The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Green Dragon Inn #11

littlemanpoet · 04-13-2005, 03:22 PM

The stables were dark after the sunlight Uien had run from. They were warm, too, with the heat and pleasant fleshy odor of horses, including their own Kírsul; he sensed her coming and nickered, scuffing his hooves against the haystrewn dirt of his stall.

"Good morn to you too, my sweet," she murmured, and stroked his sides.

The horse's warm hide beneath her long fingers soothed her a little. He peered back at her, blowing his haybreath against her, his nose rummaging against her skirt, looking for treats that were not there. Finally he gazed her as if he had much on his mind.

"I know we promised that we would be gone yesterday, my sweet, and I am sorry. But a lad with weak legs..." her words died. ...needs no help from me. She let out a shaky sigh.

"Something lies deeper than that. Does it not?"

"I -I do not know!" She left off stroking Kírsul's sides and cast her glance about the floor and walls until she spied a rough piece of wood that had been cast off as useless by someone unknown. Derufin has been distracted with his new wife, she thought, or he would have made sure this had an orderly place. Her mouth formed a small smile. She took out her knife and began to shave bits of wood away, seeking the form that lay beneath the husk of the wood. Her feet guided themselves, taking her out of the stables, around behind the Inn. She sat upon the grass, not far from Cook's garden, and tied back the long blonde tresses descending to her waist. Her mind stilled, busy with the wood.

Many minutes later, an unknown shape beginning to reveal itself from within the block of wood, Uien looked up and noticed a little green door, closed, that she had not remembered from before. Had it been painted while they had been gone? She could not remember. She heard childish laughter come from it once, and smiled, thinking of little Marigold and Rory. The thought of the boy no longer brought sorrow, for Falowik, her beloved Lauréatan, had been right. Something lay beneath that momentary sadness. Maybe the shape her knife carved from beneath this piece of wood, could help her understand.

04-13-2005, 03:22 PM	#1718
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Uien The stables were dark after the sunlight Uien had run from. They were warm, too, with the heat and pleasant fleshy odor of horses, including their own Kírsul; he sensed her coming and nickered, scuffing his hooves against the haystrewn dirt of his stall. "Good morn to you too, my sweet," she murmured, and stroked his sides. The horse's warm hide beneath her long fingers soothed her a little. He peered back at her, blowing his haybreath against her, his nose rummaging against her skirt, looking for treats that were not there. Finally he gazed her as if he had much on his mind. "I know we promised that we would be gone yesterday, my sweet, and I am sorry. But a lad with weak legs..." her words died. ...needs no help from me. She let out a shaky sigh. "Something lies deeper than that. Does it not?" "I -I do not know!" She left off stroking Kírsul's sides and cast her glance about the floor and walls until she spied a rough piece of wood that had been cast off as useless by someone unknown. Derufin has been distracted with his new wife, she thought, or he would have made sure this had an orderly place. Her mouth formed a small smile. She took out her knife and began to shave bits of wood away, seeking the form that lay beneath the husk of the wood. Her feet guided themselves, taking her out of the stables, around behind the Inn. She sat upon the grass, not far from Cook's garden, and tied back the long blonde tresses descending to her waist. Her mind stilled, busy with the wood. Many minutes later, an unknown shape beginning to reveal itself from within the block of wood, Uien looked up and noticed a little green door, closed, that she had not remembered from before. Had it been painted while they had been gone? She could not remember. She heard childish laughter come from it once, and smiled, thinking of little Marigold and Rory. The thought of the boy no longer brought sorrow, for Falowik, her beloved Lauréatan, had been right. Something lay beneath that momentary sadness. Maybe the shape her knife carved from beneath this piece of wood, could help her understand.