Stories West II
This is Wilson's story re-interpretation:
"Jamie woke to the cold light of morning, filtering in through the window. Patrick, who lay in bed beside her, had cut that window himself two moons ago, at Jamie's request. There love was a silent love as Jamie packed her belongings into the carriage.
"But what of us? What of me? Will you leave your husband to tend these wild lands on his own?" Patrick's voice brought forth his sadness only due to a brief weakening of will; he knew there was no other way.
"The Foundation has bid me attend their lands to the West. I am honor bound." Jamie's voice was controlled. They had been through this conversation before, and they both knew that their house's name was indeed bound to the Great Will of the Founders. Patrick waved farewell to the love of his life, as her carriage tore off down the dirt road, and out of the valley home. He was left only with the comforting presence of his workhands and friends, Goon - a large, friendly black man from beyond the Reach - and Bumblebee- a fiery-eyed young waif with a will of her own.
Though neither Patrick nor the workhands Goon and Bumblebee saw Jamie's tears, they were witnessed by the passing clouds and stark branches of her roadway travels.
The roads took brave Jamie through uncharted woodlands; past babbling prophets and half-hearted minstrels, all covered in the mud of a traveler's life. Jamie's focus was undeterred, and she stopped only to relieve herself, and to feed her strong old coursers which carried her carriage out of the Granite Lands and across the Green Mountain Kingdom. While she knew her quest would allow for no meandering, Jamie's legendary curiosity was aroused by the sight of the strange old Obelisk of Bennington, which stood ominously in a cold, windy valley, lined with greyish-green hillocks, dusted in frost. This land had become an odd place of study for a rare few. Some young monks, dressed in simple burlap and coarse wool studied around this ancient site. They seemed preoccupied with peculiar arts of their own devising. Jamie remained duty-focused, and rode on, coursers breathing puffs of white into the misty air.
Days wore on, until Jamie had passed through both mountain and forest, to reach the sprawling riverlands of the York Empire. Brown fields, forests, dotted with small farms and holdfasts. These lands wore on for some time, testing the will of the proud old coursers. They had been long raised in the volcanic valleys of the Ossipees, but their strength had taken them across far-reaching lands, and it did not fail them now. Farms spread across gentle rolling hills, old farms with empty silos, clearly pillaged by roving armies; grain stolen to feed their horses. Jamie was on guard for broken men, her sword, Mama Bear - crafted by Patrick from meteorite steel, and blessed by the water of Wakanda - was tucked safely in her furs, but she knew she could reach it quickly if need be.
Days passed with Jamie traversing the vast roadways of York, nights were spent in small inns and taverns; the music was often poor, but the food warm and the mead thick and sweet. She journeyed from the lands of York to the Northern lakelands of Ka'Nada and Mi'Chigan. There were times when the road was safe, and times when it was not. Mama Bear's unearthly steel drank the blood of a few reckless raiders and theives, but for the most part, the only thing dampening this solemn quest was the cold, slow rain. That and the sadness of her surroundings. As the shining knight, Jamie rode her carriage through the grey-brown lands, drenched in cold, clinging rain, she thought she might have heard the sorrowful cry of a boy, somewhere out in the swamplands. But it was dark, and cold, and there was no hope looking for the source of such a cry, when it seemed the whole land cried.
So I just spent more time than I think I meant to writing that. I'm not even gonna re-read what I just did. I hope it brings you some small amount of enjoyment."
This is why Wilson is the best.
"Jamie woke to the cold light of morning, filtering in through the window. Patrick, who lay in bed beside her, had cut that window himself two moons ago, at Jamie's request. There love was a silent love as Jamie packed her belongings into the carriage.
"But what of us? What of me? Will you leave your husband to tend these wild lands on his own?" Patrick's voice brought forth his sadness only due to a brief weakening of will; he knew there was no other way.
"The Foundation has bid me attend their lands to the West. I am honor bound." Jamie's voice was controlled. They had been through this conversation before, and they both knew that their house's name was indeed bound to the Great Will of the Founders. Patrick waved farewell to the love of his life, as her carriage tore off down the dirt road, and out of the valley home. He was left only with the comforting presence of his workhands and friends, Goon - a large, friendly black man from beyond the Reach - and Bumblebee- a fiery-eyed young waif with a will of her own.
Though neither Patrick nor the workhands Goon and Bumblebee saw Jamie's tears, they were witnessed by the passing clouds and stark branches of her roadway travels.
The roads took brave Jamie through uncharted woodlands; past babbling prophets and half-hearted minstrels, all covered in the mud of a traveler's life. Jamie's focus was undeterred, and she stopped only to relieve herself, and to feed her strong old coursers which carried her carriage out of the Granite Lands and across the Green Mountain Kingdom. While she knew her quest would allow for no meandering, Jamie's legendary curiosity was aroused by the sight of the strange old Obelisk of Bennington, which stood ominously in a cold, windy valley, lined with greyish-green hillocks, dusted in frost. This land had become an odd place of study for a rare few. Some young monks, dressed in simple burlap and coarse wool studied around this ancient site. They seemed preoccupied with peculiar arts of their own devising. Jamie remained duty-focused, and rode on, coursers breathing puffs of white into the misty air.
Days wore on, until Jamie had passed through both mountain and forest, to reach the sprawling riverlands of the York Empire. Brown fields, forests, dotted with small farms and holdfasts. These lands wore on for some time, testing the will of the proud old coursers. They had been long raised in the volcanic valleys of the Ossipees, but their strength had taken them across far-reaching lands, and it did not fail them now. Farms spread across gentle rolling hills, old farms with empty silos, clearly pillaged by roving armies; grain stolen to feed their horses. Jamie was on guard for broken men, her sword, Mama Bear - crafted by Patrick from meteorite steel, and blessed by the water of Wakanda - was tucked safely in her furs, but she knew she could reach it quickly if need be.
Days passed with Jamie traversing the vast roadways of York, nights were spent in small inns and taverns; the music was often poor, but the food warm and the mead thick and sweet. She journeyed from the lands of York to the Northern lakelands of Ka'Nada and Mi'Chigan. There were times when the road was safe, and times when it was not. Mama Bear's unearthly steel drank the blood of a few reckless raiders and theives, but for the most part, the only thing dampening this solemn quest was the cold, slow rain. That and the sadness of her surroundings. As the shining knight, Jamie rode her carriage through the grey-brown lands, drenched in cold, clinging rain, she thought she might have heard the sorrowful cry of a boy, somewhere out in the swamplands. But it was dark, and cold, and there was no hope looking for the source of such a cry, when it seemed the whole land cried.
So I just spent more time than I think I meant to writing that. I'm not even gonna re-read what I just did. I hope it brings you some small amount of enjoyment."
This is why Wilson is the best.