Jenn at unedited came up with this Guess-that-Character idea: "Post a snippet of the character you'd like to be identified. Try and make sure there are no descriptions of what they might look like. This blog fest is based purely on voice, action and personality."
So read my snippet (350 words), tell me what you think my character looks like. She's from my MG fantasy novel, Refuge, and she's 12 years old. Tomorrow I'll post who had the closest description, and I'll post two pictures - the child actress she looks like (and kinda acts like a little, too) and a picture of the actress now that she's an adult.
We crest a steep ridgetop, panting from hauling our huge backpacks, and I get my first indication that maybe my uncle is half-crazy. He points down the hill. “Look, our first grizzly.”
My uncles smiles like we’re at a zoo or something, not out in the wilderness with nothing between us and the largest bear I’ve ever seen.Mom makes some sort of squeaking sound and I feel like my pack just got ten times heavier and my legs ten times weaker. “Got your camera, Tarzan?” Matt asks me, in a freaky calm way.
My name is Tara, but my uncle has a million nicknames for me. At any given moment I can be Tarzan, Tango, Hobbit, or Terrapin. At the moment I sure don't feel like Tarzan. I've been camping enough times that I can deal with the whole squatting-behind-a-bush and sleeping-on-lumpy-ground thing, but the giant-bear-not-behind-a-fortress-fence is definitely a new experience for me.
The bear is standing half in, half out of a stream. The breeze blows us the rankest wet-dog scent I’ve ever smelled. He’s looking at us, but his lower lip is hanging, like he’s too busy or lazy to straighten up and give us proper attention.My mom grabs my arm and I feel her nails dig in.
“Don’t panic,” Matt says. “He’s not startled by us, I know he heard us coming.” I thought he was joking about the bear-bell tied on his backpack, earlier. “Just stand still and enjoy.”
Enjoy? By my mother’s rapid breathing and death-grip, I can tell she’s sure not enjoying herself. After a moment, the bear lumbers across the stream, gives us another look, and disappears into the aspen grove on the other side.I take a deep breath. “Okay Mom, you can reattach my arm now.”
“You see,” my mother says, in her classic I Am The Mom, I Know Best voice. “This is exactly why we need to go back. I am not comfortable putting Tara in danger.” She’s not letting go of my arm, but at least I can feel some circulation again.
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