tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154158838150948592024-03-14T02:29:11.526-07:00The Pen of a Ready WriterEsther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.comBlogger718125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-31886512591645087212023-08-16T13:50:00.001-07:002023-08-16T13:50:05.445-07:00A Matchmaker for a Beast<p> I want to couple my fun matchmaker lady with a Beauty and the Beast retelling.</p>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-86159895410348913442023-08-11T04:49:00.000-07:002023-08-11T04:49:11.405-07:00Matchmaker, Matchmaker<p> One of Kendra’s upcoming retellings is a Matchmaker story. It caught my eye because my husband and I were introduced to each other by a couple of self-proclaimed matchmakers.</p><p>I am NOT the matchmaker type. To me, someone’s choice of life partner is, out of principle, not my business. Plus, the choosing of a life partner is so complex and has so many risks greatly affecting the future. It’s too much responsibility for anyone to take on, other than the couple themselves.</p><p>But the fact that I am NOT the matchmaker type makes that type all the more fascinating to me. What sort of personality do you have to be? A little bit of a nosy person— but maybe in a fun and candid sort of way. A like bit bossy — or maybe just extra confident in sharing your sage advice — and you’re usually right, so people listen to you. You’ve got to be super observant. And super intuitive. And, since our current culture here doesn’t involve actual arranged marriages, you’ve got to have that knack of giving couples the right amount of space to decide for themselves.</p><p>And maybe the matchmaker is one of those non-judgmental ears, making it easy for young folks to come and confide in her. Which also increases her pool of potential couples.</p><p>I think that kind of matchmaker might be fun to write.</p><p>So tell me, readers, have you ever met someone who liked playing matchmaker? How would you describe their personality?</p>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-84416514352994796802023-08-08T12:01:00.004-07:002023-08-08T12:01:29.916-07:00Like A Good TeaWriting has looked very different these last two years. I have a toddler. I have another baby on the way. Writing time has devolved into something practically non-existent…I feel like I barely find time to scribble down my daughter’s amazing little milestones in a Note app on my phone.<div>But my heart…my heart is still writing.</div><div>My fingers itch for my laptop keyboard.</div><div>My brain tries to sort through potential plot holes as my exhausted self falls asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Enter Kendra Ardnek and her self-publishing progress. She’s been doing joint retellings with other authors since the end of the Rooglewood contests. And she’s doing another set. The deadlines are far enough into the future that I began to have hope that maybe, just maybe, I could join her for one of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I’m excited.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now I’m brewing story ideas in my head like a good tea. </div><div>And I wanted to ask you guys — have any of you published with Kendra? Or read her stories? What do you think about this group publishing idea?</div>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-47407658731683504342023-01-05T12:56:00.000-08:002023-01-05T12:56:32.306-08:00The Good Girl with No Drive<p> How many of you have read Bleak House by Charles Dickens or watched the movie?</p><p>Do you remember Esther?</p><p>She is good. And kind. She has a dogged optimism to look for the good in everything, no matter how hard her situation. She is a hard worker, someone that you WANT to come help you because you know she will make everything better.</p><p>I love her character.</p><p>Not everybody does. She’s been accused of being a “flat” and “passive” character.</p><p>She’s not. I’ll defend my Bleak House Esther.</p><p>But let me first talk about another character…one of my own, who really was a weak, flat, passive character.</p><p>I liked her when I first created her. She was sweet and lovely. I thought it wasn’t her fault that she was swept along by forces more powerful than she was. I didn’t even realize how passive she was until a judge pointed it out to me. Now I see how cringe-worthy she was — she was pretty worthless (no offense) except to inspire other characters to take action, and even then, their action on her behalf stemmed from their own integrity more than from her life.</p><p>Readers like active characters. They want someone who has so much passion and drive that they easily suck the reader into the story. It’s easy and fun to read. Think of Little Women — we all love Beth but we read the story because of Jo.</p><p>Does that mean that the kind and gentle girl can’t be a heroine?</p><p>I don’t think so. Not all heroines have to be impatient, discontented, and pushy to drive a story!</p><p>And maybe I believe this because I believe that goodness makes the world a better place. I believe that we CAN push our own real-life stories to better outcomes when we ourselves can be kinder and wiser and more humble and willing to serve. </p><p>So how do we write good characters? And what makes Bleak House different than my own poor story?</p><p>Esther’s goodness wasn’t effortless. My Princess really had no reason to be bad — her life was pretty much perfect. But Esther — she had many opportunities to be bad or harsh or selfish or neglectful or downright despairing. But you could see her tighten her jaw, lift her chin, and make the RIGHT choice. </p><p>And, even with that, and even though I admire and love Esther of Bleak House, there are some downright cut-throat characters in that story who would do anything to achieve their goals. And they do drive the plot more than she does. Esther is about as passive as you can be while still being heroic.</p><p>Before I close, let’s look at one more gentle character: Sam in LOTR. He’s good and kind and steady. He’s not malcontented or aggressive or ambitious or cut-throat. He just wants to help his friend, and to keep his promise to Gandalf, and hopefully to make it back home and ask Rosie to marry him. And he’s probably the only reason Frodo made it as far as he did. And his steady goodness sees him through better than most characters faired in that story.</p><p>But he wants something. He does have a driving goal and purpose that carry him through impossible situations.</p><p>That, my friends, is how we write characters. Each character needs to want something with enough passion that they are willing to make sacrifices for it. Even if it is simply to prove your worth by making the world a better place, despite all the reasons you can’t.</p>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-19434519531574018722020-06-28T10:08:00.000-07:002020-06-28T10:08:52.891-07:00More Snippets from Snow White Rose Red
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the shadows
moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Were you just going to chuck it
in there with no thought for the poor folks on the other side?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flip’s voice drawled out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a deep voice and it made my heart skip
a beat.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He moved away
from the trees and came to stand in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Some hard-working fellow is plowing his
field and then – whop!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of nowhere, a
poisoned apple flies out and hits him upside the head.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He clucked his tongue reproachfully.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-40727754927394545352020-03-03T14:14:00.002-08:002020-03-03T14:14:46.990-08:00I'm BACK!!!!Hey! Hey! Hey!<br />
<br />
After weeks...months...a year???? I found time to sit down and write again!!! This past weekend was glorious. I dusted off my laptop and started pounding out a story.<br />
<br />
This. Feels. Good.<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how happy I am about it.<br />
<br />
Kendra Ardnek is hosting a Fairy Tale retelling. I had started a Twelve Dancing Princesses story, with plans to finish it for her event this year, buuuuut...my timing didn't work out. So I am trying one for next year.<br />
Next year, the theme is Snow White Rose Red (hereafter referred to as SWRR). And it's not a story that I'm terribly familiar with. So I read the Grimm's tale, and started typing.<br />
<br />
It's a rough draft. I'm about 8400 words into it. And I'm assuming I'm about a third of the way into the story. I didn't outline this one, I'm just discovering it as I go, so we will see.<br />
<br />
As a reward for writing, though, I am permitting myself this blogging break to share snippets from the story. Are you ready?<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Everly sat up, rolling the apple in her hand. “I feel sad for her, Ardyn. She’s so angry. Maybe she’s never had a friend before.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I was unconvinced. “Or maybe she did, and then she ate them. Like a spider. With her fangs.”</span></div>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GuqSrhr30kZwA7Vz-g50S7I8wYIMPkaA9nAmoGzs6ptWkFDfYiOyfpsytIiUTHiK3nv_bH5TwyVyZnDknc-SCuUtrsglcFND3akI71jzdwyDY2DlthVR_ABegR4mH1Zx8Vl4Y5To-1iI/s1600/Red_hair_woman_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GuqSrhr30kZwA7Vz-g50S7I8wYIMPkaA9nAmoGzs6ptWkFDfYiOyfpsytIiUTHiK3nv_bH5TwyVyZnDknc-SCuUtrsglcFND3akI71jzdwyDY2DlthVR_ABegR4mH1Zx8Vl4Y5To-1iI/s320/Red_hair_woman_001.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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***</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> I ran to the tree and touched it.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I could see the shimmer in the wood.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“I’ve never seen a portal in person before,”
I murmured.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Slowly I moved my hand into
the shimmer.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">My hand disappeared into it.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It felt like I had stuck it into a waterfall –
the forces of the portal beat against it like water.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I pulled my arm back out of the tree and my
hand reappeared.</span></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq90Ac1XlULzDoV5tOBqNcHIRO9ZaG6hNN0LJmdbt91Izc3aXXDJVI81xAVWEpnJquTBHYwawXYtQ0uliuhGtZ7Xok9d4W-V9fkAHXkEddI04D9kiI-KHp5vkqZGO0obsvGRPaYD1OnKS/s1600/Twisted_Tree_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq90Ac1XlULzDoV5tOBqNcHIRO9ZaG6hNN0LJmdbt91Izc3aXXDJVI81xAVWEpnJquTBHYwawXYtQ0uliuhGtZ7Xok9d4W-V9fkAHXkEddI04D9kiI-KHp5vkqZGO0obsvGRPaYD1OnKS/s320/Twisted_Tree_001.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 107%; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Don’t play dumb with me.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 107%; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I’m your twin.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 107%; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I know what you’re thinking.”</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 107%; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Everly smiled, as she gathered the empty
bowls from the table – every bowl except mine.</span></span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span> </span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXM12mVxTzXyrVVv6GrJIsASp0P-FpR6cWompSprKcaQ7292gK8o6kpJEIlFxHxHNWTzDrQ1TinYE9WR36Mg9gZDlbHFuRr_G91xlV58-hSIed4N1ZfmdLU2Y68_E9DjMihUlf8sFwWgG/s1600/Cottage_Table_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="386" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXM12mVxTzXyrVVv6GrJIsASp0P-FpR6cWompSprKcaQ7292gK8o6kpJEIlFxHxHNWTzDrQ1TinYE9WR36Mg9gZDlbHFuRr_G91xlV58-hSIed4N1ZfmdLU2Y68_E9DjMihUlf8sFwWgG/s320/Cottage_Table_001.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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***</div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> “May you wither and die!” She shrieked.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Maybe you never bear fruit again!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">May your leaves curl in agony!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">May wild animals chew on your branches, and
may disease infect the shredded bark!”</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As
she shouted, she grasped her hair with both hands pulling wildly against it.</span></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzXarCtuJLyQ9UkkYgCGP60V1Qmt5nAJM2Z7FN1Bc3lSmtbFYRlm9vaC1OZd01AXmvOKAn-9-XhES1PqmOD6qHvj-6Ld6Z4AAa2yWXnT2PuAjDLvKRBoYdZ2-W4VZFfaZQP0wMxTKykvv3/s1600/Hair_caught_in_branches_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzXarCtuJLyQ9UkkYgCGP60V1Qmt5nAJM2Z7FN1Bc3lSmtbFYRlm9vaC1OZd01AXmvOKAn-9-XhES1PqmOD6qHvj-6Ld6Z4AAa2yWXnT2PuAjDLvKRBoYdZ2-W4VZFfaZQP0wMxTKykvv3/s320/Hair_caught_in_branches_01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> “Do you not trust me?</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">You think I’m stupid enough to fall for some crazy man who jumps through
portals? I’m insulted by your concern.”</span></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcd4sPzabKi0BgA7E0WYzQ4qWwWCeM59nnPPLme_BFNKHgNcYE8v_Q8g2hD1lwj8R88knpAVxX72HDIrAfghUgfHC2_cyE-9Q029FAAMgi2FmvWaX9cSwrFvfbhaUeUa5tpQkv7vuWELq/s1600/Red_hair_Ygritte_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcd4sPzabKi0BgA7E0WYzQ4qWwWCeM59nnPPLme_BFNKHgNcYE8v_Q8g2hD1lwj8R88knpAVxX72HDIrAfghUgfHC2_cyE-9Q029FAAMgi2FmvWaX9cSwrFvfbhaUeUa5tpQkv7vuWELq/s320/Red_hair_Ygritte_002.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Nekon nodded and
waved goodbye to us. Then he and Mama
set off down the path together.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> As they
disappeared out of sight, I couldn’t help but fidget. “You know they’re going to talk about
something.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> “And they wanted
to do it alone,” Everly said gently.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I felt
twitchy. “Don’t you want to know what
they’re saying?”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> “No.” Everly got
up and went in the house.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> Well, I did.</span></div>
</blockquote>
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLFFeBTkOKEG9bIJdW7Edj_cEghx_srT9d7iAMQikpMlCP7CI00Zu1P28b0UH24X6IUL4EE9mXdKV3egfU_j7iJ4pBN66dKbjHiVs2nBvBVG3GeUPqicst6FIFX7W6TO58ZyFfgOJUBii/s1600/Red_hair_Ygritte_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="563" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLFFeBTkOKEG9bIJdW7Edj_cEghx_srT9d7iAMQikpMlCP7CI00Zu1P28b0UH24X6IUL4EE9mXdKV3egfU_j7iJ4pBN66dKbjHiVs2nBvBVG3GeUPqicst6FIFX7W6TO58ZyFfgOJUBii/s320/Red_hair_Ygritte_006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> His song ended in
a choked gasp, and he staggered to his left.
“Hey, now!” he protested breathlessly, throwing his hands up. “I’m unarmed!
Don’t kill me!”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I poked the
dagger on his hip with the end of my bostaff.
“You’re never unarmed. I know
you.”</span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKhdFDyv7fYxNZ1m-rHQSCW7_Xq9Vzv_AQgz4tVmjMVw812BxcNK2RWrAWAo_JOSLyQvCqkDSR8CRShjIdLK3HmjFYpoTjfUa9YkJ1sA2f4iAiY5ao_fSoY4AQqGkTy7XfAxbvykkR9kk/s1600/Sword_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKhdFDyv7fYxNZ1m-rHQSCW7_Xq9Vzv_AQgz4tVmjMVw812BxcNK2RWrAWAo_JOSLyQvCqkDSR8CRShjIdLK3HmjFYpoTjfUa9YkJ1sA2f4iAiY5ao_fSoY4AQqGkTy7XfAxbvykkR9kk/s320/Sword_001.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“You can’t even
guess?</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">You’re so busy watching that man
that you’ve forgotten how to see me?” Her words were bitter and disappointed.</span></span></span></blockquote>
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EVD2DOmEkWolxtBEZFmpcaSc0OYec52nse2MijClIk9j1hLTivyYCCToo7ulWBFAz7uGvnW2bW8iNnGM7htsSyjYCjWbb8zT2zcuuEgQWqClhVm6pfYRrv4-BdmmMoHrHPDM1YN-u4fL/s1600/Arwen_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EVD2DOmEkWolxtBEZFmpcaSc0OYec52nse2MijClIk9j1hLTivyYCCToo7ulWBFAz7uGvnW2bW8iNnGM7htsSyjYCjWbb8zT2zcuuEgQWqClhVm6pfYRrv4-BdmmMoHrHPDM1YN-u4fL/s320/Arwen_02.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">***</span></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> “No…please…” the
man croaked. He took half a step forward
and tumbled to his knees across our threshold.
“Cold.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> My arrow was
ready to fly. I shot a glance at our
mama, hoping for some guidance.
Shoot? Don’t shoot?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I could see the
worry on her face. She stood to her
feet, pursing her lips together as she surveyed the intruder. My eyes went back to the man. His face was white with frost. But his dagger was definitely red.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></blockquote>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5AskGlB3snBFLOSLJ7Q05tvoar21YIK2yY5lBxQftTHIeZa4yBB8Pt1MNswiCNeIbGwr87f8oeIlNOdWW0qz8kDb5bsO-7R2m3twPKKFKeZHSy5E57uM_ih16Xv_QFxurh8Z7pZ7lOj6/s1600/Red_hair_Ygritte_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5AskGlB3snBFLOSLJ7Q05tvoar21YIK2yY5lBxQftTHIeZa4yBB8Pt1MNswiCNeIbGwr87f8oeIlNOdWW0qz8kDb5bsO-7R2m3twPKKFKeZHSy5E57uM_ih16Xv_QFxurh8Z7pZ7lOj6/s320/Red_hair_Ygritte_001.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> We made our
preparations and headed out. The air was
still but crisp with the cold. I blew
puffs, watching the vapors curl like smoke.
I did three or four short ones, a long one, and two more short
ones. Ha. It looked like the smoke from signal fires.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I glanced behind
me. Everly was walking demurely by the
stranger’s side. This, I thought, was
why people thought she was older than me.
She looked so grownup, and I was blowing imaginary smoke signals out of
my mouth.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
That's what I have so far, folks. I hope you all are doing well in your writing and having a fabulous week!<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-70642754567061839092019-03-07T18:01:00.001-08:002020-08-04T08:56:48.513-07:00The Lost City of the Mountains: Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaFljH3-V62MbdhZZE10rM0qviIsdqlolRJYIrx6a9JFOAtv1msqqOf4NRX6DS5ZNS8OBlx08-4gcSF5rPFg3gpxAfljxfp4m5jRLNWrVnDdSGQZpq9I5AVgVTBoCC2b503WArFCiClkl/s1600/redhead_beard_viking_young_man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="347" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaFljH3-V62MbdhZZE10rM0qviIsdqlolRJYIrx6a9JFOAtv1msqqOf4NRX6DS5ZNS8OBlx08-4gcSF5rPFg3gpxAfljxfp4m5jRLNWrVnDdSGQZpq9I5AVgVTBoCC2b503WArFCiClkl/s320/redhead_beard_viking_young_man.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
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It was hard not to feel excitement as I held the metal square in my hands. It was heavy. My hands tingled and every part of my heart wanted to scream that we were that much closer to our greatest goals. I wanted to hoist it over my head and shout to the world that we had discovered an ancient artifact from a lost city. I wanted to call my dad and say, "So, guess what we found after all!" I wanted to call my professor and hear his enthusiastic response. I wanted to scoop Jenny into my arms and twirl her around the motel room.</div>
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Well, maybe I wouldn't actually do that last one -- even if this really was an ancient artifact.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I mean, I would want to, but I wouldn't actually...nevermind.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It didn't matter because this wasn't an ancient artifact. This was a local hoax that we were all falling into.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Jenny leaned forward on her seat, her eyes sparkling. "Do you realize that we're the first non-local team to actually find anything?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hammer was too happy to sit down. He leaned forward across the back of Jenny's chair and kicked his feet a couple times. "Totally awesome, dude!" His red hair and beard looked kinda crazy and for a second, he reminded me of the guy, Dusty, on the old Twister movie.</div>
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"So, actually, guys...I got some news from Karl today." I swallowed hard.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hammer grabbed a chair, scooted it in front of me, and launched himself into it like an eager kindergartner. "He got results on the cloth?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Yeah." I scratched my forehead. "It's not old."</div>
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"It's not old?" Jenny's head jerked to glance at Hammer and then back to me. "Define old."</div>
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"It's not old. It's less than 30 years." I tried to shrug. Tried to pretend like this wasn't a big deal.</div>
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Jenny grabbed the end of her pigtail and twirled it around her finger. "But it has the same markings as the pottery and the knife and the stoneware." She nodded her head toward the metal square in my hands. "And that."</div>
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Hammer rubbed his hands together, the way he does when he's thinking or nervous. "So...the locals just made something to look like the other ancient artifacts they found...to get more business. I mean...that's believable. Half of them do artisanry work anyway. They probably have the skills, you know what I mean."</div>
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"Or..." I left the rest of my sentence hanging, hoping that they would guess without me having to state it. But they just stared at me, hope dawning in their eyes like they thought I was about to save the day. I swallowed hard again. "Or, none of them are ancient." </div>
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"None of them?" Jenny narrowed her eyes. "But if you don't think any of them are ancient..."</div>
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I nodded toward Hammer. "Then there is no lost city. Like you said, the locals have artisanry skills. They played a hoax and we fell into it."</div>
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Hammer's eyes went wide. "Aw, dude!" He grabbed the sides of his head and rocked his chair back. "Dude! That would s***. Our whole trip is a waste?"</div>
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Silence reigned for a while. I felt bad because I knew they were going through the same feelings that I had.</div>
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Jenny was the first to speak. "So we have five days left. What are we going to do with them?"</div>
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"Go home, I guess." I sighed. "My folks want to see me."</div>
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Fire flashed through Jenny's eyes. "And give up?" Her words cut me as if she had outright called me a coward and unworthy of the respect of any woman.</div>
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"What would we do here?" I protested. </div>
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She jumped to her feet and started pacing. "We have five days left. We can use those five days to outright prove that this is a hoax and use that as our report. No more looking for the lost city. Instead, we dig up whatever dirt we can find in Grin and present that to the scientific journals. Or..." she paused and dropped her eyes to the floor. "Or we can start over, clear our preconceived notions, and keep searching for the truth."</div>
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"Jenny," I huffed. "The truth is in front of you." I stood up and waved the metal square in the air. "The pieces of the puzzle fit together. All the artifacts have the same markers. One of them has been proven to be less than 30 years old. NO ONE has ever found evidence of a city. Conclusion: there is no lost city, Jenn. It's just not here."</div>
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She squared off in front of me. "No. That is just one possibility."</div>
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I rolled my eyes. "How does an ancient civilization make a new piece of cloth?"</div>
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"Maybe they aren't all dead! Did you think of that?" Jenny resumed pacing. "Maybe there are descendants who came from that city. Maybe there's a secret society. Maybe there are living representatives."</div>
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"And they just all forgot how to find their old ruined city? Jenny, you're not even making sense." I smacked my own leg in frustration.</div>
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"No. No, I'm making perfect sense, Fence. You just don't want to hear it because you think you already know everything about how the world works."</div>
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"So I'm an arrogant, stupid, cowardly quitter? Is that what I am?" I could feel the anger flushing my face.</div>
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She stopped in front of me and stared into my eyes. "I don't know. Is it?"</div>
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"Woah, woah, woah...." Hammer scooted out of his chair with concern in his eyes. "This conversation is just a leeeetle too hot for my liking. You guys are still friends, right?"</div>
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We both turned and glared at him.</div>
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"Oh, good," Hammer said, placing both fists on his hips and lacing his words with sarcasm. "You're glaring in unison. That's how a good team does things."</div>
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I huffed, letting some emotional steam escape from my lungs.</div>
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Jenny rolled her eyes. "I guess I've had enough celebration for one night." Without facing me, she grabbed the metal square and yanked it from my grasp. "I'll take my spurned prize and go to bed now."</div>
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I winced. I guess my revelations felt pretty brutal to her.</div>
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She marched to the door and tugged it open. It swung slowly and she paused there, silhouetted against the one streetlight in the parking lot of the motel. "We still got to choose." She nodded at Hammer and half-nodded at me. "We...as a team...must choose what to do with our remaining five days. Because I'm not quitting or moping for half a week. I believe in this project. I believe in our team." She shifted the metal square in her hands. "Goodnight."</div>
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<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-28243521051604597862019-02-21T07:21:00.000-08:002019-03-07T16:49:22.637-08:00Flash Fiction: The Lost City of the Mountains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Nothing?" Static crackled around my dad's voice, and I pressed my phone harder into my ear. Reception wasn't the best up here. I was hoping that I was close enough to base camp for my WiFi box to pick up.</div>
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"Nothing," I sighed into the phone.</div>
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"It was a fool's errand, you know." My dad's voice was matter of fact.</div>
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Annoyance prickled through me. "Not a fool's errand, dad. Artifacts have been found here before. There was an entire culture that lived here. We know this."</div>
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"Found by who? The locals? Son, that poor town is a dead zone in the middle of nowhere. They've got to do something to keep stupid college kids hiking out there every summer, buying their food, sleeping in their motel...right? They do have a motel in that dump, don't they?"</div>
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"Yes, Dad, there's a Motel 6." I rolled my eyes. "With really comfy beds." That part wasn't true. There was a spring protruding through the fabric in my mattress.</div>
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"Well, anyway...I think it's a local hoax. And if your professor said this was a good idea, then he's probably in on it. They pay him a small fee to have him send his most gullible students out there."</div>
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"Dad!" I protested.</div>
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He was silent for a moment, probably trying to decide whether or not to reprimand me for protesting. He let it slide, moving on as if I hadn't spoken any outburst. "But you haven't found anything? How many more days do you have there?"</div>
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"Five days. And no, we haven't found anything." My shoulders slumped, and I stopped on the path to spin slowly, absentmindedly dragging my eyes across the tall trees and big rocks on the mountainside with me and, in the distance, the valley and neighboring peaks covered in a bluish haze. It was pretty here. Empty but pretty.</div>
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"I say you call it quits and come home early. Then you can spend a few extra days with your mom and me."</div>
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"Dad, my grade is dependent on this project. This is really important to me."</div>
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"I still think you should have chosen Sandridge University. Hartrock College seems a little second-rate to me. I told you that when you applied there."</div>
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I tilted my head back, staring at the sky. It was blue with occasional puffs of clouds along the horizon. "Yeah, I remember. Thanks."</div>
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My phone beeped. I was in range of the WiFi. Great. Now I could upload my gridwork from the day. "Okay, Dad, I gotta go. It was good to talk to you." Sort of.</div>
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"Alright. Stay safe, son." </div>
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We both hung up. For a second, my upload didn't seem so important and I dropped my phone into my pocket. A few steps further and I was able to see the pitiful little town of Grin. Half the men traveled nearly 40 miles every morning to work in a bigger city. The other half earned their living with mountain artisan work, making rustic goods and selling them to tourists through a mountain guild of towns that stretched for 180 miles. They were all eager to tell me about their lost city -- a sort of Atlantis of the mountains.</div>
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Some artifacts had been found by them -- stoneware, pottery, a knife with strange engravings on the handle. They recently found a piece of oiled cloth -- with a unique woven pattern -- which had been sent to the big city to undergo testing to find out how old it was and what it was made of.</div>
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Because the artifacts were found by the locals instead of professional archiologists, the historical community was reluctant to accept this "lost city" as a fact. But with the increase of artifacts being found this year, it was, as my dad said, attracting the attention of the gullible...myself included. The artifacts pointed to the idea that these people lived in structures and not just tents -- but no ancient ruins had been found yet. People like me hoped to be the first to discover the ruined city from which these artifacts were scattered.</div>
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I pulled my baseball cap low over my forehead and hiked down to the Motel 6 at the edge of town. The Jeep was still gone. That meant that Hammer and Jenny -- my two teammates on this mission -- weren't back yet.</div>
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My phone let out a series of happy dings, rejoicing to be reconnected with the world and downloading useless information. Then it chirruped -- I had an incoming video chat.</div>
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It was Karl, our lab buddy. I accepted the chat.</div>
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Karl's face appeared in the screen -- the usual test tubes and sterile equipment in the background. "Hey, Fence, got some bad news."</div>
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I cringed. What a day. "Bring it on, man."</div>
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"Yeah, so that oiled cloth is not very old. It's strange and unique and they haven't quite pinpointed the fiber blend yet, but they are very sure that it's not more than 30 years old. So...I think this might spark some dating tests on the other artifacts. I mean, some of them are clearly old, but if they're not more than 200 years old, that pretty much kills the lost city idea. You know? Like, we've got history for that area for the last 200 years. If there had been a lost city that recently, we would have known about it. Soooo....yeah...that's my bad news." Karl squinted at the camera. "You guys found anything cool or anything?"</div>
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"Nah, man. I guess my dad was right and this was a stupid trip for gullible people after all."</div>
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Karl shrugged and then tried to hide a grin. "Buuuuuttttt….If you ask Jenny out finally, it won't be a total loss. I mean...that's why you agreed to this trip anyway, right? To hang out with her?"</div>
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"No. It's not." I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. "I genuinely thought..." It was hard to admit my own stupidity. "I genuinely thought we'd find something up here. Like I was supposed to come. Like this was my destiny." Wow, that sounded so corny. I really was gullible, like my dad said. Too many movies, maybe?</div>
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"Hey, man, it's okay. I understand that. I do that all the time in my lab. I get really excited and try something." He shrugged again. "Sometimes it's a total flop, and you have to accept that. And know that it's still okay to get excited about the next idea. Like a wise old oil-driller once said, sometimes it's just as valuable to know where oil ain't."</div>
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"Right." I rubbed my forehead, trying to rub away an ache that was more emotional than physical. "Cool. Thanks."</div>
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"Okay, so you look like you could use a break now. So I'll go back to my work, and I'll talk to you later."</div>
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"Okay, talk to you later."</div>
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His face disappeared, and I found myself staring into my phone's background photo. It was a picture of Hammer, Jenny, and I standing in front of the Motel 6 when we first arrived in Grin. Our faces were so eager and excited.</div>
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Nine days later, and we had found nothing. They would be disappointed when I told them Karl's news. I wondered if the locals were just innocently finding semi-old things or if they were actually fabricating them in a hoax like my dad said.</div>
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My phone chirruped again. Another video chat.</div>
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Jenny.</div>
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I accepted the call and Jenny's excited, flushed face appeared on the screen with the backdrop of forest behind her.</div>
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"Okay, so you're probably wondering why I have mud on my face, but I have a good excuse, I promise." Her words tumbled over each other in her excitement.</div>
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I could see where this was going. She thought she found something and that would make her all the more disappointed when I told her that there was no lost city here. "Jenny..."</div>
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"Look what I found!!!!" she squealed. She lifted something into view. It was a large square, one inch thick and approximately the length of her forearm. It looked like it was made of metal. It had a scene stamped into it -- mountains with the sun rising through them.</div>
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"Okay so it's just a piece of metal artwork, Jenny. Probably not related to any lost city anywhere." I was trying to let her down gently before I told her that the lost city didn't even exist.</div>
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"But look!" Jenny enthused. She turned the metal piece so I could see the edge. "It's the same zigzag sort of pattern that was on the cloth and on the pottery!"</div>
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That was too intentional. That means that these "artifacts" must be a local hoax. A cruel one, in my opinion.</div>
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I swallowed hard. "Where did you find it?"</div>
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"On the North face of the mountain. I think all the rain this year uncovered it. I looked up and I just saw the edge sticking out of the ground, with the sunlight glinting off of it." She giggled and then touched her face embarrassedly. "It was kinda a mess to get to...I had to crawl through mud...hence my face...sorry about that."</div>
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"Your face is...fine." I felt the back of my neck flush. Her face was more than fine. Her eyes were lit up with so much joy and hope over her find. "But I may have some bad news."</div>
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She laughed. "Okay, well, hang on. We're on our way down now. Hammer and I will meet you at the motel. Then we can all study this piece for more clues and you can tell us your news."</div>
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She was too happy to register any other emotion. I wasn't sure how to respond to that.</div>
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She leaned close to the camera. "We FOUND something, Fence. We found something! And we're going to find more. I just know it."</div>
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<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-43074074111506618572019-01-24T16:09:00.000-08:002019-01-24T16:09:17.585-08:00Anti-Hope: A very real emotion Have you ever wanted something? And you've wanted it so deeply and for so long?<br />
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And then, against all odds, there is a whisper that it could happen this time? Maybe instead of the expected rejection letter, you got a "we've taken your submission for further review." Maybe a sudden source of income appears that may allow you to earn enough for horseriding lessons. Maybe you find a nebulous symptom in your own body that hints at the possibility of a long-awaited pregnancy. Whatever the case, you have that realization that your dreams COULD come true.<br />
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And, instantly, anti-hope appears.<br />
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What is anti-hope? It is that emotion that springs up as a counter-balance to keep you from being too disappointed if your hopes are dashed again.<br />
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Anti-hope says, "Don't get too excited. 'Further review' isn't the same as an acceptance. They could still reject your story." Anti-hope says, "You still might not earn quite enough for those lessons." Anti-hope says, "That symptom doesn't necessarily mean that you are pregnant for sure." Anti-hope immediately reminds you of the truth that your dreams might NOT come true.<br />
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It's not depression. It's not telling you that you'll NEVER get an acceptance letter, or earn enough to ride horses, or have a baby of your own. It's just a little voice that tries to provide balance, just in case things don't work out yet.<br />
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Anne of Green Gables talks about her soaring delights and the way that they almost made up for the "thud" at the end of the flight. And Marilla talked about the benefits of plodding steadily along, without the flying or thudding. I think anti-hope just provides a little weight so that you don't fly quite so high...and hopefully don't "thud" quite as hard.<br />
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For me, the harder I want something, the quicker my hopes spring up at the tiniest sliver of light, and the quicker my anti-hope springs into action to cushion my coming fall.<br />
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And it's a very real emotion. I can feel it. I can sense its gentle cautionary touch.<br />
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Sometimes, when we write our characters, we have to look for these very real emotions that aren't normally listed. If you ask someone to list emotions, they will quickly give you "fear, anger, sadness, joy, disgust..." but no one mentions anti-hope. And yet, it's these very real responses that make our characters seem more real. <br />
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I fell in love with several of the Penslayer's (Jenny Freitag) characters because they have a wealth of these anti-emotions that make them seem so much more real to me. And I think that writers often have a tendency to leave them out -- to stick with the more easily defined reactions. But we shouldn't. Humans are complex, and our writing should reflect that. Don't be afraid to delve into the way our responses work.<br />
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So, after all of that, tell me: what are some emotional responses in your own life that add complexity to your thought processes? And how have you used these hard-to-define reactions to deepen your characters in your stories?Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-42467277137176088692019-01-05T12:11:00.000-08:002019-01-05T12:11:01.678-08:00First Snippets from 12 Dancing Princesses<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"> I haven't settled on a title for my Twelve Dancing Princesses story. But I've written about 4500 words so far. Here are a few snippets for you to enjoy.</span></span><br />
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slowly and carefully.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I think it’s
important for you to do what you feel like you were meant to do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll always support you in that.”</span></div>
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released my nose, confident that it would now stay on my face...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I broke into a
run and reached my yard in time to see a dozen soldiers on horseback.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One of them had pulled Hope into his saddle
with him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My papa was lying on the
ground, and a mounted soldier held a spear aimed at his chest.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Hey!” I
shouted.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Leave them alone!”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">***</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The General and
our captain bowed.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We honor you on
the beginning of your new life,” murmured the captain.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">***</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>King Howenth sat
on the throne, looking rather like a pudding that has fallen over against the
side of its pan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Come, my daughters!”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">***</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“As you know, I am never one to accept any
lie fed to me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nor am I one that simply
sits around and waits for the future.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
never have believed that King Howenth brought us here purely as a philanthropic
endeavor, and as usual I am proved right.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She grabbed a chair and propped her foot on it, like a soldier posing
for a portrait.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">***</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was so
confident.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And so content in his
plans.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But as a soldier, he would be
gone for years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A lot could happen
before he returned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The thought
frightened me.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-10399999720163352132019-01-02T12:01:00.003-08:002019-01-02T12:01:55.407-08:00Twelve Dancing Princesses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq72HoJMuPQxpS9x46lmlLLSecc_0LNrTjxDjulirF2WhsUl1-vmZdVWPsTWfCkxGma38jKP9UqEMgewIbcZW31GjRpFEifxUpwWIo1Mv_feQh6qVO3USZtx_4-ml4q1uiC_d_qRXeoawz/s1600/secret_passage_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq72HoJMuPQxpS9x46lmlLLSecc_0LNrTjxDjulirF2WhsUl1-vmZdVWPsTWfCkxGma38jKP9UqEMgewIbcZW31GjRpFEifxUpwWIo1Mv_feQh6qVO3USZtx_4-ml4q1uiC_d_qRXeoawz/s320/secret_passage_001.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Inspired by Kendra Ardnek, I am now attempting to rewrite the Twelve Dancing Princesses. Something about a short story, based loosely on an old tale, is a little easier to tackle than a full-length novel. So I am doing this as a warm-up, as I get back into writing.<br />
<br />
But it is fun!!!!<br />
<br />
I had never read the Twelve Dancing Princesses before yesterday. For a moment, I doubted that I could turn it into a write-able story. (I need to find a way to do it without magic. And I need to have a heroine that isn't an empty-headed flirt because I have no idea how to write a story with such a heroine. And I was a little intimidated by the fact that there are TWELVE princesses -- I can barely keep up with one on a good day, lol.)<br />
<br />
So here is my question to you: What would you need to change if YOU were going to rewrite the Twelve Dancing Princesses?<br />
<br />
(And here is the original Grimm story: http://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/175/grimms-fairy-tales/3061/the-twelve-dancing-princesses/)Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-92210991307344870112018-12-20T13:35:00.002-08:002018-12-20T13:35:41.801-08:00A Challenge: Real Life Imagination<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JUXc7xwzt0hKHQyGTCdHkWRqb4JVGOILe2L5uYhjO1Y6bfCDusxUgHFhtqSAxNZstPIgjlgM4SZ_yEVA120bIktvn90dBmGA95Fh4RuCKtzfDBb0TYgzVAjbL2KoLRx7txTVx8jJHuzX/s1600/IMG_20181216_133310752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JUXc7xwzt0hKHQyGTCdHkWRqb4JVGOILe2L5uYhjO1Y6bfCDusxUgHFhtqSAxNZstPIgjlgM4SZ_yEVA120bIktvn90dBmGA95Fh4RuCKtzfDBb0TYgzVAjbL2KoLRx7txTVx8jJHuzX/s320/IMG_20181216_133310752.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I hereby issue you a challenge:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Take a moment and write down where you see your life in 5 years.</div>
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What do you think you will accomplish in the next 5 years?</div>
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What major life events do you think will happen in the next 5 years?</div>
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Will you still be living where you are?</div>
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Will you still be working on the same things?</div>
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<br /></div>
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There's no pressure to be right.</div>
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Usually when I do this, I seal my imaginations in an envelope and open it in 5 years.</div>
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And it rarely matches reality.</div>
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At first, that embarrassed me. I thought either I should be embarrassed for guessing wrong, or I should be embarrassed for not achieving my intended purpose.</div>
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But now I realize that it is just fun.</div>
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It's fun to see how your ideas change and how life changes in unexpected ways.</div>
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It's fun to see what was important to you 5 years ago.</div>
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It is such a neat little self-study, and it's totally worth it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, go ahead.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Write a real life imagination of where you think you will be in five years.</div>
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Have fun!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(And comment below to let me know that you did this!)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">{By the way, the photo is of my dog, Blossom. She's the one who arranged the blanket that way and lay in it, and it was too cute to ignore.}</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-35579781671368281442018-12-04T14:04:00.001-08:002018-12-04T14:04:24.768-08:00Building Pelestia<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xWve05XXEhEVbUujYl2yrDfv-GuSYtDseyw8PTALRdYs06qs5JoOX7UmcG5HuPlI07FeXyCLH-bt8-eE2NU4C3JVRMQEunHy0dTJHi16du5CJMPxK8zqj0ih-tOy-jQmF3g3lVg0yNVR/s1600/IMG_20181128_125430521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xWve05XXEhEVbUujYl2yrDfv-GuSYtDseyw8PTALRdYs06qs5JoOX7UmcG5HuPlI07FeXyCLH-bt8-eE2NU4C3JVRMQEunHy0dTJHi16du5CJMPxK8zqj0ih-tOy-jQmF3g3lVg0yNVR/s320/IMG_20181128_125430521.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Pelestia and surrounding countries</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I started a three-ring binder for this.<br />
<br />
I have tabs and dividers.<br />
<br />
I am building a world.<br />
<br />
I've built little worlds before for stories, but none of them needed very much building. This one is bigger and the world plays into my story in a vital way. So I am drawing maps and naming rulers and playing around with economies and politics and religious views and weaponry and technology and many other facets.<br />
<br />
And I would like your advice:<br />
How do you build a world?<br />
Do you have any checklists that you use?<br />
<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-49424224124730761772018-11-27T12:08:00.000-08:002018-11-27T12:08:45.206-08:00Life Will Change Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvYzwpk24Qs1YNg8tIRhLWLWDccCqwAD3upcuC2UvTW3NP4UAkQDmXD0Y-w481GOjupg7lkVaKoqv1g8RJvs-FrC1kdzyFcOLdT6BEk4yHA5xxN65T9ZYoCGJSw-B_C3wKqtRBi-lbN8L/s1600/IMG_20181030_183250711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvYzwpk24Qs1YNg8tIRhLWLWDccCqwAD3upcuC2UvTW3NP4UAkQDmXD0Y-w481GOjupg7lkVaKoqv1g8RJvs-FrC1kdzyFcOLdT6BEk4yHA5xxN65T9ZYoCGJSw-B_C3wKqtRBi-lbN8L/s320/IMG_20181030_183250711.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I look back over the changes of the past 3 years, I am impressed that I am still standing. </div>
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In 2015, I was finishing up a midwifery apprenticeship that ended up being a little rocky at the end. I became a Certified Professional Midwife after about 8 years of study (5 part time and 3 very full time) and a Licensed Midwife in the state of Virginia. I met Garrett.</div>
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In 2016, I started working as a midwife at the Birth Centre of Charlottesville. And I got engaged. And I got married. And I moved to "The Valley" (as everybody up here calls it).</div>
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In 2017, Garrett and I moved into our beautiful little trailer. And had countless adventures.</div>
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And this year, the changes have continued at an alarming rate. Now I am getting ready for another change -- a job shift.</div>
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I am backing down from full-time work at The Birth Centre of Charlottesville. This is something that the practice owner and I talked about at the end of August, and we've been taking steps to implement this since then. Midwifery takes some long-term commitment and it isn't the sort of job where you give a 2-weeks notice. Business plans need time to shift. New people need to be trained. Etcetera, etcetera. Lots of prayer went into this as well, and I've been grateful to see things falling into place. We are on track to have my final "full-time" day to be sometime in January.</div>
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It's been hard, too, though. I will spare you the details. But there are people at The Birth Centre who I love so dearly and never want to leave. And there is a certain rhythm that I will miss there. Plus, goodbyes are hard and long goodbyes are even harder. It feels like everyone goes through a withdrawing process -- where you let go of something you know you can't keep -- but doing this over a 6-month period creates a rollercoaster of feeling like you are the most desired person and feeling like everyone has walled you off and is already pretending you aren't there.</div>
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Garrett and I have some plans for what happens after January, but not all of them are set in stone. And some of them are depending on which opportunities are still open then. I am hoping that the shifts in January will also make writing easier. In fact, I am starting to get rather excited about it. And then, perhaps, this blog will be a fun place to hang out again. ;) </div>
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If I had my way, then my writing goals for 2019 would be to resume blogging and write another complete story. And maybe in 2020, try and get it published. Wouldn't that be awesome!!!</div>
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There is a story that has been rolling around in my head for about 4 years. It might be time to get it out and put some flesh on the old bones.</div>
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How about you? What changes do you see coming next year? And what writing goals do you have?</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-59163571960142246302018-11-23T14:03:00.001-08:002018-11-23T14:03:46.497-08:00Where Have We BeenLife.<br />
It's been good.<br />
There's been a lot of it.<br />
But not much time for creative writing.<br />
<br />
I'm still keeping a journal. It will come in handy someday...someday when I have time to turn my reality into stories that the world can relate to.<br />
<br />
This year has been so full. I know I'm not alone in feeling this. You each have your own fullness. Someday...like I said...I will regale you with my adventures. But not today.<br />
<br />
Today, I am sad. And tired. I touch this blog like a girl caressing the cover of a beloved book that she has missed. I have missed you guys. Missed you so much. And yet...still not sure when I can return. Which sharpens the little pang I feel.<br />
<br />
I will return. That is one thing I do believe.<br />
It's like a compost pile...are any of you familiar with this precious recipe of the gardening trade? You throw your rotting vegetation into this pile -- leftover salad, old banana peels, the random apple core -- and wait for it to fully rot. They are all bits of your life but they don't look like something you would want. They don't look like anything worth sharing. Nobody wants to eat that. It's just a bunch of rotting, worn out stuff. But then, after it sits long enough, you sprinkle it into your garden. And it makes the richest soil. The next thing you know, your garden is flourishing with the biggest, most beautiful, most delicious produce. And everyone comes by and tastes it and asks you how on earth you grew such a wonderful garden.<br />
That is life...and storytelling. I'm too tired to turn my life into soul-grabbing posts. But I am letting all these bits of life settle in my heart and mature. And then I'll sprinkle my life into my writing and watch it grow these powerful stories.<br />
<br />
At least that is what I believe will happen.<br />
<br />
Right now, I just have a bunch of peelings and cores to show for it. Lol.<br />
<br />
So, where are you right now? I know some of you are growing some pretty awesome vegetables in your story-garden --- I've seen you on Facebook! Tell me how things are going!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3edXl2FKRsLgg5dQGi7u1_RYlXWzmtsUKGyqXU8wWeVrw20FZwtQCiHQdOasT9mHToXgRAd8cR7PmucgaC0qXfX14GvOH28_2zU_ACq7xyWS6xgvVt5pqVdM3edbFB0eSxzJIV2CycpBQ/s1600/IMG_20181123_160201575_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3edXl2FKRsLgg5dQGi7u1_RYlXWzmtsUKGyqXU8wWeVrw20FZwtQCiHQdOasT9mHToXgRAd8cR7PmucgaC0qXfX14GvOH28_2zU_ACq7xyWS6xgvVt5pqVdM3edbFB0eSxzJIV2CycpBQ/s320/IMG_20181123_160201575_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-2698367590907280702018-06-26T05:30:00.000-07:002018-06-26T05:30:12.029-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 26<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The night was
cold -- the kind of cold that turned the trees to gold overnight.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef lowered himself from his window,
scaling the wall in silence until he reached the ground.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The warmth of the sun had faded away as soon
as the moon took charge of the sky. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Drying
grass crunched under Detlef’s feet as he darted through the shadows toward the
stables.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It reminded him of the day that
Emil had sent him on a wild goose chase to find his servant –who had not been
looking for him after all.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The thought
still rankled in his heart.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horses nickered
as he slipped into the stable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef
hushed them as he found his way into Timothy’s stall.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But, instead of
greeting Detlef, Timothy’s eyes were fixed on the opposite stall.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef strained his eyes in that direction
until, to his surprise, he discovered the tense figure of a man in the gloom.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was too late
to hide.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Who goes there?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I was going to
ask you the same thing, little brother,” the figure spoke, relaxing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Matthias!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What are you doing?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m going to go
get Gretal and see if she will still consent to be my wife.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Gone was the hesitation and doubt.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His voice was thick with purpose.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Both were silent
for a moment.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then Detlef spoke.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You are going to be a great king, Matthias.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias moved to
saddle his horse, and Detlef did the same.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No need to ask where you are going, Detlef,
for I can guess.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>God be with you and
light your way.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Same to you,
brother.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef swung into the saddle
and urged Timothy into a gallop, bursting out of the stable like a message
rider.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Timothy’s hooves
rang on cobblestone, carrying Detlef swiftly toward the front gate.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A sleepy servant clambered to his feet and
opened the gate just in time for Detlef to pass through.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef settled into his ride, letting
Timothy’s warmth rise around him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The
next obstacle will be the Derwalds themselves,” he whispered, as he set a
course for the Great Forest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-45560867207945381062018-06-19T05:30:00.000-07:002018-06-19T05:30:21.902-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 25<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona sat by
herself, thinking over the revelations of the morning.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She pulled every memory of Emil to the
forefront of her mind, examining each one. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What if he had only fooled her into thinking
that he cared about her?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Reluctantly she
had to admit the likelihood that he had, and the thought gave rise to a much
more painful one.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What if her Detlef had
done the same?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“If you look so deep within, you will miss
the beauty around you.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana knelt
next to her, rolling out a mat and sitting on it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In her hand, she held a basket of nuts, which
she proceeded to shell.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona lifted her
eyes and glanced around the village.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
courtyard basked in the late afternoon sun.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Women bustled about their supper preparations, cooking in large pots
over open fires.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Babies played happily
at their feet.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The men gathered under
the pavilion to mend their traps.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Boys
chopped kindling.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As Ilona watched, a
band of girls returned through the curtain of the willow tree, laughing and
talking and carrying baskets of late summer fruits.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The trees are
starting to turn colors.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana sounded
almost wistful.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The forest will be arrayed
in full glory this year…probably surprising us one day this week.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst was making
his way toward her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona watched the
broad-shouldered man, wondering how to address this great uncle of hers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Princess though she was, he filled her with a
small amount of awe.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He stopped in
front of her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I have someone for you to
meet.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She’s awake now.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mystified, Ilona
followed him to a small hut nestled near the edge of the village
courtyard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst stopped her
at the door.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“She sleeps more than she
is awake.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This is her first coherent
moment in a week.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But it is important
that you meet her.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He pushed the door
open and waved Ilona inside.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The hut was small
and dark.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona stepped forward and
bumped against a curious machine.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was
made of wood.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The largest piece was a
wheel, but, unlike a cart whose wheel sits on the ground, this wheel was
fastened in the air.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Cords ran along a
groove in the rim of the wheel, connecting it to a disc and rod.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>On this was a winding of flax.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona reached out fascinated.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was a spindle – like she had seen in picture
books – but she had never seen a real one.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“They told me you
were here.” The voice quivered and cracked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona peered into
the dimly lit recesses of the hut and saw an old woman seated on a rumpled
bed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The woman stared, unseeing, at the
wall and reached out her hands toward Ilona.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“Come here, my beauty.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona left the
strange machine and crossed to the old woman’s side.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Here I am.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Who are you?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She knelt by the
old woman’s bed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The old woman’s
hands found Ilona and traced along her face.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“You are as beautiful as I predicted.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She cackled delightedly, moving her hands up to Ilona’s hair and then
down over her shoulders.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then she
straightened up – as much as an old woman can do so – and folded her hands in
her lap.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I am the old spindle woman.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She nodded,
smiling a toothless grin.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I was the
ambassador, over a decade ago, carrying our messages to the world.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her hands spread wide, as if tracing the
outline of the world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then she turned in
her bed, slowly reaching toward an empty shelf.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“My spindles spun the flax for the village.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I carried this one to your christening.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She patted the empty shelf.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A puzzled look crept over her face and then
she laughed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I forgot!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If you are here, then my old spindle must be
in the castle now.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She laughed again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Oh, to have seen the look on their
faces!”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She settled back into the bed
and reached forward to pat Ilona’s hand.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“Tell me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>How do you like the man
chosen for you?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“They are still
testing the men.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I hardly know what to
think myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I fear…I fear I have been
mistaken in some of their sincerity.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The old woman
nodded sympathetically.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It is hard
sometimes to see past the façade of a courting man.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>May God grant you discernment.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And when
Detlef…”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The old woman
startled.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Detlef?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The little boy?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’s come back?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona opened her
eyes wide.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“How do you know Detlef?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Ah, yes!”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She smiled fondly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We found him in the woods – a dozen years
ago.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kind, intelligent lad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He stayed with us one night, and we took him
back to the castle the next day.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
patted her chest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He found a place in
all our hearts.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona
blushed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“That explains why everyone
smiles when he is mentioned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I had
wondered how you knew a prince from the North Country.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A strange expression
crossed the old woman’s face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The North
Country?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona puckered her eyebrows, puzzled.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Why?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The woman shook
her head.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It stirs some long-forgotten
memory.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I cannot place it.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She patted Ilona’s hand again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Tell me about Detlef.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Is he handsome?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona felt her
face turning red.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Very handsome.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And intelligent.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And princely.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And…I hope he’s sincere.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The strange look
again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The old woman pressed her hand to
her forehead and laughed sheepishly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It
must have been a story that I heard when I was very little.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s funny how these distant memories tickle
the edges of your mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Now I shall not
be able to sleep.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She wrung her hands
fretfully.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona placed a
comforting hand on the old woman.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Not
to worry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It will come back to
you.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She bent her head to see the old
woman’s face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Maybe, if I leave you to
rest now?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No!”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The woman seemed quite alarmed at the thought
of Ilona leaving.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I would not lose your
sweet company so soon!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You must tell me
more of Detlef.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her sightless face was
as eager as a gossiping girl’s.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona sat on the
edge of the old woman’s bed and searched her mind for where to start.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“When I first met Detlef, I was too young to
remember…”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She let her words run on, recounting
every story she knew about the raven-haired prince, while the old woman clasped
her hands in delight.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The more she
talked, the more Ilona realized how very much she loved the raven-haired
prince. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And her fear of his insincerity
faded.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The old woman was
enamored with Ilona’s tales; it was over an hour later before she sank back
down into her bed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Sing me a song, my
beauty,” the old woman sighed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I think
I shall fall asleep in your voice.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
lay down and pulled her quilt over her shoulders.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And so Ilona sang
till the old woman’s snores joined her chorus.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-72513417183765803382018-06-18T10:03:00.002-07:002018-06-18T10:03:22.564-07:00IsraelHello again!<br />
<br />
I have just returned from a trip to Israel. <br />
<br />
I have a ton of new data for worldbuilding. I found that Israel is similar in landscape to one of my WIPs, so now I have a flesh-and-blood reality to enhance my storyworld, which is cool.<br />
<br />
Lots to say, but I've got some unpacking and laundry and job-catchup to do first. Hope to be back soon to tell you guys about the trip!!!<br />
<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-28897050803212601462018-06-12T05:30:00.000-07:002018-06-12T05:30:04.964-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 24<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horses milled in
the front courtyard of the castle.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Grooms darted about, scraping cakes of sweat from horse hide and combing
burrs and brambles from manes and tails.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Others carried water and food to the horses.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It looked as if every one of them had faced a
hard ride.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef slipped to
the ground.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The front door of the castle
was open, and he could see men gathered inside.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias brought
his horse alongside and reached for Timothy’s reins.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Go ahead, little brother.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll see that he’s cared for.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Too distracted to
marvel over his brother’s unusual kindness, Detlef handed his reins over and
jogged toward the castle.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His eyes adjusted
to the darker room.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The king stood by a
table moving pawns on a map.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A group of
men stood around him, taking part in a discussion.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Others lingered in various positions of
repose around the outskirts of the room.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef pushed his
way toward the center.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Have you found
her?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The king reached
out and patted his shoulder.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“Unfortunately not, son.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Now get
some rest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We’ll need you for the
offensive.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then he turned his attention
back to the map.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The troops move at
daybreak.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Troops?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What troops?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We can’t attack!” Detlef’s eyes ran around the group of men and fell on
Emil’s smug face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We can and we
will.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Emil’s voice sounded irritatingly
noble and heroic.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I stand with the king
on this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We must rescue the princess.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef turned to
the king.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Give me more time,” he
pleaded.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I know I can find her.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You’ve had 2
days already.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“But I was
detained during those two days – I didn’t have a chance to search as I had
planned.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And neither did
anyone else.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No, lad, they have
outsmarted us.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Every man here fell into
one of their traps.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It is clear that
they do not wish us to find Ilona.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
only option left is to go in and take her by force.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He turned away, facing the wall.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef slammed
his fist on the king’s map.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You can’t
send troops in.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Who knows the damage you
might do?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The king spun
around to face Detlef.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Anger showed in
his features, but his eyes welled with tears.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“My daughter has been missing for two days.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You cannot tell me to do nothing.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Just give me one
more day.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Please.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I can’t.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The king clenched his hands together and
returned to his map.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We cannot wait any
longer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My forces move out at dawn.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Emil stepped
forward, resting a supportive hand on the king’s shoulder.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I have sent for my father’s men.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When you ride out at dawn, I will be by your
side, your majesty.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No one saw the
wink he sent Detlef.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-72158524320294156362018-06-05T05:30:00.000-07:002018-06-05T05:30:13.456-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 23<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No honorable
people should be ruled by such a man.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Detlef and Timothy plunged into the forest, resuming their search for
Ilona.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He is rotten to the core.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Once Ilona is found, I will see him deposed.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They trotted from there in silence until he
reached the wolf’s pyre.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then he
continued north.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The sound of
movement arrested his attention and he reined Timothy to a stop, straining his
ears to catch further sounds. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For a
moment, all was quiet except for a few bold birds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span lang="ES-MX" style="margin: 0px;">Then… “De-e-e-t-le-e-e-f!”</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="ES-MX" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span>Recognizing his brother’s call,
Detlef half expected to hear his name followed with “su-u-pper-ti-i-i-me” or
“ma-a-a-ma wants you!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Here!” Detlef
turned Timothy toward the call and soon found his brother.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias was
astride his fleet black courser.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
shifted in his saddle and grinned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
knew I’d be able to find you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef
snorted.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Only because I have good
ears.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias’ idea of finding him
always consisted of yelling at the top of his lungs until Detlef appeared.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Apparently not
good enough.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Did you hear the blast from
the recall trumpet?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef’s head
snapped to attention.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“They found her?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias
shrugged.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“That’s my assumption.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I heard the horn about an hour ago and set
out to find you.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We’ll return to the
castle together.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Numbly, Detlef
followed at Matthias’ side.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His mind was
racing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Had Ilona been found?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Was she okay?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Who had found her?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’ve been
thinking a lot.” Matthias interrupted his thoughts.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Out here for two days gave me time to think
as I haven’t had at home.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef
grimaced.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias schemed enough as it
was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was wearying to think of the
plots he might have laid after two days to himself.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I was thinking
of what you said…about what kind of prince you want to be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I spend too much time thinking about what
kind of prince my father wants me to be.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And what kind of princess my mother wants me to marry.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He shook his head.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I always thought she would eat Gretal
alive.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Not literally.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No, not
literally.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias made a face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“But you know what I mean.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The expectations placed on an eldest son and
his bride…”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He twitched his reins
impatiently.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“But who, if not the
prince, is to set an example for change.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’ve been watching King Adalbert.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Even when Amalia made her confession, he still…cared about her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It didn’t change his love.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He fell silent.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What are you
going to do?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I…” Matthias
clutched his reins like a drowning man.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“I…”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The blast of the
trumpet ripped through the air, echoing through the gorges of the forest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A three-beat rhythm of horse hooves
interrupted anything Matthias was going to say.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Moments later, Emil appeared, cantering by them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Snails!” Emil
taunted as he passed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Matthias snorted
as Emil disappeared in the forest ahead of them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He must be out of breath.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His brilliant metaphors are getting shorter.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef and
Matthias both chuckled and urged their horses to a faster pace.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-37330449276986125252018-05-29T05:30:00.000-07:002018-05-29T05:30:07.799-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 22<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The night was a
long one for Detlef.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His only companions
were the rats and beetles, and the hard stone floor amplified the aches and
wounds from the fight the day before.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Sleep came and went and finally disappeared altogether just before dawn.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef propped
himself against the iron bars and watched as a gray light softened a barred
window high above him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A guard came with
some foul-smelling sop in a bowl for him, and then stalked away without a word.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef watched in
silence as the guard disappeared.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then
he sighed and rubbed his stiff shoulder.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“I haven’t given up yet, Ilona.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But what else
could he try?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He had thrown his weight
against every bar of his cell yesterday without success.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The guards were numerous.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The viscount made it clear that the only way
out was to testify falsely against an innocent man who had dared to speak out
against the viscount’s injustices.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
that was one thing Detlef would never do.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite his best
efforts, he caught an image of himself in twenty years -- with long hair and
beard -- escaping this dungeon by some miracle and making his feeble way to the
castle to find Ilona married to Emil.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
grimaced.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’d have to find a way out
sooner than that.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The tiniest
noise caught his ear – so small it could have been made by a mouse – and he
turned to see a woman standing by a door opposite the steps.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She wore a pink-striped apron over her faded
blue dress.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef stared in amazement
as she pulled keys from her apron and hurried to open his cell.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She swung the
door open, and the metallic squeak echoed in the stillness.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Come on, then,” she whispered impatiently.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You’ve got five minutes before the guard
finishes the pie I made him.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef jumped to
his feet, hoping he wasn’t dreaming.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“How can I ever thank you!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She brushed him away.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No thanks needed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You’ll find your horse behind the barn.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Will you be
safe?” Detlef paused, looking down at her.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“…If the viscount discovers what you have done?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I won’t suffer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The Derwalds will make sure of that.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
Derwalds?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef grasped her shoulders,
searching the round, honest face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
need to talk to the Derwalds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Can you
tell me where to find them?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She smiled up at
him with a snaggle-tooth grin, almost incredulous at his question.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Lands, child!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You don’t find Derwalds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They find you.”</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-44963090960092846652018-05-22T05:30:00.000-07:002018-05-22T05:30:04.903-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 21<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona awoke under
her red quilt, listening to the whisper of rain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She dressed quickly and hurried outside.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Fires sputtered as women tried to make a hot
breakfast.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At the far end of the
courtyard was a forest pavilion with a roof and no walls.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Several people gathered there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona trotted across the ground, her shoes
splattering mud on the backs of her legs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst was
standing by a table, studying a map.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Multiple scouts were giving their reports.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst looked up and greeted Ilona.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Only fair you should hear this, too,” he
said, returning his attention to the maps.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“We’ve lost Detlef.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona
gasped.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What do you mean?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Is he okay?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst answered
calmly, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as the sea.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Derwald men have scattered into the forest,
meeting your suitors and putting them through series of tests.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A band of our men were taking Detlef to
Lidanah, to have him speak on behalf of a prisoner held unjustly, but the
viscount’s guard took him captive.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Horst made eye contact with a red-capped man.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The red-capped
man took up the narration.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The guard
caught us on the road and attacked without provocation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They are as wicked as their master.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His eyes crinkled in admiration.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You should have seen Detlef fighting with
us!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was a wildcat of a warrior!”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then his face grew serious.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He’s been thrown into Lidanah’s dungeon,
where the evil viscount continues to test his integrity.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He spat on the ground in disgust.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I would rather
not leave any man to the mercy of the viscount – especially not Detlef,” Horst
said.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You heard Knut’s tale of how he rescued
Zita, our little wanderer, from the mad wolf.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She is safe in her bed, thanks to him.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He nodded at the red-capped man.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“See if we can put a plan together to get him out of the dungeon.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We owe him that much.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mad wolves?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Fighting guards?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Evil viscounts?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Dungeons?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Ilona clenched her hands and tried not to cry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst cleared his
throat.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Now for the others: There’s
another man doing quite well, too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Red-faced boy…doesn’t talk much.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But he has some good metal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not
to be overlooked.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He ran his finger
over the chart.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The one they call
‘Emil,’ however…”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>An image of the
handsome blonde man flashed through Ilona’s mind.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He’s a rotten
scoundrel.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Took a bribe and made an
unjust decision to save himself from discomfort.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Also quick to spout poetic compliments
whenever he thinks it will help him get his way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t see much in him to admire…except for
the fact that he is an excellent swordsman.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona felt as if
she had been slapped.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Emil isn’t like
that,” she protested.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He has always
been very courteous to me.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Horst lifted his
head and gazed at Ilona, his eyes piercing through her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Why do you suppose that is?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona opened her
mouth and then shut it again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She had
known when her papa’s ball began that men would court her favor for selfish
reasons.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But Emil, she thought, was
different.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her mind raced through every
interaction she had with him, trying to find something to offer as proof of his
indifference to her position.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Something
with which she could convince everyone – including herself – that she had not
been blind in her initial attraction.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But she found nothing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Had even Emil’s
attentions been an act?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Tears came
then.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And Ilona turned and ran.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-11241014584559397132018-05-18T13:54:00.001-07:002018-05-18T13:54:02.169-07:00Still Busy -- Want an Insider Peek? So I have been absolutely swamped. I haven't been able to finish all my interviews yet or post all the ones that I have completed. I haven't gotten to write very much. Everything has been shoved to a back burner. <br />
<br />
Would you like to know why?<br />
<br />
First of all...<br />
<br />
...a wedding...<br />
<br />
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This, to be honest, was the biggest pull on my time and attention, other than midwifery work.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuNdcWHcmBRgf98mnlib5M42CR-LbGYFVAxRzY5Fox8W6JKX17gZ_CvBGTwjpOv0WFaxa1E0uv1RSEGCXpKwIKktVBsSS4bEYWtNCB7cgh2-D2tsuZ3XJTpWvfp5gJcTN-XmKvxfYOEue/s1600/EBane-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuNdcWHcmBRgf98mnlib5M42CR-LbGYFVAxRzY5Fox8W6JKX17gZ_CvBGTwjpOv0WFaxa1E0uv1RSEGCXpKwIKktVBsSS4bEYWtNCB7cgh2-D2tsuZ3XJTpWvfp5gJcTN-XmKvxfYOEue/s320/EBane-20.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Other than this wedding and all the little side pursuits involved with making it as beautiful as possible, there have also been some other pulls on my time.</div>
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There were baby showers for friends.</div>
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There was some hiking trips that I had to prep for...and then they ended up being cancelled. Aka, all the pre-work without the fun event!</div>
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There were some family events to attend.</div>
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There were dental visits. Might not seem like a big deal, but this was literally my first dental appointment ever. Sooooo...it felt like a big deal.</div>
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Trying to keep with housework and cooking and such. I've been married a year and a half, and you think I would be the perfect housewife by now. Ahem.</div>
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We are planting a garden!!!!</div>
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And, on top of all of that is my work. This probably is the biggest thing on the list. These last couple of months have been particularly busy at the birth centre, and I haven't had much time for anything else. It's a wonder we got done the things we did!!!</div>
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But I want you to know that I haven't forgotten you! Those interviews are awesome. They will be worth the wait, and I am looking forward to sharing them and other fun things on here soon. </div>
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How are you guys doing? What do your summers look like?</div>
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<br />Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-26219152993995935762018-05-15T05:00:00.000-07:002018-05-15T05:00:04.363-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 20<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona wrapped her
arms around her pillow and sank deep into sleep.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Dreams swirled around her, building in
clarity until she saw herself as a little girl in the castle garden.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The swing was in front of her, and its stone
arbor was covered in twirling vines with tiny pink blossoms.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She climbed up onto the swing and pressed her
nose into the spring flowers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She was
happy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A black-haired
boy climbed up next to her. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m going
away, Ilona.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His voice was immeasurably
sad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He clenched his little jaw
determinedly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“But I’ll come back.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I promise.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona sat down on
the swing, surveying her playmate in dismay.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Going away?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Why would he go away?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He sucked in a
deep breath, puffing out his chest.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“Ilona,” he said.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You’re my best
friend.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I grow up, I’m not going
marry anybody but you.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll take care of
you forever and ever.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Okay,” Ilona
heard herself lisp.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona’s eyes flew
open and she stared into the thatched roof.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Where had that dream come from?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She rolled over and tossed and turned, but she couldn’t get back to
sleep.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Finally she grabbed her robe and
slipped out of the hut.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The moon was full
and bright, and the air was chilly. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona shivered, even in her robe.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It’s warmer by
the fire,” a woman called softly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was
Verana.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She sat by the fire in front of
a neighboring hut.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona directed
her steps toward her aunt.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana
stirred tea in a black pot, nestled in a bed of coals.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona sat down on a log and watched as Verana
dipped a cloth into the tea and then placed the cloth over her arm.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Tea-staining,”
Verana said, in answer to Ilona’s quizzical expression.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Why?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She felt herself relaxing in the fire’s heat.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Originally, I’m
sure it had some purpose – camouflage most likely.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Now…”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Verana dipped another cloth in the tea and lay it over her other
arm.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“…it is tradition.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As much a sign of beauty to us as your red lips and
jewels are to you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Our world must have
seemed strange to my mother.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana
laughed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“As ours does to you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona
sighed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I miss them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mother and papa and D--” She caught herself
and stopped.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But Detlef’s name still
rang between her ears, surprising her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Very carefully,
Verana applied the tea to her face and neck, but she kept one eye on
Ilona.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You are thinking of a suitor,
no?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You have a favorite?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I thought I had
two favorites, but…only one of them makes me feel at home, makes me feel like
he’s always been there for me and always will be.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She stared into the fire.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Emil seemed almost perfect, at first, but now
I don’t know.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m sure he’ll be perfect
for somebody.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She searched her mind for
a way to explain how she felt.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
know, Papa had to call my name twice to remind me of my duty to crown him the
winner of the fencing game.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was too
distracted watching…”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her eyes
dropped.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Never mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It doesn’t matter who -- Horst is picking my
husband for me.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It matters more
than you think.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana wrung her cloths
and dipped them in the pot again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
must wonder why this little kingdom-within-a-kingdom cares who marries the
princess of Hanadil.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We pay no
taxes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We are not subject to your kings,
for none of your kings can find us.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ilona chose her
words carefully.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It made sense to my mother.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We may seem out
of your reach here, but we still feel the influence of the castle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And so do our friends among the Hanadil
people.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Even now, one of our own suffers
at the hand of a wicked viscount.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A bad
ruler does terrible things to a people.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It
has long troubled us how the kings and queens are chosen based on power
connections.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her eyes flickered to
Ilona’s face.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Your papa chose for
better reasons, but we saw Amalia’s position in the castle as our inroad to
make Hanadil a better place, both for this generation and the next.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She reached out and placed her hand over
Ilona’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We want what is best for you,
Ilona.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“So does my
papa.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Then perhaps we
shall all agree on the same man.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Verana
stood up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Clouds were moving across the
sky, letting moonlight through sporadically, like smoke signals.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Try to get some sleep, Ilona.”</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815415883815094859.post-2017579872983224032018-05-08T05:30:00.000-07:002018-05-08T05:30:13.853-07:00An Arranged Marriage - 19<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s1600/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2fg0gD32qm5MZd8soVpVcdOeZ-9kho-C1NOVunDS4VJfgyjRnSqQuC8ocWCQxlN0a5DFVkBX1bn0cD3ZhklzzeyFv80N-wXtzJNsXIbHIa9GCisscO6G-FQgsFXZIHAOtJgAoXtXyqXF/s320/CastlePrincess_a.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The forest was
damp and cool.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef guided his horse through
the maze of trees.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was not his first
time here, but the last time had been, oh, so long ago.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The sun was high
but a chill still hung in the air.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It
had been over an hour since Detlef heard any of the other men.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The land dipped
down, and Detlef rode into a gorge.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
looked around, half-hoping to see his horse tree – the one that he…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And there it was.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A smile pulled at
the corners of his mouth as he surveyed the bent tree.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He could almost see himself as a little boy,
straddling the sway of the trunk like a saddle.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“Look, Timothy,” he murmured.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“This
was my first horse.” He pressed his leg against Timothy’s side until his horse
stood next to the bent tree.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef
leaned over and patted the tree.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
named it Hartlin.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He looked up and down
the trunk fondly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And it was here that
THEY found me.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He remembered it
like it was yesterday.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One day, for some
reason, Ilona could not come down to play so little Detlef ran away to the
forest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He explored until he found the
swaybacked tree.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For an hour, he amused
himself with imaginary adventures atop the tree-horse.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And then he saw THEM.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The Derwald people.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef could
still remember their dark skin and green leggings.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But they were friendly – he remembered the
honesty in their eyes -- and he followed them without hesitation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They took him to a wonderful place with lots
of children and a banquet of food.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
stayed overnight and part of the next day.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Then the forest people carried him out of the forest, leaving him on the
road in sight of the castle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And he had
never seen them again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef pressed
his leg against Timothy’s side and guided him through the gorge.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He searched for a landmark – like a willow
tree that haunted his memory - that would guide him back to the Derwald
people.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In finding them, he would find
Ilona.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But no clues presented themselves to
Detlef.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He found an easy slope out of
the gorge and urged Timothy upward.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Barely
had he reached the top and surveyed the continuing forest before him, than he
heard a cry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A moment passed and it was
repeated – this time sounding more like a scream.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef pressed Timothy into a trot, pursuing
the sound.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He had not gone far when the
undergrowth became too dense for the horse.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Detlef swung to the ground, continuing to search for the person in
distress.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The forest around
him grew silent.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef wound his way
through the underbrush.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hearing a
whimper, he turned his head and saw her.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>A little girl with long black hair and tea-stained skin crouched with
her back pressed against the base of a tree, terror in her eyes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Trees blocked Detlef’s full view.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He moved until he caught sight of a wolf-like
creature that had cornered the girl.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Foam dripped from its mouth and its eyes rolled wildly from side to
side.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It stalked stiff-legged closer and
closer to the girl.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One leap and he
would be on her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef whipped an arrow
from his quiver, smacked it on his bow, and fired.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Zing! Thump! The
shot was true and the animal fell dead.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The little girl stared at the slain foe and then lifted her eyes to
search for her rescuer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her eyes fell on
Detlef.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For a moment they watched each
other.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then the girl ran away,
disappearing into the dense underbrush like a rabbit.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef made his
way to the animal’s side, shifting the beast with his foot.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Sorry, old dog,” he murmured.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There were unmistakable signs of madness –
the animal had lost all reason to some terrible sickness.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef sighed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It needed to be burned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He whistled to Timothy and started gathering
firewood.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>By the time
Detlef had built a blaze, Timothy had found a roundabout way to reach him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef squatted by the fire, his horse
grazing nearby, and thought about the little dark-skinned girl.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Was she one of the forest people?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As the fire died
down, leaving nothing but ashes where the mad wolf had been, Timothy grew
restless.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef stomped the last
flickers out of the fire, smoke swirling around him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Timothy
squealed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Waving smoke from his eyes,
Detlef looked up to see a man standing by a tree, his bow drawn.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He wore a red cap, green tunic, and leather
breeches.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef threw his
hands up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I mean you no harm.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You will come
with me to the town of Lidanah.” The red-capped man aimed his weapon at Detlef.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m afraid I
don’t have time for that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I am on an
urgent mission to find the missing princess.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I could use your help.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We are friends
of the princess.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Would you be willing to
testify against an innocent man in order to spare your life?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As the red-capped man spoke, seven more men
stepped into sight with their bows drawn, surrounding Detlef.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef squared
his jaw.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No, I would not.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Excellent
choice.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You will come with us.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The red-capped man lowered his bow and strode
into the forest, his steps soft and sure.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Detlef hesitated
and then followed.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>Esther Brooksmith (wisdomcreates)http://www.blogger.com/profile/15010043354045249021noreply@blogger.com2