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She had got this far and was stumped. She had been running on energy for awhile, food gave out a long time back, water down to a few swallows.
She had to figure this out but there were simply no clues. Which way had they gone? Up the windy road to the hill, to the wilds covered in whins and rocks with ravens and crows screaming overhead? Down the windy road to the valley, thick underbrush shading the babbling river?
Where would you go if you had taken the book, the one book whose care she had dedicated herself to - BEEN dedicated to, with no real sayso. She spent her life grumbling about what could have been had she been given her head and lived as she chose. But she was born on a hallowed day in a hallowed place and her destiny was laid on her before she could speak, and when she could speak, she learned to know and to protect the book.
And now it had been slipped out of her care as neat as you like by two upstarty young wans. They came and offered to mend her fenced, weed her garden, sweep her floor, and all they asked was room and board, for they were halfway from home to their service placements and would rest before continuing on their journey.
I let em, I fed em, and I gave em pallets by the fire to sleep on, and went about my own business. They wouldn't have known anything about the book, least I think they wouldn't, without nosy old Mrs Heron coming over to check em out and get her some news. Of course her excuse was to consult the book for guidance on some small matter, so I set up the hallowed space and spoke the hallowed words for her that would tell the book what to speak to. Mrs Heron laid her hands on the book and the two young wans were all eyes, and I opened it to see what it wanted to show Mrs Heron to go away and think about.
Next day the young wans (was one called Betty? I can't mind) took their leave with many's the hug and best wishes, and I will say the place was looking spruce. But after they left, I though to look upon the book, only it was gone. You dozy old fool, I said to myself.
And so, here I am, frowning at a fork in the road. I do know they've come this way, but now for the skill of a tracker... or the help of the book itself...
She had to figure this out but there were simply no clues. Which way had they gone? Up the windy road to the hill, to the wilds covered in whins and rocks with ravens and crows screaming overhead? Down the windy road to the valley, thick underbrush shading the babbling river?
Where would you go if you had taken the book, the one book whose care she had dedicated herself to - BEEN dedicated to, with no real sayso. She spent her life grumbling about what could have been had she been given her head and lived as she chose. But she was born on a hallowed day in a hallowed place and her destiny was laid on her before she could speak, and when she could speak, she learned to know and to protect the book.
And now it had been slipped out of her care as neat as you like by two upstarty young wans. They came and offered to mend her fenced, weed her garden, sweep her floor, and all they asked was room and board, for they were halfway from home to their service placements and would rest before continuing on their journey.
I let em, I fed em, and I gave em pallets by the fire to sleep on, and went about my own business. They wouldn't have known anything about the book, least I think they wouldn't, without nosy old Mrs Heron coming over to check em out and get her some news. Of course her excuse was to consult the book for guidance on some small matter, so I set up the hallowed space and spoke the hallowed words for her that would tell the book what to speak to. Mrs Heron laid her hands on the book and the two young wans were all eyes, and I opened it to see what it wanted to show Mrs Heron to go away and think about.
Next day the young wans (was one called Betty? I can't mind) took their leave with many's the hug and best wishes, and I will say the place was looking spruce. But after they left, I though to look upon the book, only it was gone. You dozy old fool, I said to myself.
And so, here I am, frowning at a fork in the road. I do know they've come this way, but now for the skill of a tracker... or the help of the book itself...
