Read Online Taken: Warriors of Hir, Book 2 by Willow Danes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Willow Danes
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to say ‘screw it’ and throw myself out there like that so I took a day job thinking that I would work on my art at night. Only a day job isn’t forty hours, not really. Between commuting and oh-my-God-we-have-a-deadline hours you wind up with more like seventy hours eaten up and then you’re tired . . .” She closed her eyes. “I’m doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Making excuses. I could have made the time, cut my hours, switched jobs, but I was— am —afraid of failing.”
“Of course you will fail.”
Hope’s head came up. “ Excuse me?”
“You will fail.”
“Hey, thanks,” she managed. “Wow, this is like talking to the high school guidance counselor again about my dream of being an artist. He suggested I consider medical transcription classes because—and I’m directly quoting Mr. Gernstill here—‘nobody ever makes it as an artist.’”
R’har’s golden hair caught the light as he shook his head. “I do not mean you would be a failure, only that it is to be expected that you will not succeed every time, it is not possible. It is not even advisable —for how would you ever learn? It is necessary to fail. You must expect, even joyfully embrace, failing.”
Hope blinked. She’d never heard of anyone failing joyfully .
“When I was a young male and learning to hunt I often returned to the enclosure empty-handed before I earned my skills. You will fail far more often than you will succeed. As I did.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “My parents were both physicians. They were both still living when I finally decided to suck it up and go into commercial art. Those were two very successful people who absolutely didn’t want their only child to be a starving artist. Believe me, they made their thoughts on that subject very clear.”
“Easy?” R’har gave a short huff. “Do you think an enclosure of hunters—a race of warriors—held their tongues when I returned with an empty pack?”
“Look, we’re talking about reputation, respect—the ability to do things like pay the rent and, you know, eat .”
“For a young male to earn the title of warrior he must eat his own killing for a year. Failure means no meat.” He gave a wry look. “ And hearing every clanbrother’s opinion on the source of your ineptness.”
“Were you ever afraid?” she blurted then flushed. The guy looked like he could break rocks with his hands, he moved like lightning. What could he possibly be afraid of?
But he gave a nod. “There were many times venturing out into the forests, alone, I was afraid. I feared, too, returning without a kill to face the taunting of my clanbrothers. And many times I did.” His full mouth curved a little. “But one day I brought down a full-grown ruga by my own hand. I brought the beast back to the enclosure and there was enough meat from my kill that all were able to partake of it at the evening meal.”
“That’s good,” she said. “I mean that you succeeded.”
“It is good that I ate my fill that night! It was weeks before I managed to take another animal down.”
“Hmm, you know,” she said with a small smile, “in the movie version you should just get to the big kill and then end the film.”
He gave a shrug. “Life is not a legend or holotale, little one. The day after I brought down the ruga I rode out alone again. And the next season. And the next year. And often I failed.” He gave her a sly look. “But by then I had been named a warrior so failure no longer meant an empty belly. I could take my meals in the enclosure’s dining hall.”
Hope laughed and his fangs flashed in a grin.
He put the component down and stood, offering his hand to her. “All of this talk of meat has wakened my hunger. Come and let me offer you the hospitality my enclosure has prepared for you.”
“So what’s all this again?” Hope asked, looking over the plate R’har set before her.
“This is braised karlet—a forest beast that
“Doing what?”
“Making excuses. I could have made the time, cut my hours, switched jobs, but I was— am —afraid of failing.”
“Of course you will fail.”
Hope’s head came up. “ Excuse me?”
“You will fail.”
“Hey, thanks,” she managed. “Wow, this is like talking to the high school guidance counselor again about my dream of being an artist. He suggested I consider medical transcription classes because—and I’m directly quoting Mr. Gernstill here—‘nobody ever makes it as an artist.’”
R’har’s golden hair caught the light as he shook his head. “I do not mean you would be a failure, only that it is to be expected that you will not succeed every time, it is not possible. It is not even advisable —for how would you ever learn? It is necessary to fail. You must expect, even joyfully embrace, failing.”
Hope blinked. She’d never heard of anyone failing joyfully .
“When I was a young male and learning to hunt I often returned to the enclosure empty-handed before I earned my skills. You will fail far more often than you will succeed. As I did.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “My parents were both physicians. They were both still living when I finally decided to suck it up and go into commercial art. Those were two very successful people who absolutely didn’t want their only child to be a starving artist. Believe me, they made their thoughts on that subject very clear.”
“Easy?” R’har gave a short huff. “Do you think an enclosure of hunters—a race of warriors—held their tongues when I returned with an empty pack?”
“Look, we’re talking about reputation, respect—the ability to do things like pay the rent and, you know, eat .”
“For a young male to earn the title of warrior he must eat his own killing for a year. Failure means no meat.” He gave a wry look. “ And hearing every clanbrother’s opinion on the source of your ineptness.”
“Were you ever afraid?” she blurted then flushed. The guy looked like he could break rocks with his hands, he moved like lightning. What could he possibly be afraid of?
But he gave a nod. “There were many times venturing out into the forests, alone, I was afraid. I feared, too, returning without a kill to face the taunting of my clanbrothers. And many times I did.” His full mouth curved a little. “But one day I brought down a full-grown ruga by my own hand. I brought the beast back to the enclosure and there was enough meat from my kill that all were able to partake of it at the evening meal.”
“That’s good,” she said. “I mean that you succeeded.”
“It is good that I ate my fill that night! It was weeks before I managed to take another animal down.”
“Hmm, you know,” she said with a small smile, “in the movie version you should just get to the big kill and then end the film.”
He gave a shrug. “Life is not a legend or holotale, little one. The day after I brought down the ruga I rode out alone again. And the next season. And the next year. And often I failed.” He gave her a sly look. “But by then I had been named a warrior so failure no longer meant an empty belly. I could take my meals in the enclosure’s dining hall.”
Hope laughed and his fangs flashed in a grin.
He put the component down and stood, offering his hand to her. “All of this talk of meat has wakened my hunger. Come and let me offer you the hospitality my enclosure has prepared for you.”
“So what’s all this again?” Hope asked, looking over the plate R’har set before her.
“This is braised karlet—a forest beast that
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