Wooden Horse

JournalWord: Fighting gravity.

::

She examines the horse, poised on the tips of its back hooves and balancing as it stands tall on the clear glass tabletop. The curve of its back is a series of slopes and arches, almost a vertical posture as its front feet kick at the sky.

His mane is tossed back in frozen waves, curling into itself like a tornado, and the wispy tail is a whirlwind of incoming clouds. The dappled grey hide glints from a polish set into the grain. She wonders if he's even touching the table.

"Papa," she asks her grandfather as she settles her head onto the backs of her hands, waiting for the sparkle to appear in its eye. "How long did it take for you to carve him?"

"Two months," is his gruff reply as he tinkers on a wooden cuckoo-clock on his work bench. "It took two months to fight with gravity."

::

Another short!

I'm juggling (when am I not?) work and responsibilities, and studying for my interview is not helping for time to write :(

I'm in need of some time for intimate laptop-me-inspiration cuddles..

Well, keep bubbly, and wish me luck :)

Mera.

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Quite The View

JournalWord: Peek.

::

A flurry of white skirt sweeps the green grass as she saunters toward the apple tree at the edge of the field. Her horse totters obediently behind her, a peach mare that has trailed after her since foalhood. In her hand is an empty basket, soon to be filled with the red delicious apples. The field is hers, the only treasure left by her mother and father to support hers and her brother's livelihood. 

This time of year, the wheat is growing prosperously and the apples are beginning to ripen. Spring is ending and summer is taking its place. Once in the shade of the tree, she drops her basket and proceeds to tie her mare to the tree. Then glancing left and right, she hitches her skirt and begins to climb the tree. There are not many red ones as they are only starting to ripen. Plucking the scarlet apples, she drops them on the grass, aiming for the basket near the truck.

A few yards away, he is out riding on his mount, witnessing a curious scene. Apples are falling on the ground, some landing into a woven basket while a light mare is grazing peacefully on the grass. A closer inspection reveals that someone is picking apples and dropping them onto the ground. He edges nearer and finds a woman, balancing her feet on a bough while her hands reach for a shiny red apple at the end of the branch. 

She does not seem to realize his arrival, preoccupied she is with her task. From where he stands under the tree looking up, he is offered an interesting view up her skirt of her slender legs.

::

Hello all!

How are all of ya'll this lovely day? :)

This is definitely going to be a busy (and stressful!) month ahead in June, but hopefully I'll keep strong (and sane) by keeping the stories coming! Recently I've become more focused on Protagonize and introducing myself to the world of collaboration, so check those out if you haven't :) They're kind of fun.

Keep bubbly!

Mera.

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Investment

JournalWord: "Because I need your strength."

::

The door to his dungeon slams the wall on two of it's hinges when it's kicked open. Renald strides in and covers the man with his cloak, holding it closed as he barks for his men to come in. 

Carefully, he instructs two of his men to scoop up the man covered in the cloak. "Be gentle! And keep him covered," he warns. He leads the men out of the dungeon, and past the drugged and wounded guards, taking a slow pace so the men don't jostle the man. 

Marching out of the prison, they close the gate after them before letting off soft whistles for their horses. Instantly, the rest of the army makes itself known, revealing themselves from the forest. 

"Status," General Breer commands, still put off from being instructed to not be part of the rescue.

Renald accepts his horse from a soldier. "Success," he says, then turns to the men still standing behind him. "Load him on my stallion."

It's a struggle to get him on the tall horse without touching any of his festering wounds, but they finally seat him on the beast. The man doesn't say a word in the whole process, but Renald suspects that the man is suffering. Renald quickly tucks and covers one of the man's mangled legs when it dangles in the cold, harsh fall wind.

"We'll tend to your wounds as soon as we get to Lions," Renald assures as he mounts his horse, mindful of the hunched man. There is no reply, so Renald calls out and the army starts their trek into the mountains.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice stronger than Renald thought it would be. 

"Because," he explains, snapping his reins to a gallop, "I need your strength."

::

Tomorrow is the beginning of a hellish semester, so forewarning is being detailed as I will not be updating regularly and I will be frequently spazzing and stressing. :D Bear with me, please, and I'm sure someone can relate to being busy. I'm highly doubtful that I'll be able to think up creative and interesting tales while I'm focused on all of my science-y courses (there's A LOT of biology and genetics. All the good stuff!), so drop me an idea that you've always wanted written. I'm curious, what do you want to read??

Much love!
Mera! <3

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