Attempt!

Hey there... so I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination. But in the course of my world-building, I wanted there to be snippets of songs and rhymes that are common to their daily vernacular, and I was trying to think of a foreboding one that gives some credibility to their being scary things that come out at night and stalk the local countryside. This is what I have so far, and I really am not sure how it turned out. Any critique would be helpful:

The moon hath long risen; thou goest anon?

Oh, go thou not out till the first ray of dawn!

The curtain of night hath been unpinned and drawn;

The things in the darkness have naught to feast on!

The shades that see many, no eyes have laid on!

So late be the hour, and where hast thou gone?

OMIGOSH I am a nerd

I probably had waaaaay more fun than I should have with this.

This is actually a fact sheet I constructed, as part of this huge, complex fantasy comic I have been semi-developing for about two years. There's a religious order in it for which I had a vaguely constructed philosophy and outfit, but only just now got to actually going into depth and developing. Please have a look and tell me if you see any conflicts in logic or anything else I might have accidentally inserted in there.

I think you can click on the image to make it larger. If not.....well, I'll see if I can fix it or something. Sigh.

More of Aelwys and Mother

*Note: I was v. tired when I wrote this. 'Tain't my best writing...*


One handed his lance to one of the others, and dismounted with an unruffled grace, as if he could not feel the blasting winds that dashed his cassock about his thin form. He politely removed his mask to address the two women, and the face he revealed seemed one of refined manners. Aelwys was no longer surprised to see a face clean-shaven as his was, as this had become the fashion of the chieftains in recent years. It served all the better to see that his face was pressed into a smooth, serene expression from which his eyes regarded them almost hungrily. As with his two companions, his thin blond hair worn in Empirical fashion identified him as an Easterner.

“Wynclaetyrch!” he said loudly to be heard over the wind. Aelwys was offended for a moment that he should greet them in the Wygars' tongue, and had half a mind to answer him in Common before she remembered that they had dressed as Wygars.

“Wyndaecht,” Mother quickly answered, “How can two humble maids be of service?”

“We are but humble priests of the Oracle,” he said in a voice that drowned the howling wind, “and we ask only that you point us in the right path! We seek a band of pilgrims from the southern countries, who we fear have lost their way. We last saw them on this road headed toward Llynceth. Perhaps you have seen our friends?”

“A traveler here and there,” Mother said, “but none foreign to this land, and never more than one or two at a time. I fear that today we cannot be of help.”

“No matter,” said the priest with a smile, “We will continue our search along this road until they are found. Though,” he bowed his head slightly, “We have been riding hard since early this morning, and both we and our horses ride with parched throats. Have your Wygar kin a camp near here?”

“They certainly have,” Mother replied with a smile, “in the mountain valley perhaps six miles southward you will find a sizable encampment, and certainly they will have water to spare.”

The priests eyes met Mother's, and for a tense moment it seemed a shadow passed across his face. As quickly as it had come, though, it was gone, and his smiler grew wider and his face grew tauter in mock embarrassment, saying,

“Forgive us, dear woman, but surely you know we are strangers in this country, sent to minister to the people of Hammon – and your own tribesmen, of course! – from the Oracle's homeland, far from here. How may we find this valley?”

“Of course,” Mother said, “Forgive my rudeness. Along the road, heading back toward Hammon, you will find a small path leading southward – you couldn't have passed it more than ten minutes ago. Follow this path and it will lead you to the mountain pass.”

The priest bowed, his white robe billowing wildly in the wind, and replaced his mask, mounting his horse again.

“Many thanks,” he bellowed over the din of the gust, and the small party of soldier-priests returned the way they came.

Mother began to walk again, noticeably faster. Aelwys followed her, but soon found it difficult to keep pace with Mother's suddenly quite long strides. Within a few moments, the three men were out of sight. Mother took Aelwys by the hand and began to stray from the path, leading her towards the sea, off the sandy road and across black, craggy rocks until they reached the beach. Ahead, the road began to rise up a rocky cliff side to which the beach ran parallel, the smooth sands punctured greatly by extensions of the smoothed stone formations. Along this new path they began to run, Mother not saying a word nor allowing Aelwys to rest. They ran heedless of the waves that began to lap at their feet and soak their boots, heedless of the rocks that tore at their robes and of the rain that began again to fall. The sudden urgency frightened Aelwys, and she wondered desperately what had happened when they had met the priest that had affected Mother so. Aelwys' lungs burned and her cloak began to seep water into her clothes and down her back, miserably throwing one sodden foot in front of the other to follow Mother.

Suddenly, Mother seemed to disappear into the rock of the cliff, and on instinct Aelwys managed to follow her. Again they were within a cave, still wet with rain and sweat, and they collapsed to their knees, heaving for breath. Their belongings were discarded close to the mouth of the cave, and there were surely never two women so miserable in all of the chieftains' land since they separated from the Wygars, but at least they were safe from the weather that howled without. After a few minutes they had caught their breath, more or less, and they began to take stock of their surroundings. The cavern was sizable, and they could not see the back of it, while the entrance was a squat, natural portal of stone. The cave ceiling was too shallow for them to stand up, but the expanse was sufficiently comfortable and sandy, and, most of all, dry.

Mother removed her cloak and hood, and removed Aelwys', and placed them beside her bag. She then picked up her bag and removed from it a small wooden vessel, which she unstopped. A bitter smell assaulted Aelwy's nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Mother laughed and poured a small amount on the lining of their cloaks, and then pressed the lining against the top of the cave mouth, effectively blocking the portal with their cloaks and plunging them into darkness. The noise of the wind was also greatly reduced, and after a moment, there came a hiss and another unnatural fire was lit and the end of another rod. Soon there was a fire going, and they greatly enjoyed its warmth as they began to dry off.

“Aelwys,” said Mother, “We can no longer travel by day.” Aelwys did not like this news at all. The stormy skies and berating winds were hard enough to bear with the sun high; how were they to walk that path in the darkness and heightened cold?

“Why?” She asked, “What did the priest say to threaten us?”

“Every word he said,” replied Mother. “He is not looking for pilgrims; he is looking for us! Us and the others who fled Hammon last night. Even the Sovereign's men know the road to Llyceth well. They have used it frequently since they sanctified their Shrine at that place. They know that there is a river only a few miles ahead of where we stood, if they wanted so badly to drink and water their horses.” Aelwys sat for a moment as she comprehended what Mother was telling her.

“There is no Wygar camp near here, then?” she asked. Mother shook her head.

“Last night, before I came to find you at the beach, one of the Wygars was caught helping one of the last of us out of the city. The only Wygar camp near here was the one in the hills outside the city. We are fortunate: none but the Wygars themselves know where the other clans make camp, and I learned from them that we can expect to find no camps this far east, which the soldier-priests certainly don't know. We may have fooled them for a few hours, but surely they will be back, and they will not be so polite when they find us, I think.”

Pathways part 2

More of the Maria story.

There was one long winter night, when I was twelve, Josef eleven, and the little boys nine and seven, when we were all gathered close around the hearth, a fire blazing in the fireplace and our bodies wrapped in wool blankets. Josef was staring out the window, looking longingly out at the woods. There had been a frightful snowstorm the day before, and he was aching to go out and run through the deep, untouched snow that covered everything. The day had turned out to be far too cold, though, with everything freezing and the air taking on a deathly touch. No, there was no chance my mother or father was going to let any child of theirs out of doors on this day. So thus, he had been caged for the time being.

I was sitting beside him, watching him sleepily. The little boys were sitting closest to the fireplace, clustering around the huge nature book that was their latest read. I had seen that book gathering dust on our shelf for years – to my young eyes, it had seemed nothing but a dreadfully boring drawl about trees and other plants with no pictures. And what sort of use is that, I ask you? How can you know what something is with only words and nothing to show you?

Well, they seemed to find it interesting enough. They hardly seemed aware of anything else, not even noticing the little trail of smoke that drifted from Martin’s backside as they drew close to the fire for more light.

“Martin!” my mother said sharply, leaping forward. “The fire!”

He looked back, saw the singed spot, and yelped, backing away quickly and nearly knocking over Tomas. I knew I shouldn’t have felt like laughing, but it was funny to see. Josef, in his shut-in state, had no trouble with letting out a loud burst of laughter.

“Josef!” My mother barked. He coughed, and leaned back, subdued. Mother was busy seeing to Martin’s trousers. “Oh, dear, I’ll have to patch it again.” she sighed, brushing it off. “Thank heavens you’re not burnt.”

“Why don’t you two boys sit next to me? The light’s still good over here.” Father said, gesturing at the space next to his chair. Chagrined by the painful learning experience, they agreed, crawling over to sit in the empty spot. Mother resettled herself in her chair, and after a few moments all was quiet again.

Then Josef spoke.

“Papa, I saw something strange in the woods yesterday.”

“Did you now?” Father said, puffing on his pipe.

“Yes - I saw a man. He was walking through the trees. His clothes were ragged, and he…..was singing.”

Father raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. I thought he might be a minstrel, but he wasn’t walking on the path, and his clothes weren’t the right kind.” Josef said. “He was singing strange words, too – I couldn’t understand any of them.”

“What did they sound like to you?”

Father sounded calm, but I could see that he was very alert. Papa was always suspicious of anyone who walked through his woods, on or off the path.

“Well, sort of like….um….” Josef licked his lips, looking awkward. “Well, like….”

He made a string of slurred, guttural sounds, and stopped when Mother began laughing.

“What?” he demanded, face going red.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mother said, calming herself. “It’s just….you have never heard anyone speak French, have you?”

“N…no.” Josef muttered.

“Well, if those sounds are anything to go by, then that was what he was speaking. Though what a Frenchman would be doing in our part of the world….”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t stay.” Father said grimly. “I’m willing to tolerate his sort, but the townsmen are not.”

“He was just going through the forest, Papa.” Josef said. He sounded awfully defensive of this ragged Frenchman of his, I thought. “He wasn’t going to stay. He just kept moving.”

“Is that so?” Father settled back in his chair. “Well, good, then. Let’s hope so.”

Later that night, when we were all settled in for the night, I leaned over from my bed (we children all shared a room) and poked Josef in the shoulder.

“Go away, Maria.” Josef growled.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?” I hissed.

“I said, go away, Maria.”

“Josef, you know what Father said –“

“I don’t care what Papa – I mean, Father says!” Josef said angrily.

“You did talk to him, then.”

He turned to glare at me.

“Josef,” I said, “You can’t just walk up to strangers in the forest and-“

“He didn’t look like he could hurt me.” Josef said. “He had holes in his clothes, and he looked starved. He told me he’s been walking for good long time from his country. He didn’t tell me where, though…”

“Josef…..” I tried to think of something to say. Something to shame him, perhaps….make him see why Father had told us not to speak to the strangers that sometimes walk through our forest.

But looking at him again told me that nothing I could say would curb him, for he was asleep. And upon waking the next morning, none of us remembered what had been said the night before.

Over the next few days after hearing Josef’s story of the ragged Frenchman wandering through the forest, Father went out into the woods to find him. Mother told him that he had most likely moved on by now, but Father said that with a foreigner, there was no telling. “He doesn’t know the terrain,” he said. “This forest isn’t small – he’s likely to get lost.”

Getting lost in our forest isn’t like getting lost anywhere else. There was no other place that had our legends. Among outsiders, there had long been stories of evil spirits haunting the woods, frightening creatures that lived in its dark deepness and ate anything that crossed their path – even the flesh of man.

And living in the forest….well, I’m sure you could imagine very well what the townspeople must have thought of us.

After spending a week searching the forest while on his woodsman’s duties, Father finally conceded that the Frenchman had found his way out of the forest. “Although how he managed without the road is…..odd.” he said, sitting at dinner that night and frowning down at his stew.

“Well, perhaps he knew the terrain better than we thought.” Mother said lightly. The whole thing with this wandering Frenchman had her rolling her eyes at Father whenever he made mention of it – to her, it was just a curiosity. Nothing to chase down and question, like Father was doing.

But that’s our family, I suppose. And they are, by law and right, our woods.

Over time, everyone forgot about it, even Josef. He never told me what exactly he said to the foreigner, but I don’t think it was really anything worth bothering about. Knowing Josef, he probably talked the poor man’s ear off, asking question after question and only leaving him alone when the man looked close to violence. Even after getting a lecture from Father, he still talked to anyone who happened across his way. I’m not sure how he managed to get away with it, but I suppose that by then, he had learned how to keep secrets.

While the matter had left everyone else’s mind, though, it was still in mine. I think that was the first time I ever really gave any thought to the world outside of our woods. I had heard of France before, and other names of other places that I had never really known were our neighbors. After giving a great many days to thinking, I asked my mother about it.

The question, as I remember it, was something like, “Mother, where do we live?” I don’t recall the question so well as the answer she gave me: “Nowhere, my darling. We are our own people.”

This, as you might expect, only made me very confused. So much so that I didn’t press her to give me a better answer.

Chapter 2

The life we lived in the forest was one of strict routine – or rather, we would have liked for it to have been that way. But life does not agree with going along with strict routine, as I’m sure you know.

Every morning, my father got up and left the house before the rest of us were awake. He would attend to the chores that needed doing outside, and go hunting when he was able. Mother rose not long after, and started on breakfast. We children rose last – of course – and, after breakfast, went about the house doing our own chores.

Living in the woods, and as far north as we were, there wasn’t much you could do in the way of farming. Many times, men approached Father asking to clear the trees so that at least some of the land could be used for that purpose, but they were always refused (tarnishing our reputation even further). We did have a little garden out back – a few hardy vegetables and herbs, nothing much to boast about. The plants sprouted in the seasons right up to winter, and we saved what we could. My mother had a fine stock of homemade herbal medicines kept safely in one of the cupboards, and we lived on squash and turnips and other tiring garden food when it turned cold. Tending the garden was mostly mine and Josef’s job – Tomas and Martin did more the cleaning up and helping Mother around the house. It wasn’t until later that I was told just how odd this arrangement was – that I was doing the outside jobs when I should have been inside helping my mother. I had been tending the garden as long as I had been able to hold a spade, and so it did not seem to so odd to me. Anyway, I much preferred being outside in the fresh, open air digging in the dirt than being indoors sweeping the floor and sewing up my brother’s torn britches.

Maggie, part something

After they had been there about an hour, Henry popped his head in. Maggie happened to look up and catch the grimace he aimed in her direction, and chuckled in spite of herself.
At this Sister Clegg looked up, glanced over at Henry where he dawdled in the open doorway, and sighed.
“Go get me a nice string of trout, you two,” she said.
Maggie stared at Sister Clegg, then slowly rose from her chair.
“Take off my nice clean apron first. And no catfish. No suckerfish. I said trout, and I mean trout.” She shook a stern finger at her son, who shrugged.
“I reckon there’s a few bass waiting for us. Water’s shallow, but we can find ourselves a nice deep pool, right Maggie?”
Maggie felt almost as if she could cry with relief as she walked out the door. She skipped a little, then ran for the shed where she knew her fishing pole, and Henry’s, had waited, neglected, for weeks on end.
“Hey,” A voice called out as they came in. “You fixing on heading upriver and get a few trout?”
Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. It was Hyrum. When was the last time she’d thought of him? Her mind had been occupied by much more unpleasant things lately.
“Nah. We figured we’d stick around and muck out the stable.”
“Pole’s not much use for that. I’m coming. I’ve got to get out of town… feeling a little crowded, and muffled in all this dust.” Hyrum came out from behind a large pile of baling string and burlap sacks, and Maggie thought her heart would like to fly out of her chest and land, thud, she thought, in the sawdust at his feet.
“You have looked a little crowded lately. Though it didn’t seem to me you minded all that much.” Henry’s tone had a bit of a barb to it.
“Yeah, well. A fellow’s got to get out sometimes. How are you doing, Maggie?” He came up beside her and patted her shoulder.
“Fine,” Maggie said, and smiled up at him. “Your Ma asked us to bring home a string of trout; only trout. So we could use your pole, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll get the mule hitched. Coming down from drills I saw a likely looking pool up in the canyon.”
“Drills?” Maggie grabbed her pole and walked quickly so that she could keep up.
“Nauvoo legion,” Henry cut in. “Didn’t you hear? Hyrum’s joined up. Talk is, he’s trying to impress some of the local girls—“
“Shut it, Hen. Don’t worry about me honing in on your territory.”
Maggie felt a little odd at this response, but the talk soon returned to the sort of funning and friendly chatter she had grown accustomed to with Henry and Hyrum. As they passed the town square, her heart sank as she suddenly remembered Mother Holden.
“I can’t stay too long. Three hours, I’ve got to be back at Holdens,” she called out.
Henry turned and frowned at her. “You sure? Like as not she can find some other girl to help her out this one afternoon?”
Maggie shook her head. Mother Holden had been all manner of kindness with her; it was, she thought, too much kindness to cast away simply because something she fancied more had come along. “No, I’ve got to be back,” she said.
Henry whipped the mule to a faster trot. “Reckon there’s a pool lower down we could try this time?”
Hyrum shrugged. “Sure. There’s a spot or two just below deer creek that might do.”
They made a fine afternoon of it, sitting on the banks and talking and laughing. Hyrum related a few of his brother Samuel’s exploits in the Drama Association. Henry tried to press him for details about his drilling with the Nauvoo Legion, but Hyrum remained fairly evasive on that front. “We’re just doing exercises. Getting used to positions, weapons… learning maneuvers and going on patrols. Nothing to get worked up much about.”
“Reckon they’d let me join? I’ve got a bit of time on my hands these days.”
“What about Turners’ wheat harvest?”
“That’s near on finished.”
“There’s corn. Pa’s set up for us to trade with Walls; they’re going to help us with apples and peaches and cherries.”
“Consarn it. Why do you get to go off in the canyons, Hy, and I’m still tripping along behind people picking up corncobs like I’m still in skirts? You’re only two years older’n me, after all. Maybe I ought to get myself a straw hat and some slicking grease.”
Maggie couldn’t help a chuckle at the thought of Henry combing oil through his hair, wearing a straw hat and trying to look charming and grown up. This was the boy, after all, who still flung mud on young ladies and had to be reminded by his mother not to swear.
He turned and gave her a baleful glance, then tossed a pebble at her.
She ducked.
“That all the answer you’re going to give me, then? Just duck and cover, is it? I think I like that. You’ve gotten right docile, Maggie. Downright ladylike, in point of fact.” Henry reached for a handful of mud.
“Holdens!” Maggie screeched. “I can’t show up covered in mud, Henry.”
Henry wiped his palm on his pants and sighed. He cast his line again, and watched the current, a brooding expression on his face.
The ride back was quiet, restful. An hour of sun and the sounds of the river had nearly erased all the panic from Maggie’s thoughts. She felt more able to separate them out—the good from the bad, the probable from the unlikely.
Uncle Forth. Maggie nodded to herself, and rested her back in the corner of the wagon. The scenery went by lazily, and as they descended back into the valley, Maggie was amazed at the sudden feeling of tenderness she felt for the little collection of buildings and streets that ran, criss-crossed and neatly squared off, against the dusty brown of the desert. She saw the Cleggs’ orchards, green in contrast to the brown, as they blanketed several blocks east of town, and the tall, waving fields of wheat and corn.
Uncle Forth liked to be stirred up. He listened to those who would give him what he wished—a scandal. Ma Alden had never been very keen on her situation, either; Pa Alden was the one who had the faith. But he also tended to step back and let others take charge.
It could be true, Maggie thought. What Uncle Forth was saying could be true in some ways. People taking the law into their own hands; it happened. She knew of several examples; selfishness and fear and greed existed and in a place like this, there was less consequence for such things because people thought they were less likely to be found out. Some people, Maggie thought, live the gospel because they believe it. Others come along because it would mean abandoning the people one loved, if one left it. And still others could get het up in their mind as to their own importance; they could make things up in their head and take more on themselves than they ought. Killing was no small thing. It made her sick to think something like that might have been done in the name of anything brother Brigham preached.
And that was the sticking point for Maggie’s thoughts. Uncle Forth had said Brother Brigham preached something called Blood Murder, and Ma Alden had said she remembered it, too. It wasn’t just a fancy for Ma Alden, either… there had been real fear in her voice.
Maggie reckoned she ought to ask. Someone safe to ask… that was the thing of it. Who could she talk to about this and not have it spread all over town that she was coming to a bad end, or have it ricochet back onto Pa Alden and make people speculate?
That evening, as she rocked the littlest Holden to sleep, and watched as Sister Holden began tidying up the dishes left behind by the Literary Society, the thought came to her that she could perhaps ask this woman, this redheaded woman who seemed not to shock easily when she asked frank questions about love poetry and who seemed to take life honestly as it came, might be the one to ask. Surely she wasn’t a gossip; she wasn’t someone who was weak-minded enough to need to spread things about others. And she was intelligent enough… she was perceptive and curious enough that she had to have heard something about Blood Murder, if it ever had been preached.
There was no real easy way to get into it, Maggie thought to herself. Best just ask. She swallowed, then cleared her throat.

Continuing Aelwys' journey...

Disclaimer: so far I'm just sort of world-building and developing the prose I'm going to use. This is building up to something that I promise will be interesting (I've got such an epic idea in mind, with lots of suspense and action and maybe Sean Connery, if we're lucky)... this served more to test descriptions of things and people, trying out interactions, and introducing a very unlikable character at the end there. Also eking out basics with an invented language (getting some tenses down, idiomatic phrases, pronunciation, etc.). Trying to decide how I can shift perspectives. I'm still not sure how old Aelwys is. I'm going to write the scene I started at the end... later. I'm getting close to including my pride-and-glory creepy monster beings! So... bear with me. I tried not to make it dull! So... given that this is sort of a literary sandbox, please let me know what I should change/fix/emphasize/etc.! Now that break is on, I can finally get around to commenting on everyone else's stuff, too!!!!


Oh, and (I had to look this one up, so just in case y'all didn't know either) a caparison is the cloak-like coverings draped over medieval horses. They are used to keep the horses warmer in the really quite cold temperatures here...

The next morning was bitterly cold and icy outside the cave, the air so frigid and gusty it felt like a solid substance oppressing those unfortunate enough to be caught in it. Aelwys, however, awoke quite warm and dry inside the cavern, and saw to her astonishment the fire still burning, and the kindling Mother had placed there in the night seemed to be entirely unconsumed. Her nostrils filled with the smell of the fish stew in the kettle Mother was holding over the fire. Now that she felt rested, warm, and safe, an overwhelming hunger seemed to gnaw at her, as Mother had correctly guessed it would.

“We must empty this kettle,” said Mother, “Because I do not think we will be able to risk another fire until we arrive on the island.”

“How will we get there?” Aelwys asked, eagerly reaching for one of the vessels in Mother's bag to fill with stew, “And how far away is it?”

“The island itself is a few miles by sea,” she said, “But we must be careful not to be recognized in the port, for it is still within the chieftains' land. We will be safe only after we cast off. However, Winter is coming fast, and we shall have to find quarters on the island or else find the money for passage on a winter vessel. Now, eat; we must be make ready for the journey. We cannot travel any more by night, so we must prepare to travel by day.”

After the kettle had been cleaned and the fire put out, they set about disguising themselves. They had already come dressed in the rough woolen coats about the inner linen robes of the Veagars, and so Mother and Aelwys began to braid one another's hair into dreadlocks and darken their eyes after the manner of their cousin clan. They covered their heads in thick woolen shawls with beaded fringes, and donned hoods and cloaks of crimson-dyed skins to repel the rain, and after a minute or two basking in the warmth of the cave, they set out into the blasting wind and rain, which though drizzling only was made a hail by the gusts of wind.

Eking out their way through the warring wind, they followed an old dirt path through the seaside crags, weaving through and over the smoothed black stones that crowned the shoreline, broken incrementally by a wide beach. They were not the only travelers, they soon discovered, for they saw several signs of encampments in amongst other caves and rocks. Here and there a thick tent of skins squatted in the more sheltered nooks in the rocks, which yet formed smooth, black cliffs that towered overhead. They received short respites from the brunt of the weather when a pillar or a wall of rock blocked the eastern side, from whence came the sea-breeze, though such moments were so short-lived that Aelwys could little enjoy them. Truthfully, she thought, it would be better if the barrage of wind and rain were entirely unabated, rather than be given periodic false hopes of relief.

After a few hours' walking, very much to their relief, the rain abated entirely, though the cold, dry wind yet buffeting and shoving the two of them as they slung each stride ahead of the last. Aelwy's heavy mantle served to warm her chest and her back well enough, but her limbs soon grew weary with cold. The wind readily pierced the skirts of her garments, and it soon seemed that her legs could not carry her quickly enough toward the promise of warmth and rest. Distant yet seemed such a promise, she bemoaned to herself, though her mouth stayed shut fast. She knew she could not burden Mother's ears with her complaints, exhausted though she was. In the face of the numbing wind and frigid ground, however, she couldn't help but look anxiously to Mother.

Mother's face was set and determined. Unflinchingly she pressed forward, standing erect with a sort of defiant majesty. She seemed to convey a feeling of strength and endurance to Aelwys with her unflinching posture and tirelessness. Facing the buffeting winds and deafened by its gustling, Aelwys squinted her eyes and clenched her jaw resolutely. She would not be bested by the elements that beset them.

* * *

They first became alarmed when the din of approaching hoofbeats began to be audible above the wind and the distant crashing of waves. They turned to see, and their hearts sank as they beheld the three men riding on the backs of caparisoned horses, galloping towards them with great haste. In a few moments, they overtook and surrounded them. The men wore masks and cassocks, white and unemblazoned, as were the caparisons that hung like cloaks about their horses, easily identifying them as soldier-priests of royal employ. Their pale lances pointed skyward, flying the red herald of the chieftains' coat-of-arms. Aelwys' heart was pounding: someone must have told the chieftains of their flight. They had been caught.

One handed his lance to one of the others, and dismounted with an unruffled grace, as if he could not feel the blasting winds that dashed his cassock about his thin form. He politely removed his mask to address the two women, and the face he revealed seemed one of refined manners. As had become the fashion of the chieftains in recent years, his face was clean-shaven, all the better to see that it was pressed in an expression of seemingly permanent displeasure.

“Wynclaetyrch!” he said loudly to be heard over the wind. Aelwys was offended for a moment that he should greet them in the Veagars' tongue, and had half a mind to answer him in Common before she remembered that they had dressed as Veagars.

“Wyndaecht,” Mother quickly answered, “What brings two humble maidens to your attention today, sirs?”

Senioritis And Why High School does NOT Make Up The Best Years of Your Life

In other silliness, this was originally posted on my personal blog. Looking at it, I decided that it qualified for being posted here. Just flow with it.

Been thinking about a few things recently.

You know, it's only the beginning of the year and I've already got what is called "senioritis". For those few weird people who don't know, "senioritis" is this condition that high school seniors develop, usually towards the end of the year, where they just stop caring about EVERYTHING and ANYTHING. Basically, you just want the school year to end so that you can grab your high school diploma and get on with your life. You're sick and tired of sitting in the classroom counting the minutes until the class is over, you're sick and tired of looking at colleges and getting good grades (or not, in some cases), you're sick and tired of worrying about everything from where you're going to live next year to how you did on that stupid English test - after four years you just want it to END.

Sound familiar? No? Oh, you poor, sorry excuse for a human being.

As you might imagine, this is a very unhealthy condition to be developing this early in the year. But the thing is, I don't care about anything anymore, so I can't really bring myself to be concerned about it.

However, in the attempt to make myself concerned about it, I did a lot of thinking. You know, about the future. And stuff.

And I realized....

This is a very....trying step in my life, to say in the least. This is practically my last year living at home.

But....to tell the truth? I'm not entirely unhappy about it.

It's not that I won't miss my parents, or living at home. When I leave this house, I am going to be shouldering the responsibilities of being independent - I will be, in essence, an adult. Well, sort of. My parents will help pay for my tuition and stuff, but that's beside the point.

What I mean is, I am moving on with my life. Which is both absolutely terrifying and quite possibly the most exciting thing I have ever done. Sort of a conflicting that way. So I am both terrified and excited.

When I went into high school, and while I was IN high school, I have had people tell me:

"You know, these are the best years of your life. High school is the best time you'll ever have. It doesn't get much better than that."

Well, I thought reflectively to myself, if this is as good as my life will ever get, my life is totally going to suck.

My entire life, school and I have had something of a hate/hate relationship. I hated it, It (in all its sentient glory) hated me. And despite many attempts (and believe me, there were many), there was no reconciling this. I tried having a positive attitude, smiling at everything (didn't work - only increased my reputation as some sort of crazy hermit person, only in the form of a teenage girl), trying to get good grades (I am such a skillful procrastinator that this never worked), trying to take an interest in my subjects, etc. Nothing worked. And so, somewhere in my elementary school years, I gave up. And so when people told me that these are the best years of my life (they STILL tell me this - they actually seem to tell me a lot more often, now that I'm a senior), I felt a deep pit of depression sink through my chest and give me a horrible stomachache.

In the middle of my junior year, though, I decided something: that whole 'high school is the best' thing is crap. Maybe they're the best times for the popular kids who've got it made in high school, but let's face it - that's just sad. I've known people who just never got their heads out of their high school years, and look back on them with wistful regret, never getting on with their lives because they're convinced that the climax of their lives has already passed. That's not going to be me, no sir. As far as I'm concerned, the day I finally take that high school diploma and do a little victory dance on the stage (probably involving the worm), my life will finally BEGIN. I mean, not that my life isn't going on right now, but that's when I'll be OUT and into THE WORLD.

My lands, what a frightening thought.

Recently, one of my teachers made a surprisingly wise statement: "Here's the facts, kids: high school is weird. It's full of all this stupid drama and adjustment and all this other crap. Life outside of high school is not like that. High school isn't what life really is. Life is different, and it's a whole lot better, if you ask me."

Well said.

That's not a word-for-word quote, of course, but that's the gist of it. And it's true. High school IS weird. It's full of a bunch of kids who are doing a lot of growing in a very short amount of time. They aren't adults, they aren't children, they're somewhere in between. And it's a tough adjustment, one that is full of, yes, drama and all this other crap. So it really isn't logical to assume that life in the outside world is like that, too.

I like that. If there is one thing that I have absolutely no qualms about, it's leaving high school behind me. And you can be sure that I will only look back when I'm having troubles with my life, and need to remember that although my life isn't easy, it could be a heckuva lot worse.

Because the truth is, life gets better after high school. And that's a fact.