Arts

 

About the Book

Title: Lunchtime Nibbles

Authors: Claire Davis & Al Stewart

Print Length: 61 pages

Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing

Publication Date: December 1, 2016

ISBN: 9781786450968

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32790462-lunchtime-nibbles

Categories: Gay fiction, romance, new adult, contemporary

Synopsis

Cheese and Pickle

Harvey and Greg work in the same office. Of course Harvey noticed Greg – who wouldn’t notice the beardie hottie with muscles aplenty to silence even the noisiest team meeting? Then a home visit turns into a car-rocking tryst of spectacular proportions, and suddenly Tuesday lunchtimes become the highlight of Harvey’s week.

But will a quickie with the recalcitrant Greg be enough, or will something more meaningful develop?

* * * * *

The Detonator

Featuring Tork and Adam from The Tork and Adam series

Adam is a sex god. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Tork is a green-haired mind-reader.

They haven’t been together for long, but when Adam realises Tork’s birthday is coming up, he knows he has to make this the best birthday ever. But what to buy someone like Tork? And how much to spend?

Every time Tork calls, Adam’s knees turn to jelly, and he’s not so much a sex god as a whimpering idiot.

Can Adam take control and make the birthday dinner perfect?

What happens when the kitchen sparks end up in the bedroom with Tork and Adam naked?

Cameo appearance by Dickens the cat.

Review

These two stories are smart, sexy, and fun. If you’re looking for something steamy but that’s firmly outside the box, this should do it for you.

Cheese and Pickle

This is adorable and funny. I don’t know what makes somewhat illicit car hook-ups hot, but that’s essentially the premise here. Harvey and Greg work together, and their interactions go from Harvey ogling to light flirting to getting it on during their weekly lunches. The sex is hot enough to melt paint, but interestingly, it’s not terribly graphic. The scenes are really well done.

There’s some humor aimed at the trope of men’s insecurities and hiding their real feelings, but Harvey and Greg do eventually get themselves together. Like their intimate moments, it’s not overdone, and it’s easy to relate to Harvey’s worries. When they figure out there’s more between them than steaming up the windows, the sweetness is enough to cause cavities. It all works perfectly.

The Detonator

This is a terrific side story about Adam and Tork. It’s not necessary to have read the others, but I found it helped with context. In particular, Adam is incredibly unlikable on his best days, but it’s all surface. It’s hard to get a sense of that without the other stories.

That said, fans of Adam and Tork who wanted something hotter between them should be pleased. Of course, it wouldn’t be the two of them without Adam making a mess and Tork soothing his ruffled feathers. They’re a lot of fun together. Not only that, this story is hilarious. Anyone who has ever had to by the “perfect” gift for someone can relate to Adam’s misadventures. His party decorations are awful in the most charming way. It’s nice to see these guys enjoying their happy ending.

For good fun, relatable situations, and understated but very hot sexy times, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.

Purchase Links

Amazon | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | GooglePlay

About the Author

Al Stewart and Claire Davis write about people who are not perfect. Claire embraces the dark side, and Al the good side of the force. Their work is there for a fusion of both, mixed often with kink and humour.

Social Media

Website | Goodreads – Claire Davis | Goodreads – Al Stewart | Facebook | Beaten Track

About the Book

Title: If I Should Stumble

Authors: Claire Davis & Al Stewart

Print Length: 118 pages

Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing

Publication Date: December 1, 2016

Categories: Gay fiction, romance, new adult, contemporary

Synopsis

Love is sure and timeless and forever. It whispers over the morning coffee and the last thought before sleep. Love is beyond hope, and cruel as life.

Kaz has been in the UK for almost a year, but the days pass by in an endless round of alcohol and nothingness. He has a story but no words good or bad enough to tell it, until one day, he is assigned a new peer mentor who asks him to help train a sponsored running team. Something that was stretched as old parchment breaks inside, and memories begin to re-surface.

Zack is overjoyed when his friend Adam asks him to be part of the sponsored run team trying to make money for the local homeless shelter. All day he makes cakes to lighten people’s load, but something is missing from his life. Then he meets the boy with eyes like the desert, and with every step he runs, Zack’s light burns away the darkness in Kaz’s heart.

As the race heats gets nearer, Tork, Adam, Zack and Jo realise that under Kaz’s careful programme, they have a chance to qualify and set right some of the wrongs of this world.

This book features the characters Tork and Adam from The Invasion of Tork and The Invasion of Adam.

Review

I’m always at a bit of a loss to explain just why I love these authors’ books so much, but it boils down to a few key things: Romance as secondary to plot, other types of relationships as equally important, and complex issues and themes. The stories may not be epic-length novels, but they say everything they need to.

If I Should Stumble is incredibly well-written. It’s emotional, and readers need to go in prepared for the heavy themes (particularly the struggles of refugees). But none of it is played up solely for the sake of tugging at heartstrings or preaching about current affairs. This is about finding hope even in despair and about learning trust even in the midst of fear.

What I like is that the story doesn’t shy away from tough subject matter. Kaz’s mental state is collapsing, and he’s doing everything he can to keep from going under. His life has been brutal, and he’s been forced to do battle to survive. His voice is unique, both in his perspective as a refugee and in the ways he tries to adapt and find his place in a society which is often hard to understand. Kaz’s drinking and his hoarding are both achingly real and brilliant metaphors.

I love Tork’s almost sideways kind of thinking and his shrewd mind in figuring out how to reach Kaz when others have mostly talked past or around him. Of course, I’m also thrilled to see that his “happily ever after” with Adam isn’t just a fairy tale ending. Adam is a nice bit of snarky comic relief, and of course, he has layers too that we see peeled back. I’d love to know more about Jo as well; I get the sense there’s more to her than we see here.

We only get to see Zack through Kaz’s eyes, and  I think that’s fine. I’m not sure the story would have worked with alternating points of view. It could easily have become too much about him. I love Kaz’s internal dialog about Zack and the sweet way their relationship moves. Maybe one day, we’ll see how they turn out together the way we’ve gotten to see Adam and Tork.

There are so many levels to the storytelling that it’s impossible to go through them all here. While there are adults who might object to the language, the brutality of Kaz’s experiences, and the implied (though not ever explicit) sensuality, I am not one of them. I would not hesitate to give this to young adult readers. They can typically handle far more than we give them credit for, and there’s so much depth in this story which deserves to be read and discussed.

For exceptional writing, characters who feel real, and hope shining through, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.

Purchase Links

Amazon | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | GooglePlay

About the Author

Al Stewart and Claire Davis write about people who are not perfect. Claire embraces the dark side, and Al the good side of the force. Their work is there for a fusion of both, mixed often with kink and humour.

Social Media

Website | Goodreads – Claire Davis | Goodreads – Al Stewart | Facebook | Beaten Track

Interview

It’s a huge honor to chat with Al Stewart and Claire Davis about writing, life, and their current project. Welcome! Let’s talk a little about If I Should Stumble.

What inspired you to write this story?

Claire : That’s a really big question but I’ll try. The story was based on real accounts of children and young adults who were forced to leave their country because of war, bigotry, fear, and through family breakdown. Specifically, because of LBGT issues.

Al: It’s a story of now – of our time – of the events happening all over Europe regarding politics – war – poverty – but underneath all these massive things there are the people. Our story is one voice – not written to condemn – only to say ‘ hear me.’

Claire : It was also a way for the characters of Tork and Adam to shine. I am a firm believer in the power of ordinary people to overcome adversity and make things happen. It was not enough to simply leave them with a HEA. I wanted more for them than that.

Al: Because it’s all we can do. Proceeds ( if there are any) from Stumble will go to a charity specific to young people refugees.

AM says: Wow, you guys. I’m really glad you wrote this, and I do hope it strikes a chord for people.

Is there a character you feel especially connected to? Why?

Al: Kaz being thrown out by his family because of religion is something I can relate to.

AM says: I am unbelievably sorry. As a parent, I don’t understand families that do such a thing.

What was the hardest part of writing this?

Claire: I think it’s always tempting with YA to leave alone the most difficult themes because many readers simply do not want to go there. But in Stumble, to do the story of Kaz justice, there was no way we could. So we tried to create a slow unravelling and to suggest by imagery the depths to which Kaz had to sink. The balance was very difficult to get right and even now I wonder if we did.

I think we also know that Stumble may get harsh criticism for touching on sensitive issues.

Al: The coach flashbacks.

AM says: I thought you guys got that stuff really well. I wish more YA authors would take those risks, and I think it’s only adults who get touchy. Kids want more, and they can tell when adults are coddling or sheltering them.

Choose a favourite line or short passage. What do you like about it?

Claire :

What he ought to be was an asset and a team played—or was it player? He needed to accept the difficulties and do it anyway, if he was ever to find a future. Or, at least, that was what Luca had said—something like that. Kaz had to take his destiny in both hands, and stop feeling sorry for himself.

All he needed was the baby buggy parked against a row of bins.

What I love about this passage … it reminds me of the gap that often exists between workers and clients. All the workers in the story are trying hard to help Kaz, but they don’t really listen. All he wants is the buggy, all he wants is the pain to stop.

AM says: Oh my goodness, that scene was gut-wrenching.

Tell us a little about any upcoming projects

Al: To write something happy ! 😀

AM says: Ha! I’m sure you can do it.

Word sprints

Al:

Plotter or pantster? Bit of both. We have a rough outline but the means of writing it is revealed as we go. For this story, it was the swimming noodle that did it 😀

What genre do you like to read? I love lit fiction best of all, and actually I hardly read any MM Romance any more. I’m a glutton for old stuff, too.

Do you write full time?  God, no. I have two jobs to pay the bills. Sadly we make very little money from writing.

Morning person or night owl? Morning person. I’m always awake by 5AM.

Who has inspired you the most? I think the people I come across every day.

Tell us a bit about your cultural, ethnic, religious, and/or spiritual background and how it informs your writing.

Claire: My background is working class poor. I had bad experiences of religious intolerance at a young age and honestly I struggle to understand how ancient doctrines can ever be more important than people. I see a lot of ‘religious’ people who never think about LGBT issues, but to me religion is a club that excludes. At work, I see the damage of this on a daily basis.

What cultural value do you see in storytelling?

Claire: I think there is massive cultural value in storytelling. A good example of this is how many readers remark on the Britishness of our stories. One reader said they had no idea there were such things as food banks ( from The Invasion of Tork). I don’t see it as my job or responsibility to inform, more my good fortune.

I try very hard not to preach, even when I want to. I suppose what I hope is to take readers through a human experience they wouldn’t otherwise have had.

How do you hope your writing influences other people?

Al: I hope that readers can be themselves and that our books can give them some strength to feel ok with whoever they are. I do get pissed off at all the perfect gay men in MM romance books, well you won’t see any in ours. We have had some very touching reviews and comments about how our books affected readers. I hope I show that kindness and acceptance are always possible and that no-one is better than you.

AM says: The “ideal man” type appears in both m/m and m/f, and it’s a lot of why I don’t read a whole lot of either. I’m with you—I want some imperfection, some genuine human-ness.

Thanks so much for stopping by, and you’re both more than welcome here any time. I’ll be sure to keep readers informed of any new releases.

About the Book

GENRE: Gay historical romance, horror

PUBLISHER: Buddha Kitty Books

PUB DATE: January 4, 2017

PAGE/WORD COUNT: 307 pages, 75K words

FORMATS: Mobi, EPUB, PDF

GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32079091-man-monster

Synopsis

It’s 1799, and Cole Seavey is a trapper running from a guilty past, seeking refuge on the vast American frontier. Lost in a raging storm, he finds himself face to face with a terrifying, otherworldly creature that seems to have emerged from a nightmare.

Cole is saved from certain death by a handsome Delaware Indian named Pakim. Together they learn that the monster is the fearsome Wendigo from native legends: a creature with a heart of ice, drawn to the evil of men.

Soon the Wendigo is terrorizing the frontier — settler and Indian alike — and Cole and Pakim join together to defeat the mysterious monster. In the process, Cole finds himself falling for the strapping brave and the promise of a new life together.

Unfortunately, the legends say that the Wendigo can only be killed by another creature with a heart of ice. But how can Cole hope to defeat the monster if it means denying the love he’s finally allowed himself to feel?

Man & Monster, which the Midwest Book Review calls “a spell-binding story that is half mystery and half horror,” is the second book in the Savage Land, a series that celebrates the untold gay history of the American frontier. Man & Monster is for fans of Harper Fox, Jerry Cole, K.J. Charles, and Mary Renault, as well as anyone who enjoys pulse-pounding suspense and romance.
(Man & Monster was previously published under the title Firelands.)

Review

This is the first book I’ve read by Michael Jensen, but it won’t be the last. It’s well-written, and it drew me in and gripped my attention all the way through.

This is not a historical romance. Although there is an underlying love story, it’s secondary to the adventure and mystery. This is a historical thriller will plenty of heart-stopping, stomach-dropping moments as the characters battle for their survival.

The characters are fantastic. Cole describes himself as being cold-hearted, but even from the beginning it’s easy to see that it’s how he’s protected himself, not how he genuinely is. Though the romantic elements are between Cole and Pakim, the story doesn’t focus solely on the two of them. In fact, there’s plenty of time when they’re apart in which other characters become prominent. Cole doesn’t discover only one kind of love; he discovers many.

In terms of the romance between Cole and Pakim, it was plenty for me. I prefer a story which has more action than intimacy and where the main plot is more important than the relationship, so it worked perfectly for me. What little sex there is (there’s not much, and it’s not descriptive) is very well done and proves that it doesn’t need to be graphic in order to be gorgeously sensual.

I love the way the themes of cold and ice are woven throughout the story. It’s not merely the almost-winter setting but an integral part of the plot. The chill and ice is constantly juxtaposed with warmth and fire. Everything from the characters to the physical scenery carry these contrasts. It would be interesting to study and discuss them at length.

There are plenty of surprises all the way through, right up until the end. There are clues readers can look for in solving the mystery, but it didn’t end up feeling predictable. The expertly crafted distractions serve their purpose. And even with all the clues, there are still some revelations at the end.

As a non-Native person myself, I’m not sure how well the author captured the culture and peoples of that era. However, it came across to me as written with a respectful tone. There’s definitely a calling out of white people for the devastation on Native populations, but it doesn’t feel preachy. I was also pleased with the distinct lack of overt misogyny, despite the historical context. This, to me, is proof that degrading women is not required in order to achieve authenticity.

All in all, I have only positive things to say about the book. The writing is tight, the plot flows smoothly, and the characters feel like friends by the end. I can’t wait to see what comes next in this series.

For skilled writing, excellent characters, and an absorbing story, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.

Purchase Links

AMAZON: http://amzn.to/2gCxen5

About the Author

Michael Jensen is an author and editor. His books of gay historical fiction include two series, The Drowning World, which is set in 5500 B.C., and The Savage Land, which takes place on the American frontier. Man & Monster, the second book in The Savage Land series, was a Lambda Award Finalist (under the title Firelands).

Michael is also the co-founder of AfterElton.com, which covered pop culture for gay and bisexual men, and eventually become one of the largest and most influential LGBT websites on the internet. In 2006, AfterElton.com was sold to MTV/Viacom in a multimillion dollar deal. As editor, Michael interviewed hundreds of writers, directors, and actors, breaking numerous stories and advancing the issue of LGBT visibility in Hollywood.

Michael also created the Big Gay Fiction Giveaway which helped promote more than 80 M/M authors to great success.

Michael lives in Seattle, WA with his husband, writer Brent Hartinger.

Social Media

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/michaeljensenbooks/

AUTHOR WEBSITE: http://www.michaeljensen.com

EMAIL: michaeljensenwriter@gmail.com

Excerpt

 Chapter One

The Western Ohio Frontier, 1799

 Things were not as they seemed. It appeared as if black storm clouds were boiling up over the horizon, spilling into the valley like floodwaters breaching a dike. The storm almost looked alive, as if it had a mind of its own. Faster and faster, the clouds surged forward as I, Cole Seavey, watched resolutely from my stony perch at the opposite end of the valley

But as I watched, I saw that those were not black clouds racing toward me; they were passenger pigeons, huge flocks being blown violently through the firmament. Their numbers were staggering — masses beyond counting.

The clouds were not the only thing to be other than they seemed. To those who did not know me well — and none did: I made sure of that — I also appeared to be something I wasn’t. For I was other than the dutiful son and devoted fiancé I had long feigned to be. But beyond the unflappable man nicknamed Cold-Blooded Cole, who was I exactly? I honestly wasn’t sure. Maybe that nickname truly summed up all that was important about me.

The wind propelling the birds and thrashing the trees suddenly struck me with all its fury. The very air seemed to explode. I flung an arm up to protect myself as dirt, dried leaves, seed husks — anything that could be swept up by the tempest — whipped all about me in a mad frenzy.

The storm had caught me at an unfortunate moment. I stood high on a treeless ridge overlooking the long, narrow valley into which I was about to descend. Luck wasn’t entirely against me, though. An ancient forest of oak, hemlock, and poplar lay a half-mile from where I stood. Beneath their protective boughs, I knew I would find shelter from any storm, no matter how fierce.

Downward I plunged over the scree-strewn hillside. Rotten, fractured rock slid about under my feet, slick as melting ice. The last thing I needed so deep into this desolate frontier was to wrench an ankle, especially since I traveled unaccompanied by man or horse. Therefore I obliged myself to move with more caution. The shriek of the wind grew louder, and a branch the breadth of my thigh smashed into a nearby boulder. Wrenched ankle be damned; I broke into an all-out run.

I was nearly to the forest when something peculiar off to the left caught my eye. I thought it to be a girl sitting on the ground, as if pausing to rest while out on an afternoon’s stroll.

I slid to a halt, nearly losing my balance. Certain I was mistaken, I shielded my eyes and peered closer. Blond hair whipped about her head, obscuring her face, but it was a girl all right. Despite the bitter cold, she wore naught but a red dress that clung to her as if wet, though no rain fell from the dark sky. I hurried to her side, mystified as to how she had come to be in such a remote place.

The girl leaned against a large boulder that afforded her little shelter from the howling wind. Her eyes were closed and her head hung limply to the side as if she were asleep — not that such a thing seemed possible in this raging maelstrom. She was perhaps twelve or thirteen, and her bare feet were so dirty and rough-looking that it was possible to believe they had never graced the inside of shoe or moccasin.

I wondered why she had not sought the refuge of the forest that lay so close at hand.

“Miss?” I shouted, drawing nearer, but no answer was returned. This close, I saw I was wrong about the color of her dress. It wasn’t red, at least not originally. It was white. All of the blood soaked into the material had misled me as to its true color.

From years of hunting, I was well acquainted with the gore that accompanied a violent death. Too, I had seen the bloody outcome of many drunken insults settled with musket, stiletto, and fisticuffs. Yet none of that prepared me for the violence that had been done in the killing of this girl. Her dress was rent in a half-dozen places, as was the flesh beneath. Indeed, her left leg had been brutally slashed from hip to knee. Beyond doubt, she had died a terrible death.

She took a breath, startling me. Somehow she was not dead after all. I leaned my musket against a boulder, knelt down next to her, and pushed the tangled hair from her face. Her gaze was frighteningly distant as if she already saw the gates of heaven opening for her. She would die if I didn’t act fast, and probably would no matter what I did.

Another falling branch plummeted down, splintering to pieces far too close by. I knew I had to get her to shelter.

But first I had to stop the bleeding from her thigh. I whipped off my belt — a fine, beaded item I had acquired in trade from an old Cherokee. I slipped the belt under her leg, pulled it high, and then cinched it as tightly as I could. Blood stopped flowing almost immediately, though she had lost so much already, I could scarcely believe more yet coursed through her veins.

Above the shrieking gusts of the windstorm, I heard the sound of groaning. For a moment, I thought it was the girl, then realized it was the sound of the forest straining to remain upright in the gale. My musket blew over, landing hard. I wanted to have it back in my hand, to double-check the charge was yet secure, the firing pan aligned. But I sensed no other threat and thought tending the girl most urgent. I threw my pack to the ground, rummaging through it for cloth to staunch her other wounds.

Given how grievously she was injured, it was hard to believe how ferociously she suddenly gripped my arm.

My eyes went to hers and in them I saw pure terror. But her eyes weren’t on mine. They were locked on something beyond me. Very slowly, I turned until I could see over my shoulder. Fifteen feet away crouched a catamount in the shadow of the forest. My approach must have momentarily frightened the big cat away from its victim, but now it had returned, fearing I intended to cheat it of its meal. The beast was not mistaken.

It was moments like this that had earned me the nickname Cold-Blooded Cole. Staring back at the cougar, my pulse did not quicken, my hands did not shake. Some said it was not bravery that kept me so composed, but dimwittedness. I don’t know why I was not afraid at such times, but as far back as I could remember, I never had been.

Perhaps to be afraid, one must have something he fears losing.

The big cat’s eyes narrowed to slits, its tail snapping back and forth like a banner mounted upon a windy parapet. It bared its teeth, almost certainly hissing at me, only to have the sound swept away by the storm.

I stood and yelled — all that was normally needed to frighten away one of these lethal, if cowardly animals.

This cat didn’t back off. It was easy to see why. The normally sleek creature was gaunt, plainly starving, so much so that its ribs were outlined beneath its skin. No wonder it had attacked the girl and now refused to give ground, even in this terrible storm. It needed to eat or it would die.

And I needed my musket or I might die. I was a fine shot; all I required was one opportunity.

But the animal hurled itself at me before I could act. I barely had time to fling up my arm to block its charge before we tumbled backward. I slammed onto my back, skidding over crumbling rock. The panther landed on my chest, its breath rank as it snarled, its razor-sharp teeth barely missing my flesh. As hard as I could, I kicked at its underbelly, but not before its claws raked my thigh, drawing blood.

We separated for a moment, but the enraged animal instantly charged again. There was no time to think as I fended off the cat’s huge, powerful paws, blow after blow. At last its claws caught me across the face and my skin sang with pain. Furious, I struck out blindly with my fist. I felt the satisfying “crunch” of my fist landing on the animal’s sensitive snout. The cat yowled as it slunk back. But it still didn’t leave.

Injured, I sank to one knee, the wind continuing to howl all the while. Grit continuously scored my face and my watering eyes burned fiercely. The ground shuddered as a nearby tree crashed to the earth. A second followed moments later, and I glanced over as it bounced off the ground.

Instinct warned me to glance up in time to see the cat launch itself at me in another brazen attack. I threw myself to the ground as the beast passed inches above me. I scrambled upright, mopping blood and sweat from my eyes. The air was a whirlwind of dust and dirt as I searched desperately for wherever the cat had landed.

That was when I saw it.

Not the cat. The cat was gone. Where it should have landed was a thing — a monster, a devil out of the bowels of hell.

Or at least that was what I thought I saw. My eyes were so blurry that it was hard to be certain exactly what I beheld.

I had a vague impression of something huge. Seven, eight, maybe nine feet tall it stood. It was two-legged, but had an enormous head that was a ghastly shade of black. A wicked looking set of antlers jutted up from the head, the tips scraping evilly at the sky. Feathers covered its arms, and where the hands should have been were huge paws studded with cruel looking claws. Even from where I stood the monster reeked, as if left dead for days beneath a blazing sun.

No wonder the cat had fled.

As if things weren’t bizarre enough already, I thought I heard my name.

“Seavey,” the wind whispered. “Seavey.”

“Gerard?” I said, barely able to trust my ears. “Is that you?” Gerard was my brother, my only living family, and the one person out here who could possibly know my name. But I was days from the frontier settlement where he dwelled. Nor had he known I was coming, and therefore it was unlikely we were meeting by happy coincidence.

It couldn’t be him; it had to be the wind, my ears playing tricks on me.

The monster stepped toward me, its arms outstretched, and I realized there was another explanation: that foul creature could be uttering my name. Why, I didn’t want to guess. I only wanted to get away.

Trying to locate my musket, I staggered back toward the forest as another tree toppled. I feared getting too close to the woods and being crushed, yet I had no choice but to seek refuge amongst those swaying trunks.

But first I had to get the girl.

A figure emerged from the woods twenty rods distant to my left. My heart leapt with hope that it was Gerard after all, but the figure’s face was hidden by the brim of his hat. Struggling against the blowing wind, he yelled what sounded like, “Stop, damn you!”

I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the monster, but neither of us obeyed. The man swung his musket up, taking aim at the creature. The percussive bang of exploding gunpowder rose momentarily above the wind, but the shot went wide. The musket ball shattered uselessly against a rocky outcropping.

The monster turned from me, charging the man as he attempted to reload. Immediately, I knew he was in trouble. I was handy with firearms; nothing felt as natural in my hand as my musket. But despite my years of experience, even I couldn’t reload in much under a minute; this fellow didn’t look anywhere near as fast as I. The monster would have him long before he could get off another shot.

Intending to help, I started toward him, but the crack of another tree falling seized my attention. The report was as loud as a cannon, and I spun about in time to see a huge oak plunging toward me. I tried to dodge the tree, but there was no escape. Its limbs rushed at me like a bristling wall of soldier’s bayonets.

I suspected I was about to die in a most unpleasant way.