Post by Elwing~The~White on Mar 28, 2005 12:59:33 GMT -5
Taralyn and Damian had been been friends for as long as they remembered. To be sure, the difference in their ranks was large, but as Tarlyn put it "I'm every bit as smart as Damian, why shouldn't everyone treat me so?"
Damian was crown prince of Kurda, and Taralyn was just a simple waif, found by a riverside. She had been found, only a few months old, by the river Wytwer, by a maid. The maid hade carried her, and shown her to the King, Damians father Ryta. Damian had been three then, tall for his age, and serious, with dark grey eyes, and black hair. He had seen the babe, and smiling gravely, had picked her up, and announced to his father that he would adopt her. The whole court had been amused, but Damian was dead serious. He had patted his fathers arm with his chubby dimpled hand, and had asked that his wish be granted. To make his son happy, Ryta had ordered that the child be given some tasks around the village, and taken care of.
Until she was 10, Tarlyn was taken care of by the healer of the village, and old wise woman, with the name Morgoth. She loved it there, and soon became as handy with herbs as Morgoth. When Tarlyn was ten, though, the old woman had died, leaving Tarlyn the old hut, and some herbs. But Tarlyn couldn't make a living on selling herbs, and besides she was restless. She began working as hired help at the stables, but soon proved so efficient with horses that she was moved to be the assistant horse trainer. She had a special gift with animals of any kind, and could calm a frenzied horse, or soothe a falcon swifter than anyone else could.
Despite the three year age difference, Damian and Taralyn were inseperable.
He had taught her the art of swordplay when he was 14, and her 11. She soon was as good as he was. He taught her to read, and ride, despite the dissaproval of the entire court. They said that the Prince shouldn't waste time with a girl from the streets. But his father laughed, and said Damian was happy with her, and so was he.
Taralyn was undoutbly pretty, the villagers agreed, with her rippling red-gold hair, and sparkling sea green eyes. They thought, as Damian grew older, that Taralyn had entranced him. But the two friends ignored that. Damien had no other friends, because everyone was on their best behavier, and Taralyn was deeply envied by all the village girls. But Taralyn only laughed at them, and mocked them, shocking the placid girls with sudden adventures, or narrow escapes, like jumping on a horses back when it was in full gallop, and standing on its back doing a jigsaw puzzle while it raced around, jumping over fences, and galloping wildly. Then she would dare to climb a tree to the highest peak, swinging in the narrow branches, until climbing down so swiftly that they thought she had fallen. She took great pleasure in doing such indecourous things, but Damian would scold her, saying "You already aren't popuar, being my friend, you should never have townspeople against you, especially when they hate you as much as they do." But she laughed that off, and would go off to do even more daring things.
Once, they had been on a walk through the forest, and had climbed over a tall wall, little knowing that it contained a few wargs. She had been talking to him, leaning against a tree, while he closed his eyes, stretching out lazily in the soft grass. Then suddenly they had heard the growl of the wargs behind them. They immediatly lept up, and had run desperatly to the wall. But not before the Warg had sank his teath deep into Tarlyns ankle. She had screamed with the pain, and Damian had lifted her up, thrown her over the wall, and climbed it himself. Once safe, they leaned againts the wall, gasping for breath. Damian bent to tend Tarlyns wound, to realize that she was laughing. He stopped, and frowned. "It was so, so funny" Taralyn gasped, tearss of mirth falling down her face. "To see", he hehe "You picking me up, and looking like a, a, a noble gallant Lord!" He had not been amused, however, and had frowned at her.
Damian was now 18, and Tarlyn 14. At the age of eighteen, it was customary for a crown prince to leave his domain for a time, at the most three years, at the least, a year, and seek the wild, alone. This was supposed to give the prince wisdom, understanding, and pity for his future reign. Damian was leaving that day. He packed a small leather bag, kissed Tarlyn goodbye, missing the sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and bade his father farewell. He was wearing a simple brown leather tunic, with leggings such as the elves wore. He leapt astride his horse, and galloped off into the wild. He had been riding for about a day and a half, when he, sitting down to rest, heard a sound of galloping. He stood up, his sword drawn.
~
Into the clearing cantered Taralyn.
She was wearing boys clothes, a supple leather tunic, and dark green leggings. She had pulled her red-gold hair back in a long braid, and a green wool riding cloak was draped over her shoulders. There was a pack tied onto the horses rump. Damian sighed. Walking over to her, he grasped the horses reins. "Tara" He began, but she interrupted him. "Don't say I can't come, because I won't listen to you" She said defiantly. She jumped off her horse, and stood facing Damian, hands on hips. They made a pair, those to, her, a full head shorter, clad in tight boys clothes, her cloak thrown back, and her cheeks flushed. He, tall, handsomely dressed, with his black hair almost to his shoulders, blowing back in the wind, his mouth set, and his eyes firm.
"And anyway" She continued. "Its to far to send me back, you cant go back, and you certainly can't make me go!" He knew he was defeated, and sighed, again. "All right", he answered. "Here, you look hungry, eat this" He said, giving her a piece of bread and meat.
Damian was crown prince of Kurda, and Taralyn was just a simple waif, found by a riverside. She had been found, only a few months old, by the river Wytwer, by a maid. The maid hade carried her, and shown her to the King, Damians father Ryta. Damian had been three then, tall for his age, and serious, with dark grey eyes, and black hair. He had seen the babe, and smiling gravely, had picked her up, and announced to his father that he would adopt her. The whole court had been amused, but Damian was dead serious. He had patted his fathers arm with his chubby dimpled hand, and had asked that his wish be granted. To make his son happy, Ryta had ordered that the child be given some tasks around the village, and taken care of.
Until she was 10, Tarlyn was taken care of by the healer of the village, and old wise woman, with the name Morgoth. She loved it there, and soon became as handy with herbs as Morgoth. When Tarlyn was ten, though, the old woman had died, leaving Tarlyn the old hut, and some herbs. But Tarlyn couldn't make a living on selling herbs, and besides she was restless. She began working as hired help at the stables, but soon proved so efficient with horses that she was moved to be the assistant horse trainer. She had a special gift with animals of any kind, and could calm a frenzied horse, or soothe a falcon swifter than anyone else could.
Despite the three year age difference, Damian and Taralyn were inseperable.
He had taught her the art of swordplay when he was 14, and her 11. She soon was as good as he was. He taught her to read, and ride, despite the dissaproval of the entire court. They said that the Prince shouldn't waste time with a girl from the streets. But his father laughed, and said Damian was happy with her, and so was he.
Taralyn was undoutbly pretty, the villagers agreed, with her rippling red-gold hair, and sparkling sea green eyes. They thought, as Damian grew older, that Taralyn had entranced him. But the two friends ignored that. Damien had no other friends, because everyone was on their best behavier, and Taralyn was deeply envied by all the village girls. But Taralyn only laughed at them, and mocked them, shocking the placid girls with sudden adventures, or narrow escapes, like jumping on a horses back when it was in full gallop, and standing on its back doing a jigsaw puzzle while it raced around, jumping over fences, and galloping wildly. Then she would dare to climb a tree to the highest peak, swinging in the narrow branches, until climbing down so swiftly that they thought she had fallen. She took great pleasure in doing such indecourous things, but Damian would scold her, saying "You already aren't popuar, being my friend, you should never have townspeople against you, especially when they hate you as much as they do." But she laughed that off, and would go off to do even more daring things.
Once, they had been on a walk through the forest, and had climbed over a tall wall, little knowing that it contained a few wargs. She had been talking to him, leaning against a tree, while he closed his eyes, stretching out lazily in the soft grass. Then suddenly they had heard the growl of the wargs behind them. They immediatly lept up, and had run desperatly to the wall. But not before the Warg had sank his teath deep into Tarlyns ankle. She had screamed with the pain, and Damian had lifted her up, thrown her over the wall, and climbed it himself. Once safe, they leaned againts the wall, gasping for breath. Damian bent to tend Tarlyns wound, to realize that she was laughing. He stopped, and frowned. "It was so, so funny" Taralyn gasped, tearss of mirth falling down her face. "To see", he hehe "You picking me up, and looking like a, a, a noble gallant Lord!" He had not been amused, however, and had frowned at her.
Damian was now 18, and Tarlyn 14. At the age of eighteen, it was customary for a crown prince to leave his domain for a time, at the most three years, at the least, a year, and seek the wild, alone. This was supposed to give the prince wisdom, understanding, and pity for his future reign. Damian was leaving that day. He packed a small leather bag, kissed Tarlyn goodbye, missing the sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and bade his father farewell. He was wearing a simple brown leather tunic, with leggings such as the elves wore. He leapt astride his horse, and galloped off into the wild. He had been riding for about a day and a half, when he, sitting down to rest, heard a sound of galloping. He stood up, his sword drawn.
~
Into the clearing cantered Taralyn.
She was wearing boys clothes, a supple leather tunic, and dark green leggings. She had pulled her red-gold hair back in a long braid, and a green wool riding cloak was draped over her shoulders. There was a pack tied onto the horses rump. Damian sighed. Walking over to her, he grasped the horses reins. "Tara" He began, but she interrupted him. "Don't say I can't come, because I won't listen to you" She said defiantly. She jumped off her horse, and stood facing Damian, hands on hips. They made a pair, those to, her, a full head shorter, clad in tight boys clothes, her cloak thrown back, and her cheeks flushed. He, tall, handsomely dressed, with his black hair almost to his shoulders, blowing back in the wind, his mouth set, and his eyes firm.
"And anyway" She continued. "Its to far to send me back, you cant go back, and you certainly can't make me go!" He knew he was defeated, and sighed, again. "All right", he answered. "Here, you look hungry, eat this" He said, giving her a piece of bread and meat.
