Post by Kit on Mar 23, 2010 11:20:48 GMT 10
Title: Letters Sent (10)
Rating: PG
Length: 268
Round: 3/A
Competitor: Alanna
Summary: Alanna plays courier. I play silly buggers with the format.
Dear Gary
As you can see, my reports are done, and there isn’t much the archives need me for. I’m buggering off for a month or so. Somewhere warm. It’s important.
You’ll survive.
A.
A long ride, full of dust and cramps and the impatience of Moonlight’s long-time descendant, wishing his rider would sit more easily in the saddle, be less likely to clench reins and pull him on his way. River roads shifting into drying plains, greens bleeding out into fawns and moss and ochre-brown.
One day. Three days. A week, dust in her mouth and the slow build hope, full of bubbles and spikes.
Nine days. Easier, when she had been as young as the horse. Stops to stretch and sleep and loop a burnoose about her under bleaching sun.
Twelve days, and the bandits were there. A small skirmish, but in her way, and two children sunburnt and cowering in the midst of them all. They were not expecting an old, shrouded woman to hamstring them from the saddle. Much less to do it well. A new generation of the Bloody Hawk, and four Irregulars, made odds quite reasonable after a long ride in a desert afternoon.
Twelve days. Two-score limping bandits. Cheering soldiers and tribesmen.
“Yes, very well,” said the Lioness. “But I’ve other things to be doing.” She rummaged in her tunic, fetching out a battered, folded slip of paper. “Give this to your commander,” she said, her tribe scars plainly visible as clothing fell back. “I am going to pour water over my head.”
Keladry.
I invited myself. Of course.
Love,
Alanna.
Rating: PG
Length: 268
Round: 3/A
Competitor: Alanna
Summary: Alanna plays courier. I play silly buggers with the format.
Dear Gary
As you can see, my reports are done, and there isn’t much the archives need me for. I’m buggering off for a month or so. Somewhere warm. It’s important.
You’ll survive.
A.
A long ride, full of dust and cramps and the impatience of Moonlight’s long-time descendant, wishing his rider would sit more easily in the saddle, be less likely to clench reins and pull him on his way. River roads shifting into drying plains, greens bleeding out into fawns and moss and ochre-brown.
One day. Three days. A week, dust in her mouth and the slow build hope, full of bubbles and spikes.
Nine days. Easier, when she had been as young as the horse. Stops to stretch and sleep and loop a burnoose about her under bleaching sun.
Twelve days, and the bandits were there. A small skirmish, but in her way, and two children sunburnt and cowering in the midst of them all. They were not expecting an old, shrouded woman to hamstring them from the saddle. Much less to do it well. A new generation of the Bloody Hawk, and four Irregulars, made odds quite reasonable after a long ride in a desert afternoon.
Twelve days. Two-score limping bandits. Cheering soldiers and tribesmen.
“Yes, very well,” said the Lioness. “But I’ve other things to be doing.” She rummaged in her tunic, fetching out a battered, folded slip of paper. “Give this to your commander,” she said, her tribe scars plainly visible as clothing fell back. “I am going to pour water over my head.”
Keladry.
I invited myself. Of course.
Love,
Alanna.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!