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I managed a few sentences, maybe a few paragraphs yesterday. I sat on the couch and wrote long hand in my writer’s notebook with the dogs crowded around me. In Sasquatch’s case on me. He’s always willing to act as my lap table for my notebook. Though even the smallest computer is too heavy for him, and he’ll leave my lap in protest ousted by the bit of technology. But no tech yesterday, just a pen and paper. What little I did get was good and the plot limps ahead. I left Merry to the rear of the battlefield with a handful of Red-Caps (goblins) to protect her in case the enemy gets that far. She’s doing magic from a distance, and if everything goes well that’s all she’ll do. It things go badly, then we may finally see our princess in the midst of battle. That would be bad though, for it would mean that all her men and the goblins with us had failed. I do not see them all failing, but I, for one, have been taught not to count my chickens before their hatched. They have a habit of turning into basilisks in my books far too often for comfort. No, there are no basilisks in this book, it’s a mythology reference. But there may be chickens.