New story — a post-portal epic fantasy. Ten years ago Chana had found herself and her infant daughter in a strange world surrounded by strange people. She managed to build a life, a home, and a family in this strange place. Now they are being destroyed.

The Grasslands is a working title.

The Grasslands Episode 1 Snippet

Wood smoke was rare in the Grasslands. Rare anywhere the hooves and keels of the Mare’s Chosen held sway. Even in the wet bottom lands lining the Water Trail, horse dung made better fuel. In the grasslands wood was too rare, in the bottomlands it was too wet. But anywhere the Mare’s Chosen went there were horses and anywhere there were horses, there was dung.

Chana missed the smell of wood smoke. It was the scent of summer camp fires, of smoke from the kosher butcher across the street, of home. At the first scent of wood smoke on the breeze, Chana took a deep, nostalgic breath.

Then she remembered where she was, and panicked.

“Malka! Malka, fire! Get your bag!” With the taste of home on her tongue, she reverted to Hebrew. Luckily, her young daughter was one of the few people in this world who understood Hebrew. (The only other person who understood English.) Malka had lived over half her short life among the Mare’s Children. She knew, far better than Chana had at her age, what to do in an emergency.

While Malka grabbed her travel bag from beside her pallet, Chana ran into the main room of the apartment and grabbed the twins. Experience kept her hands steady as she slipped on their sling and grabbed their bag and her own.

Then she hesitated, looking around the room. Like all the Mare’s Chosen, Chana’s family kept little that couldn’t be packed up and thrown on the back of a horse. But packing took time, which was why all the Mare’s Chosen kept travel bags to-hand, so they could mount and ride at a moment’s notice.

As always happened when they lived in the capital city, Chana had stopped being careful of their travel bags. Aghya teased her about it every year, but it never took her more than half an hour to pack the really critical things. In the city, you never needed to ride or die.

Already, a smokey haze was filling the room. She heard screams — none of her tent-mates, proud warrior families all, would scream because of a fire across the street. She didn’t have half an hour.

Grabbing the half-packed bags (muttering a brucha that at least she always kept her chumash and books packed when not using them) Chana ran for the door, where Malka waited.

The communal area was in chaos. Worse than chaos.

Fire, yes, she had expected fire. From the balcony outside their door, she could see the fire was centered on the other side of the building. They could run down the stairs, across the communal area, and out the main doors before the fire directly threatened them if they moved now.

Worse than fire, were the reptile men.

This wasn’t an accident — this was an attack. And one of the scaled creatures stood at the bottom of their staircase, trident in hand. Staring at her.

She took a tight grip on Malka’s hand and started walking. She ignored the growing snap and roar of the fire. Ignored the clash and rage of the righting. Ignored the screams.

A life time ago, she would step out into a crosswalk and stare at any driver moving in her direction. Demanding they stop and let her pass. She walked so now, not looking away for an instant, just staring straight into the eyes of a creature that could kill her, kill her children, without even thinking about it and daring them to stand in her way.

Malka clung to her, terrified but knowing better than to hold back or slow Chana down.

The twins were screaming now, terrified as only the truly young could be.

The creature stood as tall as her shoulder, green and brown scales seeming to shift oddly in the light of the flames. Leather arm bands and harness covered with rings and clasps, holding everything the creature needed. The reptile people of the Great Sea, like the Mare’s Chosen, lived on the move.

They turned their head, bringing a yellow side-facing eye to bear on her. It was so similar to a horse trying to get a good look at a new thing, she almost smiled.

Ten steps. Seven. Four. She reached the bottom step, inside the reach of the spear. In easy reach of it’s claws.

One more step down, onto the floor covered in woven rushes.

She saw a flash of something that might have been humor in its eye. And it was stepping back, out of her way. “The fighting has not reached the plaza,” it hissed.

Chana froze. What?

The crea– the reptile person just watched her. She didn’t know how long she would have stood there — until the roof came down on her head? — but Malka tugged her hand and she broke free of shock.

As they hurried out of the building, in the direction of the plaza, she muttered a brucha under her breath. Giving thanks for their safety — and asking God’s blessing on their enemy.