moment, she gazed at the long, finely boned calves even with her head, and entertained that she might have made a mistake. But her mind shifted into reverie as she remembered the sound of wings and the movement of hair loose in the breeze, and she did not see the women leave her and return to their own pallets.

(I know; it's just description, but that's all I really wrote today. The dialog I wrote was ... not some of my best. How do you hit on someone you're not interested in? And how do you reject the person who's hitting on you when you know they're not interested in you?)

And from the Steampunk Fae:

His workshop, when she dared broach the door, had yielded little in the way of specific clues, though she did find a schematic pinned down by two errant clock hands. The enigmatic words “newgrange, 11pm, not ours” scrawled across the bottom were not in Charles' customarily neat hand, but Anna was forced to conclude they were his.

Which is how Anna came to be booking passage to the back end of the English empire, armed with various watchpieces and one slightly battered prototype dichromaton to find her errant husband.