Post by Yelaeta on Apr 22, 2006 11:28:28 GMT -5
The white walls of Gondor were stained bloody and brown. A foul wind came in from the sea. A tall-tail sign that trouble was inevidable. Outside the walls, the land was scorched and the buildings were reduced to rubble. Inside, the streets were white and the smell of fear was sharp. Hope was miles away, in another time. Another place.
Among the wives, worn from deaths and pain, that huddled in the streets, was a young woman, easily walking the streets. Few people looked up to notice her, but many felt her presence like a thorn in their sides. She was called the proud daughter of a working man. Her name was Yelaeta.
It was true that Yelaeta should be proud. Her father was a seasoned soldier of Gondor, respected by many, and she was pretty. Dark among fair haired mares. But she was not respected herself. She was thought too cold, too uncaring at a time of war. Thus Yelaeta lived her life alone . . .
Yelaeta wandered the darking streets, unsure what tomorrow woud bring. A long strand of her dark hair fell into her eyes, causing her to flinch unexpectedly. She quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one was there. Quietly she sighed as she leaned against the cold wall. A light was shining down the narrow street, her destination. Her home, but she did not want to go home. A strange feeling overcame her, and she changed her diraction to a more easternly route.
Many people wouldn't be in the twon square at a time like this. She looked up to the waxing moon and nodded. Only drunks and dogs, she thought to herself with a smirk. Drunks and dogs. What better company than what she had during the day. Her mother thought it best for her to visit the poor lady down the street, who lost her son. Thought Yelaete could lighten the woman's day up. She had succeeded but only made herself feel worse. When would this fear end?
Among the wives, worn from deaths and pain, that huddled in the streets, was a young woman, easily walking the streets. Few people looked up to notice her, but many felt her presence like a thorn in their sides. She was called the proud daughter of a working man. Her name was Yelaeta.
It was true that Yelaeta should be proud. Her father was a seasoned soldier of Gondor, respected by many, and she was pretty. Dark among fair haired mares. But she was not respected herself. She was thought too cold, too uncaring at a time of war. Thus Yelaeta lived her life alone . . .
Yelaeta wandered the darking streets, unsure what tomorrow woud bring. A long strand of her dark hair fell into her eyes, causing her to flinch unexpectedly. She quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one was there. Quietly she sighed as she leaned against the cold wall. A light was shining down the narrow street, her destination. Her home, but she did not want to go home. A strange feeling overcame her, and she changed her diraction to a more easternly route.
Many people wouldn't be in the twon square at a time like this. She looked up to the waxing moon and nodded. Only drunks and dogs, she thought to herself with a smirk. Drunks and dogs. What better company than what she had during the day. Her mother thought it best for her to visit the poor lady down the street, who lost her son. Thought Yelaete could lighten the woman's day up. She had succeeded but only made herself feel worse. When would this fear end?