Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Wow. That was long...Sorry. *sheepish look*
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 9:36 PM
They came for her when the sun was at it’s highest. She was pulled from the dark cell, into the burning sunlight and into a hay-filled cart. Her hands struck the wood beneath the hay and she could smell the distinct scent of animal dung.
The cart moved forward as she righted herself, throwing her to her scrapped and bloody knees. Again, she stood and watched the faces of the townspeople as they jeered and threw rotten fruit. An over-ripe tomato left a great red-orange mark on the white of her dress and splashed up on her cheek. She lifted a hand and brushed it off, ignoring the smell.
The screamed foul names at her – ones she had heard before. She smiled at them, which infuriated them and drove their frenzy. More people yelled as the cart neared the dais that had been built yesterday as she was forced to watch, with her hands held behind her and her face turned toward the blinding sun.
A sigh made its way from her throat as the cart stopped with another jerk. She looked up at the dais, to the large wooden pole, the pyramid of wood and straw scattered around the base. One of the executioner’s assistants came forward and they ascended the stairs to the stake slowly, displaying her to the crowd.
They had taken her hair wrap along with her clothes, her deerskin tunic and the breeches she’d sown while listening to the old man’s stories, and burned them. They’d taken her toggles, the small animal carvings that she’d made for the children and confiscated them, saying they were witchcraft. And now –
The Executioner stepped forward. He was a burly man, nearly as tall as the stake itself, with huge, bulging muscles. He extended a hand, touched her hair and let a bunch of it spill through his fingers.
She smiled slightly and shook her head, pulling the tresses that had branded her a witch to these people. She looked over his huge shoulder and stepped forward to the stake. A flash of surprise crossed his face and he bowed to lead her to the stake.
The High Prince strode forward, fine well-made boots clicking on the wood as the blazingly red cloak swirled around his mail. The brooch that held the cloak shut glittered like a laughing eye.
She drew herself up to her full height, shoulders back, head high and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She said nothing, but stared at him with an expression close to pity.
“It shall be as it was decreed. Burn the traitorous witch.”
Her wrists were tied behind her body, between her back and the stake. The rope bit and scratched at her wrists, making them itch as well as throb. The executioner pushed her against the stake and his assistant; the black haired, almond-eyed girl tied her tightly, once across her waist and another near her knees.
She looked out, toward the horizon opposite the setting sun. Nothing moved on the road. Feet, human or steed kicked up no dust. It seemed as though everyone from the area was here to see the silent witch with the berry-blood hair burned. She closed her eyes and waited.
“Ready the torch!” The High Prince called out. There was the sound of flint striking a tinderbox and the whoosh of hungry flames. She shivered once, refusing to look. Her head bowed and her hair fell over her face.
Footsteps approached. A heavy tread, like a heartbeat or a drum measuring out the remainder of her life. She raised her head, still keeping her eyes closed and waited for him to come.
Suddenly there was a trumpet blare, splitting the crowd’s jeers and taunts. The sound of galloping hooves and rattling metal. Someone cursed, a woman screeched and a man called out:
“THE SILVER MAN! He’s come to kill us!”
The executioner cursed and thrust the torch into the straw. Her eyes flew open; to see the bulky man fall to the boards, a small dagger buried in the back of his head. She looked down and felt a rush of panic as the flames climbed with a startling swiftness and a terrifying intensity. The hem of the dress caught and she felt her eyes widen in fascination. The flames were growing amazingly fast.
Someone, this time female, cursed behind her. The ropes slackened and fell away from her as her hair began to crinkle and blacken. She half-leaped; half-fell from of the stake and over the fire’s questing tongues to the boards near the dead man. She felt someone throw water onto her legs and hair. She could smell the stink of the crinkled, blackened hair and felt a shock of horror. Her one vanity, gone.
The executioner’s assistant knelt. She let the girl help her stand as a midnight-colored gelding reigned to a halt. The mercenary, the Forest Lord’s lover, extended a hand to her. She was nearly pulled into the circle of the woman’s arms and adjusted by the girl with dark hair.
“You didn’t think we’d leave you to be roasted, now did you?” The woman whispered as they turned.
She shook her head and leaned against the woman, shivering with fear and wet. The woman-child smiled and mounted a chestnut pony that was led up by the mercenary. The horses were turned expertly. The High Prince lunged off the platform, intent on murdering her. The Executioners apprentice – the girl reared her horse and dug her heels into its flank, making it kick. The man’s head sounded like a ripe melon when the hooves struck.
“Fare well, most gracious hosts!” the mercenary called. “We will remember this.”
The horses were urged onward and the supposed witch – a wise woman of the forest – nestled her head against the mercenary’s breast and let the King of All Night’s Dreaming claim her.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 9:35 PM
This Post Says Something Else when You're Not Looking At It
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 9:19 PM
Sunday, September 22, 2002
Meh. Nothing really to write...Can't think.Bored, bored, bored!
That is all dismissed.
My throat hurts.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 8:36 PM
The cow stirred uneasily in her sleep; her dreams were becoming far more vivid each day, and sometimes they came to her while she hunted. One of her leathery wings twitched, the clawed tips scraping the limestone wall of her cave. Her tail beat a rapid challenge, causing coins to slide away from the large pile of gold. She gave a loud roar and reared up, flashing long ivory fangs, a long forked tongue, sharp talons – and woke up.
She swiveled her head around the cave room and snorted to herself. She yawned mightily and shook her head, causing the many folds of the fleshy ridge along her back to smack against her dark red scales.
A moment later, she wandered out of the cave, into the twilight. Trees were clustered around the base of the mountain with streams and natural footpaths for any who wished to reach her. Small birds sang out and a light breeze brought the scent of two young deer to her nostrils.
She scented the air again and stood back on her hind legs, her tail thumping. She whuffed once and waddled to the edge of the cliff, and looked down with one bright ruby eye. Two beats of her wings lifted her into the air and she glided down to the forest.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 8:34 PM
An Introduction to the World
Web-Home of Parvastur Tultema, Tecilquar of the Spring-fed Field, Lover of Nature, Smiter of Idiots, Watch-Warden of the Squirrels of Inconvenience, Nazi of the Grocery, Wielder of Sword of Bronze and Emerald, Inciter of Bunnies, and Wereslut of a Thousand Forms.
Much more subtlety like that, and I'm going to have to become a used car salesman just to maintain my self-respect.
Being able to fly would be cool, but only if I could fly fast. Flying slow is floating, and that's just creepy.
Look, Lemmings -- a Cliff!
Proper Nouns
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