March 31, 2015

Blog Blitz ~ Grit of Berth and Stone by Lisa Dunn


Grit of Berth and Stone
by Lisa Dunn 
Release Date: 03/17/15
Anaiah Press
256 pages

Summary from Goodreads:
Banished for a foolish mistake, sixteen-year-old Grit of Berth and Stone scorns the loss of her home, her honor, and her only ally. Only the weak worry about such things.

But war is brewing all across Chasmaria, and as a group of rebels pull Grit into their ranks, she begins to question what strength, courage, and honor really look like. When faced with a horrible truth about herself, Grit must either fight her way back to Thresh or live with the blood of the innocent on her hands.


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Excerpt

One bright, moonlit night, dreams of a golden-haired sireling disturbed Grit’s slumber. He was 
chasing her to the sea. She dove into the water, but it was warm, not cold.

She woke in a sweat. Throwing aside her blanket, she walked into the clear air outside the cave. 
She sat on a log before the fire, stoking the flames till they rose and crackled in the quiet night. 
As she watched the dancing flames, Grit forced her mind to empty of all her past experiences. 
She willed her memories into the middle of the fire and imagined the flames consuming them, 
one by one, until every last memory of Thresh wafted away in the fire’s smoke. There went 
Turf and his taunting sneer, Dame Dara with her unjustified disdain, Sage Brakken, Sires Pierce 
and Swot. Sire Stone struggled to remain in her memory, circling her with an approving eye 
during her last training session. Slate, Seal, Oath, Talon... All of them into the fire and gone. Grit 
clenched her teeth and drew her dagger.

There was Dame Berth, easing her dagger from its sheath and placing it in Grit’s hands after her 
Twelfth Branding. “Use it honorably. This weapon wasn’t meant for spineless babes.”

Grit twirled the dagger between her fingers and aimed for the fire. Her arm swung to rid herself 
of Dame Berth, but at the last moment, her hand wrapped tightly around the dagger. It’s my 
dagger, not hers. I won’t throw away what’s rightfully mine. She sheathed her dagger and willed 
Dame Berth into the fire.

Yet there were some memories that refused her attempts to cast them into the flames, and no 
amount of screaming, “To Grit!” would compel them into the fire. Coil would not abdicate his 
place in her memory, and all Grit’s efforts to dethrone him served only to reinforce his position.

Coil waited in the meetinghouse, among the throng gathered for her Sixth Branding. He scowled 
over Dame Berth’s fence, telling Grit she’d planted the potatoes all wrong. He laughed on the 
training field, raising a sword too large for his thirteen-year-old frame and daring her to nick him 
with the dagger she’d just inherited. He lingered in every corner of Thresh, challenging her to 
race him to the Western Sea. And he was in the Western Sea, his jubilant face turned toward the 
sun, his arms stretched out, his body unguarded.

“To Grit! To Grit! To Grit!” Her throat burned from the refrain, but still Coil was in her tree, his 
hands inches from her feet.

In a rage, Grit threw her stick against a tree, dumped the contents of her pack, and ran to the 
creek that passed near her cave. Her knuckles scraped against the rocky creek bed as she pulled 
the pack through the water.

“To Grit, to Grit, to Grit...” she muttered as she doused her fire.

Her fingers bleeding, she crammed her blanket into the still dripping bag and stomped into the 
moonlit night.

About the Author
As a child, Lisa Dunn fell asleep to her father’s fanciful bedtime tales and played with her own story ideas during the daylight hours. She now resides in a small southern town with her husband, four children, and an ever-changing assortment of pets. Local librarians habitually thank her for their job security.

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