Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!
Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.
We were at the base of a stone tree made by men. The tree had stiff branches all the way at the top. But what held the attention of the man beside me was a stone in the tree. There were markings but I couldn't understand them.
"What do they say?" I asked before I reached out.
He took my hand as gentle as he could.
"It says, 'Bitter are the wars between brothers.' It is a proverb from ages past."
"But why is it here?" There was an unspeakable pain in his eyes. Why was he hurt? Was it because of the proverb?
"The king put this here as a reminder of what happened, I imagine," he answered, leading me away after taking one last good look at the stone.
“I thought the goddess of love would look…different.” The wrinkled old woman waved a dismissive hand, leaned closer, and smiled. “You are thinking of my daughter, the goddess of passion and romance. Dearie, I am the goddess of LOVE.”
since the gävlebocken didn't survive (bad luck) or get burned (good luck), i'm taking 'eaten by jackdaws' to mean 'secret third thing'
As to whether the Gavle Goat's consumption should be seen as a good omen or a bad omen, I'd say good. Traditionally the Yule goat is made of straw from the final harvest and as a talisman against hard times, and there are unproven theories that its shape is inspired by Thor's goats, who are constantly killed, eaten, and reborn to provide endless meat for Thor and whatever guests he entertains. Therefore, its use by birds as a food store and safe harbor is an affirmation of its original purpose and truly in the Christmas spirit of generosity in lean times. What's more, the birds eating it seems to be have been the one outcome to unite both goat burners and goat keepers, as they have decided not to scare the birds away from their safe harbor and not to harm the goat, a decision that has been universally lauded.
As omens go, this one's all positive: safety, plenty, and unity between previous ideological opponents through a creative third solution built on shared values (birds being fed and sheltered is a good thing). May more birds find their way to the Gavle Goat next year.
My highwayman and I started picking out way through an abandoned fishing village. The snow piled up was ridiculous, so much that some buildings were almost completely buried.
The sound of noise of something walking on snow made him freeze.
A clockwork soldier meandered its way around a building a little further down the lane.
"Maybe we shoul-"
"Excuse me!" I called out to the bypassing clockwork soldier.
It stopped and clicked as it turned to face both of us.
"Which hour are you?"
It clunked and clicked over to us.
"I am hour eleven," it informed me.
"Do you have anything to report?" the highwayman questioned it, his hands clasped behind his back.
The clockwork soldier gave a long spiel and all the while, the highwayman was scribbling down something. He always kept up with hour eleven.
"Thank you for your report but I need you to stay for a moment," my highwayman replied as he glossed over his notes.
"That's a bad word," I meekly pointed out one that always meant bad things.
He sighed out an agreement as he made circular movements around some markings he made.
The clockwork soldier chirped when the highwayman addressed him.
"Hour eleven, do you have access to the king at any moment?"
"When I am not active mostly but, yes, when I am active."
"Alright, I have a response to the king's proclamation."
As we neared the next building in the abandoned town, the highwayman just offered me a hankie.
"Um. Why?" I questioned him as a light flurry fell between us.
"You've sneezed every time we go from direct sunlight," he told me as he looked up to the partially cloudy skies above, "into a building and vice versa."
Why would he care if I sneezed or not? It's just sneezing. Although, I never noticed that I did that before.
"Just get going," he muttered when he caught sight of my expression. But there was something else in his tone. He wasn't angry like I thought he'd be.
"Thank you," I whispered as I took the hankie; processing what I realized.
"You can thank me when we get to where we need to be."
Like he predicted, when we crossed into the threshold of the building, I sneezed.
I don't remember what I was talking about, but I kept talking for him. There was a content air that surrounded him as he listened to whatever I was babbling.
But I also made sure to keep an eye on where we were going. At this point we had to be close to where the road wasn't as familiar. I could see some snow up ahead. But I didn't stop and kept talking.
In a breath of silence, I looked over at him. Since I was never really around people, I couldn't pin the exact expression.
Once we were a little bit into the cursed forest, I happened to take another look at him when a snowflake landed on his nose and startled him to a stop.
He looked up, eyes full of awe and wonder, as he whispered, "It's snowing?"
I was tempted to remark that it always snows here but his expression stopped me. How could I take this small pleasure from him?
So I settled for, "When was the last time you saw snow?"
"I don't remember," he muttered, not taking his eyes off of the snow.
I found a steady place to sit, cleaned the snow off, and got comfortable. He was having a good moment. I didn't want to take that from him.
I was going to wait until he was ready to go.
Broken stones that stay in the same general shape are wonderful. There's an opportunity for something beautiful to grow in between the cracks of something so tragic.