It’s Save-a-Word Saturday! For any who need a reminder of/never knew what that means, here’s how it goes:
1) Create a post linking back to the hosts, The Feather and the Rose.
2) Pick an old word you want to save from extinction to feature in the post. (If you find yourself in want of options, Feather ‘n’ Rose recommended a site that may have some word-lovers drooling. Luciferous Logolepsy. Even its name is old and delicious!)
3) Provide a definition of your word, and use it in a sentence/short paragraph/mini story vaguely related to the particular week’s chosen theme.
4) Sign up properly on the host post’s linky list so participants can easily find each other and share their logophilistic joy.
5) Be a hero by sharing these retro words with the world!
I’ve been participating in the weekly fun via my “Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale” Facebook page, giving myself the extra challenge/fun of relating every word I pick to my re-imagining of the Robin Hood legend, the “Outlaws of Avalon” trilogy (a.k.a. the magnum opus to be self-published after the completion of “The Wilderhark Tales”, Book Two of which launches on Friday!). But I figure, hey, with this week’s vignette all pre-written and ready to go, no reason I can’t post it here for the blog-inclined to see!
So, without further delay, here’s my word-saving civic duty of the day.
The theme: Buttered Toast.
The word: “Moiety”, a noun meaning “portion, part, half, or equal share”.
It was only the two of them at breakfast beneath the trees so far, the other three Merry Men off rehearsing a fight scene together. Having taken what he wished from the skillet, Little John offered it to Allyn-a-Dale.
“Oh, no sausages, thank you,” the minstrel declined. “And no need for a full slice of toast; a moiety will suffice.” Under the silent interrogation of his titanic comrade’s gaze, he added a bit defensively, “I’ve already eaten.” He fluttered a hand toward the past. “Scarf-a-Scone Saturday.”
Little John’s brows sank to a level of incredulity. “That scene was three months ago.”
Allyn squirmed. “Isn’t one vignette where everyone watches me chew enough?”
“So I won’t watch.” Little John pressed a pair of sausages between two pieces of butter-slathered toast and handed the lot off to Allyn without a glance. “We’ll even end the narrative before your first bite, if you’ll promise it’s not the only bite you’ll take today.”
Allyn accepted the sandwich with a grumble. “I know how to keep from starving, thank you. When one apprentices to Gant-o’-the-Lute,” he muttered, “it’s a trick one’s body had better learn.”
Little John just shook his head. Keeping his bandmates alive was part of his job description. Their psychological quirks, however, were their own to handle.