The Woods

Chapter 3 - Beginning to bloom

Dry, arid soil provides little nourishment for the villager's crops as the sun rises high into the cool ocean of sky. Clouds dissipate as rays of light swim through the haze of early morning. Flags hang loosely on poles, not flying. Calm and still in the late-summer heat. The storm had been a sign, a sign that winter would soon approach. Time stood still. But then the earth moved, the sun moved in the opposite direction. Time passed, so did midday; till soon the world of Saltiria was deep into the afternoon.

The scene changed quickly as a cool wind swept through the dirty street providing a short relief for those exposed to the intense mid-afternoon heat. Vesper dressed in an itchy hessian dress, made out of scraps, tucked a loose hair behind her ear. She stared longingly up at Grecargosan Palace, which sat on a large mound of earth in the middle of the dark woods. Watching from a far, the injured witch hobbled through the trees, dressed in a dark cloak.

Vesper walked slowly over the hard, dry, compacted soil; her blond hair rested on her shoulders in curls as the wind blew out over the blue lake. Out of the darkness of the woods came a wooden cart carrying a mutilated dead body of a girl whom was believed to have fallen from the top of Grecargosan hill. Vesper watched as the cart passed her carrying the unfortunate victim of depression and suffering. As the cart carried on through the village people bowed their heads out of respect and courtesy.

Cinderella fell quickly as she was pushed out of the small doorway. Her step-sisters kicked her as they walked past, laughing as Cinderella cried out in pain. She watched as they walked into the distance heading for market. Helpful hands aided her as she stepped up out of the dust. As she stood up, she thanked the young woman, with long, almost white, blond hair and deep blue eyes. The woman before her wore a makeshift hessian dress and as they walked and talked she found the woman quite agreeable. Vesper and Cinderella walked slowly talking of their hardship as they entered the dark woods before them. From behind a tree the old, haggard witch watched with eager eyes listening intently.

***

Katlyn watched from the back doorway as the red cloak blew in the breeze. Scarlet lay in the bath, the soapy water was tinged a shade of red, and the smell of cooking filled the dusty air. Hot oil, flew in small droplets across the kitchen as the Derager fried. The meat was red when raw, but as the heat caressed the bloody muscle it began to turn a shade of brown. Scarlet stood up. Streams of water ran down her body and re-entered the tub. Some water split onto the floor, after the wave which occurred as she rose from the metal bath. She quickly grabbed a roughly cut linen sheet and walked along the dimly lit hallway, wrapping it around herself slowly. Up the stairs wet footprints were left. She continued along the 2nd floor and into her bed chamber. The linen was now transparent, it stuck to her damp skin as she brushed her hair, with a fish bone comb. On her bed, there lay, a large, grayish wolf skin. She moved quickly, and swapped the linen for the wolf skin.

She looked out of the small window. Glass was expensive so windows had to be small. The houses weren't made of brick, but of wood. A solid dark wood frame, in between wattle and daub. The house was large compared to the others in the village. In Grecorgia the family was considered rich. Their father Laryn left a good fortune, but no heir to continue the succession of the Darantian family. Heirs were important. The royal family knew that, but they lacked a third heir as their oldest and only son remained un-married.

***

"It would seem Faroche has sided with Varsintia, he rejects the betrothal, who else is there now" he shouted angrily, while ripping up the parchment letter with his hands. The yellowish peices of parchment gently falling through the air, and resting on the cold stone floor, which was polished and so, from certain angles, it appeared like a lake.

"What of the Platargians" the Queen asked inquisitively, staring into the eyes of her husband sympathetically. Trying to connect with him and share in his anger.