(no subject)
The night had started off like any other night, but when the full moon was centered in the midnight sky evil broke out over the land. The violence came from everywhere and no where and all at once. Under the glow of the moon blood and screams spilled out into the streets giving the dirt roads a slick, silver river look that wound about all the small, squat houses that had stood next to one another for generations.
It was either by accident or desperation that the fire started, adding flames to the massacre, and driving the still living, out of their homes and into the waiting jaws of death.
She did not remember what happened that night, not clearly anyway. She remembered the flames and the stink of blood, the terror of the darkness and the paralyzing fear that had turned her feet to stone. In the pitch black of the night she had been unable to move, and of the mind that she would never move again. In the steaming, cold, gray light of morning she was moving though. Wandering around the streets in bare feet and a stained and filthy nightgown, searching. Searching for what, even she didn't seem to know, but it seemed to be the one thing she was still capable of doing - moving. It was as if she was going about a normal day and the corpses and the empty shells of buildings weren't really there for her, the town was alive and so were the people in it. Neither the stink of smoke and blood, nor the eerie silence made it through her haze to bring her back to the reality of the situation.
The town had been almost two hundred people strong and was now reduced to only her. At least that's what the silence seemed to suggest.
Margaret was not aware of how many days or nights had past, or if they hadn't passed at all, when she heard the beat of horse hooves apon the ground. In the silence of the dead town the noise terrified her and yet filled her with hope. Maybe they were all coming back. Maybe the sound was the end of this nightmare she had been wandering through. It was hard to tell and she couldn't work out if she was supposed to run toward the noise or away.
In the end, she hid, darting from building to building in order to search out a glimpse of the horse and it's rider, to see if it was safe to come out and find peace with them. What she first spotted did not answer any of her questions or asuage her fears.
He was a tall man, well build, lean and hard on a mount of equal description. What he wore was a sword and a gray cloak and neither of those items screamed out safety, nor did it scream out threat. She shadowed him, silently, sure footedly, over the streets and through the broken walls of houses and at one time businesses. Years of walking the same streets allowed her to do this rather well, at least in her opinion - at least until she realized that he was not a threat. Despite having no idea what he was, she did realize that one thing: that he wasn't there to harm.
And at that moment of clarity she decided that she would go with him, regardless of his wishes on the matter. After further thought and speculation, she came to the only conclusion she could: that he was a warrior, maybe even a knight, and he was brave and true and because of that, he would protect her no matter what.
It was either by accident or desperation that the fire started, adding flames to the massacre, and driving the still living, out of their homes and into the waiting jaws of death.
She did not remember what happened that night, not clearly anyway. She remembered the flames and the stink of blood, the terror of the darkness and the paralyzing fear that had turned her feet to stone. In the pitch black of the night she had been unable to move, and of the mind that she would never move again. In the steaming, cold, gray light of morning she was moving though. Wandering around the streets in bare feet and a stained and filthy nightgown, searching. Searching for what, even she didn't seem to know, but it seemed to be the one thing she was still capable of doing - moving. It was as if she was going about a normal day and the corpses and the empty shells of buildings weren't really there for her, the town was alive and so were the people in it. Neither the stink of smoke and blood, nor the eerie silence made it through her haze to bring her back to the reality of the situation.
The town had been almost two hundred people strong and was now reduced to only her. At least that's what the silence seemed to suggest.
Margaret was not aware of how many days or nights had past, or if they hadn't passed at all, when she heard the beat of horse hooves apon the ground. In the silence of the dead town the noise terrified her and yet filled her with hope. Maybe they were all coming back. Maybe the sound was the end of this nightmare she had been wandering through. It was hard to tell and she couldn't work out if she was supposed to run toward the noise or away.
In the end, she hid, darting from building to building in order to search out a glimpse of the horse and it's rider, to see if it was safe to come out and find peace with them. What she first spotted did not answer any of her questions or asuage her fears.
He was a tall man, well build, lean and hard on a mount of equal description. What he wore was a sword and a gray cloak and neither of those items screamed out safety, nor did it scream out threat. She shadowed him, silently, sure footedly, over the streets and through the broken walls of houses and at one time businesses. Years of walking the same streets allowed her to do this rather well, at least in her opinion - at least until she realized that he was not a threat. Despite having no idea what he was, she did realize that one thing: that he wasn't there to harm.
And at that moment of clarity she decided that she would go with him, regardless of his wishes on the matter. After further thought and speculation, she came to the only conclusion she could: that he was a warrior, maybe even a knight, and he was brave and true and because of that, he would protect her no matter what.