W
War of the Roses
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I leaned in kicking her sides with urgency, knowing that once we reached that building the danger would be past. Chicken groaned as she stretched her legs farther, pulling us closer to safety. I glanced back, the men closing quickly behind us had a look of wild hunger about their faces, and I feared for my life.
The clearing came up quickly, the breath I had been holding slowly willowing out of my mouth as safety seemed so close at hand.
“AN EX POR!” A deep voice boomed from behind me.
Chicken freed of the burden of me, shot through to safety, while I was tugged by these powerful words from the saddle. Landing with a bone crunching thud upon the dead leaves, my body stiff and unable to respond to my will. My vision swam for a moment, as the breath that had been knocked so haughtily out of me returned. I looked up, seeing the darkly handsome man’s face loom over me in the dusky light.
“Aye girl, running is not the wisest of choices.” He sneered, his lips curling in an ugly bow.
My eyes widened with horror as his band of men drew up behind him, all dressed in a similar fashion, save for one who’s face was shrouded under a wide rimmed hat. My throat tightened painfully, the words I wished to speak frozen.
“So now girl, the price to pay” With that he drew a rather nasty looking blade, its edge jagged, the gleam of the edge caught in the last rays of light, I could see several flecks of dried blood upon the vicious edge. He drew the blade up over his head, his face filled with boyish glee and hearty evil. The men gathered behind him chuckled with great mirth at my prone form and the blade held so precariously over my tender neck.
In a flash the blade began it’s death decent, my eyes filled with tremulous tears, my heart ached at the shortness of my life. Oh the thoughts that run through one’s mind when the reaper awaits you, the utter agony of all you have not done. In a last act of defiance I stared into his face, my emerald green eyes hard and unforgiving.
The man in the hat threw his hand out, stopping the decent of the blade, his head nodding towards the ancient building.
“I see that you too have the wish of death this day young man?” A voice came from behind me, it’s ancient drawl and schooled tone almost reaching amusement. I however found nothing funny about this situation.
The man, dropping his blade to his side grinned widely at the voice. His head tilting in a cocky self-assured manner.
“Be gone old man, you know not what you do.”
“Do I not? Then strike her down, see what shall become of your own soul, not that I am of mind to care either way.” The ancient voice sounded quite bemused. And still I could find no humor in this.
The color drained from the evil man’s face, the color of ash ran through his cheeks. He stepped forward closer to me, then stepped back quickly. His eyes narrowed at the voice behind me, his lips turning in a bitter smile, moving his hand swiftly to sheath his blade.
“Just this once old man, just this once.” With that final threat the man turned, his hand flicking a sign to his band of men. They melted into the shadows of the wood, as if never there at all.
The voice moved beside me, his weathered and kind face coming into view. I almost cried with joy at the sight of such a kindly man. His hair was long and unruly, silver strands hung down over his dun colored robe, his blue eyes, misted with age yet holding the glint of true wisdom, his age worn face, leathered by the sun, was kind and caring.
He offered his hand to me, and I then found that I again had control of my body. Words again failed me, for how can one ever give true enough thanks for their life? I blushed a deep crimson as the words faltered from my lips, my hands idly brushing bits of dirt and dead leaves from my skirts.
“Kind Sir, I know not the words in which would express my deepest gratitude” My voice was thin and quivering, “I am forever in your debt.”
The elderly man chuckled, a smile sprouting upon his thin lips.
“My dear, no thanks nor debt to be paid, it is my Virtue to save and that is thanks enough”
I nodded, feeling both humbled and ignorant. Silently we moved to the old building, several men had gathered by the doors and were all busily attending to Chicken’s wounds. She danced and pawed at the pain, her eyes still holding the fear of what she had gone through.
I walked to her, placing a hand upon her trembling neck.
“You served me well girl, indeed you have” A tear trailed down my tender cheek, leaving a clean trail down my dust covered face.
The elderly man ushered me in the doors of the building. I spotted a sign next to the door that read “Empath Abby”.
To be continued....
From the Journals of Rose Bush of Sonoma
<center>
</center>
<center>The Saga of Auburn Rose~Tale of Britannia</font color=FF3030></center>
The clearing came up quickly, the breath I had been holding slowly willowing out of my mouth as safety seemed so close at hand.
“AN EX POR!” A deep voice boomed from behind me.
Chicken freed of the burden of me, shot through to safety, while I was tugged by these powerful words from the saddle. Landing with a bone crunching thud upon the dead leaves, my body stiff and unable to respond to my will. My vision swam for a moment, as the breath that had been knocked so haughtily out of me returned. I looked up, seeing the darkly handsome man’s face loom over me in the dusky light.
“Aye girl, running is not the wisest of choices.” He sneered, his lips curling in an ugly bow.
My eyes widened with horror as his band of men drew up behind him, all dressed in a similar fashion, save for one who’s face was shrouded under a wide rimmed hat. My throat tightened painfully, the words I wished to speak frozen.
“So now girl, the price to pay” With that he drew a rather nasty looking blade, its edge jagged, the gleam of the edge caught in the last rays of light, I could see several flecks of dried blood upon the vicious edge. He drew the blade up over his head, his face filled with boyish glee and hearty evil. The men gathered behind him chuckled with great mirth at my prone form and the blade held so precariously over my tender neck.
In a flash the blade began it’s death decent, my eyes filled with tremulous tears, my heart ached at the shortness of my life. Oh the thoughts that run through one’s mind when the reaper awaits you, the utter agony of all you have not done. In a last act of defiance I stared into his face, my emerald green eyes hard and unforgiving.
The man in the hat threw his hand out, stopping the decent of the blade, his head nodding towards the ancient building.
“I see that you too have the wish of death this day young man?” A voice came from behind me, it’s ancient drawl and schooled tone almost reaching amusement. I however found nothing funny about this situation.
The man, dropping his blade to his side grinned widely at the voice. His head tilting in a cocky self-assured manner.
“Be gone old man, you know not what you do.”
“Do I not? Then strike her down, see what shall become of your own soul, not that I am of mind to care either way.” The ancient voice sounded quite bemused. And still I could find no humor in this.
The color drained from the evil man’s face, the color of ash ran through his cheeks. He stepped forward closer to me, then stepped back quickly. His eyes narrowed at the voice behind me, his lips turning in a bitter smile, moving his hand swiftly to sheath his blade.
“Just this once old man, just this once.” With that final threat the man turned, his hand flicking a sign to his band of men. They melted into the shadows of the wood, as if never there at all.
The voice moved beside me, his weathered and kind face coming into view. I almost cried with joy at the sight of such a kindly man. His hair was long and unruly, silver strands hung down over his dun colored robe, his blue eyes, misted with age yet holding the glint of true wisdom, his age worn face, leathered by the sun, was kind and caring.
He offered his hand to me, and I then found that I again had control of my body. Words again failed me, for how can one ever give true enough thanks for their life? I blushed a deep crimson as the words faltered from my lips, my hands idly brushing bits of dirt and dead leaves from my skirts.
“Kind Sir, I know not the words in which would express my deepest gratitude” My voice was thin and quivering, “I am forever in your debt.”
The elderly man chuckled, a smile sprouting upon his thin lips.
“My dear, no thanks nor debt to be paid, it is my Virtue to save and that is thanks enough”
I nodded, feeling both humbled and ignorant. Silently we moved to the old building, several men had gathered by the doors and were all busily attending to Chicken’s wounds. She danced and pawed at the pain, her eyes still holding the fear of what she had gone through.
I walked to her, placing a hand upon her trembling neck.
“You served me well girl, indeed you have” A tear trailed down my tender cheek, leaving a clean trail down my dust covered face.
The elderly man ushered me in the doors of the building. I spotted a sign next to the door that read “Empath Abby”.
To be continued....
From the Journals of Rose Bush of Sonoma
<center>
<center>The Saga of Auburn Rose~Tale of Britannia</font color=FF3030></center>
