MCMILLER

Life At Brickshaw

October 1862

Brickshaw Villas, Brickshaw

16 year old Dalton McMiller stepped out of the grand doors of Brickshaw Villas. A cool swift of autumn's breeze greeted him good morning. The son of the owners of Brickshaw Villas strolled along the path that lead to the lake, and that is where he knew he would find his friend.

Surely enough as he arrived at Swan Lake, he found his friend stooping by the edge washing handkerchiefs. Swan Lake was named Swan Lake for a reason and it was because of the swans that often swim and rest there be the answer.

"Morning Swan," he greeted his friend was a friendly smile.

Swanhild Lennet looked up to see her friend and replied back, "Morning Dalton, finished your breakfast?"

"Sure," replied the boy. "It was okay."

Swanhild was also named Swanhild for a reason. 16 years ago when the little girl was born in Brickshaw, a swan with pure black feathers appeared in Swan Lake, black as ebony. Coincidently, Swanhild was born with hair as black as raven's feathers, as black as ebony. So her mother christened the name Swanhild for her and Dalton often called her Swan, simple but beautiful.

"Finish the washing yet?"

"Yup, what's the time?"

"Fifteen past eight," replied Dalton as he took out his pocket watch locket. "Fifteen minutes left before lessons with Professor Nelson, and I know you don't want to be late. Mr. Nelson doesn't tolerate lateness."

"Your father doesn't tolerate that as well."

"Oh yes, thanks for the reminder. Now, may I escort you back, milady?" joked Dalton.

"Don't say that," said Swan and gave a hearty laugh.

The rays from the sunlight crowned upon their heads as they walked along the path back to the house, their shadows loomed behind them. The wet napkins glistened under the sun like dancing stars on the white surface.

"You surely did not wipe your face this morning," sighed Swan. "Look at that, and that."

She wiped off the crumbs and milk that were left at the corners of his mouth with a napkin with initials D.M. on it and added, "Your napkin. Keep it, and clean it yourself. Besides, how's the book?"

"Oh that?" and he handed her a book with a red cover he hid under his arm. "I added a few more paragraphs in chapter sixteen. Father corrected a few mistakes from fifteen last night, mother praised me for the art."

She handed Dalton her basket of napkins and received the book. As she scanned through the pages, the neat words displayed before her eyes and the pieces of sketches her friend drew were stuck neatly across the pages.

"You're talented," she whispered. "You can do anything, anything Dalton. I only wash cloth. I could never write a whole novel, or draw pictures like that, especially those in fantasy."

"It's just a guide Swan, and just sixteen chapters and a dozen pictures, it's not much."

"But thirty pages for every chapter, and every art with such detail. Oh Dalton, don't deny it."

"Alright, but anyway thanks for the praise."

Soon the 6 story high boarding house came into view and Swan returned the book to Dalton and the napkins back to her. They parted ways on the first floor staircase and Swan went to return the napkins as the boy headed to the classroom on the third floor.