Wednesday, December 14, 2011

And Creative Juices Flow... sorta...

{random new idea... don't know if i'll continue it... your thoughts?}

“Liadyn, get out of the pantry!” said the cook.

“Liadyn, get out from beneath the stairs!” said the butler.
“Liadyn, get out of the barn!” said the groom.
“Liadyn, get out!” said her father.
So out she went. Not permanently, of course. In fact, she only went down the street to the blacksmith’s shop and returned just after nightfall. But Liadyn had always been a wild child, and her absence caused such an uproar in the house that the staff promised, if she ever came back, to treat her much more carefully. And Liadyn despised it. She was babied, given everything she wanted, spoken to as if she was an infant, everything was done for her, and worst of all, she was no longer permitted to leave the house without an escort. Sometimes it was the butler, sometimes it was the groom - on rare occasions it was the cook and rarer still it was her father or eldest brother. But if she was allowed her choice, she always chose the aged gardener, for he never wanted to walk far, and when she wanted to go to the blacksmith’s, he complied, for there were places to sit.
And so Liadyn grew up, with the ability to do nothing and the longing to do everything. She could never help with supper - no, the cook would make sure it arrived at the table on time. She could never help with the cleaning - the butler was far too meticulous and was afraid of anything breaking. She could never help get her horse ready - when the groom brought him out, he was already immaculately brushed and saddled. And she certainly never, ever helped her father with his work. The only thing she could do was stoke a fire and pound out rings on an anvil, but if the household knew she could do that, surely they would take that away, as well.
As she grew, Liadyn slowly underwent a transformation - she was no longer a wild child. She became more thoughtful, quiet. But she always wished she had fought harder to keep herself the way she was; interesting. She was not an only child, nor was she the eldest or youngest. She was the fifth of eight children, sharing light brown curls with six of them and pale green eyes with three, and in the area of other similarities, she was perhaps the most unremarkable. But by being upbeat and energetic, she stood out. And now, sixteen years old, she was by far the most boring.
That was why she was beyond surprised when her older sister, Haizea’s, friend convinced Haizea to bring Liadyn along to a tournament in the city. “What kind of tournament?” Liadyn asked, but all she got was a degrading look and a, “This is why I don’t take you to things. And by the way, if you tell Dad where we’re going, I’ll kill you.”
Liadyn did not feel the least bit frightened, but she kept quiet anyway. She rarely ever got to sneak out, and this time she had a sibling in on it. So she shrugged off the threat and on a light cloak and followed her sister out the window and down the street.

And then it jumps right into the story. What do you think? Is the description too long? Does the wording seem funky anywhere?

~Charli Rae 
|Job 39:19-25|

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