StoneHeart
09-03-2007, 01:41 AM
I am not much good at this writing game. But I have a head full of ideas and too much free time so bear with me.
Feel free to post comment, critic, or anything at all. Messsage if you wish. You can't hurt my feeling I know my writing is ****.
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The moon hung high, fat, and lazy in orange hue watching over the dying season as autumn turned to winter. Leaves stirred in a fickle wind that had the bite of frost. On this night as on many others Rollin rode out on the Old High Road to see the Widow Mazan and share the warmth of her bed. He was not a fool, he knew that the widow had many visitors. He cared not, he did not want her heart only a campion with whom to sare the winter nights in comfort without guilt or need of money or promise. The widows love had died with her husband but her desire had not, making her a perfect companion for him. His hair was short, dark, and unkept. Tangles by wind and snarled with work, his jaw was strong and rough with a few days beard. The ride was hard and the night air sliced through his coat and tunic, making him feel age he did not show. Not to far ahead the moonlight revealed the ridge that, once crested, would reveal the humble cottage of the widow. So far from the town many women would not have survived on their own, the widow however was made of stronger stuff than the average maid. That was one of the reasons he enjoyed his time with her so much. there were any number of maids in town that would have willingly warmed his bed, for he showed little of his age and he was not without his charms. But the maids of the village were young and calf eyed over anything with a sword. The last thing Rollin wanted was the fawning of a young girl with a head full of storied looking for a hero following him around like a puppy. At the top of the ridge he looked down into a small knoll clutching the little cottage like a gem. The windows glowed golden and a curl of smoke issued from the chimeny. In the day that little glen was green with tree and shrub and the widow's gardens. Rollin turned his horse off the road and on to the path down the hill. Dismounting at the small gate in the fence around her vegetable patch he unsaddled his horse and left him to graze. Ironfoot was a good horse and wouldn't run off. Beside, the widow had no use for a horse and had no stable or barn. He walked up to the house passing a dog on the way. That dog always gave Rollin a shiver when it looked at him. It seemed just an ordinary dog to look at... But that was just the moonlight playing with his mind. It did not do to let his head linger on such thoughts. The world of darkness and magiks was far far away from this place. He had left such things behind him along with his knighthood many many years ago. At the stout door he didn't knock, merely let himself in. Inside it was decorated sparsely. The furniture was comfortable but simple, a fire crackled on the hearth and the great axe of the widow's husband hung above the mantle. A lantren was lit on the table and som sewing lay in the chair as if Mazan had just got up. She was not in sight however. Rollin set his bag down on the floor. taking out of his pocket a sachet of vanilla and sitting it on the mantle. He told himself it was for the widow, really though it was to appease the spirit of her husband. He wasn't overly superstitious, but somethings were simply a matter of respect. He shed his jacket and peeked his head in the bedroom. She wasn't there either. Strange, surely the woman was not fool enough to go out at night by herself. No. She knew he would be there, the widow was a wonderful hostess, she would not leave her guest waiting. There was a tall stack of firewood in the corner but that was the only other reason he could think of for her to go outside. He had just turned around to go outside and look for her, and there was that dog. That damn dog, just staring at him. He growled in his throat.
"You have something to do with this don't you mutt? I never liked the look of ye. I told that woman ye wasn't to be trusted." It was pure nonsense he knew, but the dog really bothered him. He watched as the dog trotted in the bedroom. The was a glimmer of something wet on its fur. What? Rollin followed it into the bedroom where the dog lay whining on the pillows. Its dark brown fur standing out against the pale blue sheets even in the dimness. The small rroom smelled of dog almost immeadiately, and something else. Something dark, metallic. Blood.
"You..." Rollin was at a loss. That damn mongrel had killed her. He knew it he just knew. He felt disgusted with the creature. He wanted to leave, wash his hands of it. He couldn't though. The beast had gotten a taste for blood and that meant he had to kill it. There was nothing more dangerouos than a blood crazed hound. People trusted dogs. He slid the hunting knife out of his belt. Slowly he approached where the dog lay on the bed, not looking directly at it, and then in one quick motion the dog was dead. Blood pooled on the widow's pillows. Looking down at the still beast he saw the blindness in its eyes, white like they had been filled with milk. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't linger. Taking up his pack he went out and whistled for his horse. Ironfoot came clopping over as he jumped the small fence.
He was tightening the straps on the saddle when a blood chilling howl pierced the night. His head snapped up as his mind tried to deny what he was seeing. A blood soaked akwardly jerking beast emerging from the cottage. Its head lolling at a sickening angle it met Rollin's eyes and he felt his stomach drop. The beasts lips were pulled back from its teeth as if it had been dead hours instead of minutes. Ironfoot snorted and pulled away, eager to leave. Rollin felt the same. He lept into the saddle and spurred the horse away. Behind him the undead beast howled again, its howl was joined by an unearthly scream. He almost stopped, but he knew there was nothing more he could do for the widow, she had journeyed beyond salvation. He rode harder than he could ever remember riding, for what he ran from he cared not to understand. The howls and screams continued behind him.
Feel free to post comment, critic, or anything at all. Messsage if you wish. You can't hurt my feeling I know my writing is ****.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon hung high, fat, and lazy in orange hue watching over the dying season as autumn turned to winter. Leaves stirred in a fickle wind that had the bite of frost. On this night as on many others Rollin rode out on the Old High Road to see the Widow Mazan and share the warmth of her bed. He was not a fool, he knew that the widow had many visitors. He cared not, he did not want her heart only a campion with whom to sare the winter nights in comfort without guilt or need of money or promise. The widows love had died with her husband but her desire had not, making her a perfect companion for him. His hair was short, dark, and unkept. Tangles by wind and snarled with work, his jaw was strong and rough with a few days beard. The ride was hard and the night air sliced through his coat and tunic, making him feel age he did not show. Not to far ahead the moonlight revealed the ridge that, once crested, would reveal the humble cottage of the widow. So far from the town many women would not have survived on their own, the widow however was made of stronger stuff than the average maid. That was one of the reasons he enjoyed his time with her so much. there were any number of maids in town that would have willingly warmed his bed, for he showed little of his age and he was not without his charms. But the maids of the village were young and calf eyed over anything with a sword. The last thing Rollin wanted was the fawning of a young girl with a head full of storied looking for a hero following him around like a puppy. At the top of the ridge he looked down into a small knoll clutching the little cottage like a gem. The windows glowed golden and a curl of smoke issued from the chimeny. In the day that little glen was green with tree and shrub and the widow's gardens. Rollin turned his horse off the road and on to the path down the hill. Dismounting at the small gate in the fence around her vegetable patch he unsaddled his horse and left him to graze. Ironfoot was a good horse and wouldn't run off. Beside, the widow had no use for a horse and had no stable or barn. He walked up to the house passing a dog on the way. That dog always gave Rollin a shiver when it looked at him. It seemed just an ordinary dog to look at... But that was just the moonlight playing with his mind. It did not do to let his head linger on such thoughts. The world of darkness and magiks was far far away from this place. He had left such things behind him along with his knighthood many many years ago. At the stout door he didn't knock, merely let himself in. Inside it was decorated sparsely. The furniture was comfortable but simple, a fire crackled on the hearth and the great axe of the widow's husband hung above the mantle. A lantren was lit on the table and som sewing lay in the chair as if Mazan had just got up. She was not in sight however. Rollin set his bag down on the floor. taking out of his pocket a sachet of vanilla and sitting it on the mantle. He told himself it was for the widow, really though it was to appease the spirit of her husband. He wasn't overly superstitious, but somethings were simply a matter of respect. He shed his jacket and peeked his head in the bedroom. She wasn't there either. Strange, surely the woman was not fool enough to go out at night by herself. No. She knew he would be there, the widow was a wonderful hostess, she would not leave her guest waiting. There was a tall stack of firewood in the corner but that was the only other reason he could think of for her to go outside. He had just turned around to go outside and look for her, and there was that dog. That damn dog, just staring at him. He growled in his throat.
"You have something to do with this don't you mutt? I never liked the look of ye. I told that woman ye wasn't to be trusted." It was pure nonsense he knew, but the dog really bothered him. He watched as the dog trotted in the bedroom. The was a glimmer of something wet on its fur. What? Rollin followed it into the bedroom where the dog lay whining on the pillows. Its dark brown fur standing out against the pale blue sheets even in the dimness. The small rroom smelled of dog almost immeadiately, and something else. Something dark, metallic. Blood.
"You..." Rollin was at a loss. That damn mongrel had killed her. He knew it he just knew. He felt disgusted with the creature. He wanted to leave, wash his hands of it. He couldn't though. The beast had gotten a taste for blood and that meant he had to kill it. There was nothing more dangerouos than a blood crazed hound. People trusted dogs. He slid the hunting knife out of his belt. Slowly he approached where the dog lay on the bed, not looking directly at it, and then in one quick motion the dog was dead. Blood pooled on the widow's pillows. Looking down at the still beast he saw the blindness in its eyes, white like they had been filled with milk. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't linger. Taking up his pack he went out and whistled for his horse. Ironfoot came clopping over as he jumped the small fence.
He was tightening the straps on the saddle when a blood chilling howl pierced the night. His head snapped up as his mind tried to deny what he was seeing. A blood soaked akwardly jerking beast emerging from the cottage. Its head lolling at a sickening angle it met Rollin's eyes and he felt his stomach drop. The beasts lips were pulled back from its teeth as if it had been dead hours instead of minutes. Ironfoot snorted and pulled away, eager to leave. Rollin felt the same. He lept into the saddle and spurred the horse away. Behind him the undead beast howled again, its howl was joined by an unearthly scream. He almost stopped, but he knew there was nothing more he could do for the widow, she had journeyed beyond salvation. He rode harder than he could ever remember riding, for what he ran from he cared not to understand. The howls and screams continued behind him.