Post by delettan on Dec 9, 2009 23:11:51 GMT -5
I know its not a typical profile but it was so boring filling out a form. If it's not good, I'll fill out the form.
A small, lean squirrel glided swiftly and silently over the dead leaves. Her expression was one of concentration, though her body moved through the heavily wooded glade as is on a path. She wore a short emerald tunic, unlike young maids of her age, and a strange cloak over it. The cloak was mottled brown, dark and light green, and seemed to melt into the background, breaking up her shape. Because of all this, she was near impossible to see.
The squirrel soon approached a tree, and gazed along the length of it, suspicion in her eyes. She tended to be suspiscious of anyone and everything. Her eyes, hazel color with a twinkle shining through, were framed by long dark lashes. The eyes were set above a decent length snout and a decisive chin. She hesitated, and that turned against her. A cleverly hidden door in the tree opened and a creature dragged her inside, all within a heartbeat.
The old hare’s wrinkled eyes looked up and down the young squirrel, her look resting a moment on the battered, ink-stained pack, and scars around the wrists not yet covered by the chocolate brown fur. “You’re a slave?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” the squirrel said, her voice soft and low. She looked down to her wrists, the scars made by chains still very visible, and raw. “D’you have food to spare for a hungry traveler?”
“A traveler no more, my dear friend,” the hare said. “Welcome to Mossflower country. What be your name?”
“Delettan. Delettan Wordsmith, at your service, sir.”
“Oh do sit down. You must have a story to tell, Delettan. I would like to hear it as cook supper.”
“Please, call me Letty,” Letty said as she sank gratefully into a chair. “It is quite a tale, and i shall the the truth of it for the second time.
You see, it all started back when I was small. In our little community, I lived with my Ma and Pa and plenty of aunts and uncles. Everyone there must pick a useful thing to do for the community. We were a whole, a full working machine. Trouble was, I could never pick something to do. Ma said I was like a butterfly, flitting from one idea to the next.
Eventually, the scribe saw some talent in me, and forced me to stay with him. I learned the arts of the trade. I was pretty good, too. My poems always people breathless, if I do say so myself. It was a happy time. Then, I only ever picked up a knife to sharpen my quills. No fighter was I.
Then they came. The slavers. They needed galley slaves for the pirates they sold too. I never learned the names of the scum who killed my Ma. She was too far to frail to take. They murdered the scribe, too.
They locked us in chains, and left us in a dark cave somewhere. I fought against the chains, A testimony which are on my paws. I was never so desperate in my life. I was also the youngest one they took, me being about 12 years then. The elders, they all started handing me little sharp pieces of rock and such, once we started seeing sense. Trying to unlock my chains hurt even more, made the scars deeper. But I did it. Somehow, I unlocked it. Pa says it from all my days taking rare books out of the secret cupboard the scribe kept.
Once I unlocked mine, I unlocked most everybody else’s as well. Then a few others and I went searching for the ones who locked us up and killed our family members. The first searat, I biffed over the head with a club. He crumpled, just like that. I didn’t have time to go into shock just then. I grabbed the searat’s belt of throwing knives, these right here, and threw three at the searat’s mates coming to avenge him. Who knew how I had become such a good shot? Each knife met its target.
Then was when I threw up. This new life wasn’t one I enjoyed at the time. The others moved forward and knocked out any and all vermin they found. Except for the leader, though. He was the first one I’d killed.
After that was over and we were all safe and snug back home, I knew I’d changed. I couldn’t fall back into the life I had. So I left very quietly at night, and left my Pa a note, and my last poem. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him, not so soon after we lost Ma. But that’s always been my problem, I guess. Not thinking things through.
So I left, and met this mouse on the road. A sturdily built creature. He taught me the finer points of knife throwing and blending into the background. He even gave me this cloak in exchange for a few of my poems. Said he could het good money at a peddler’s for them. We split paths, and I’ve been wandering ever since.”
The hare looked up from the pot of soup he was stirring. Its delicious aromas filled the air. “So much pain for one so young. How many years since then?”
“Four,” I replied.
“Very well, youngster. As I said before, Welcome to Mossflower.”
The squirrel finished her soup, and left to the spread out comunity of Mossflower, she looked back to the hare who help her only once. He had been so kind! Filling her pack with vittles that somehow fit around her sleeping roll and writing supplies. He had even given her a new cooking pot and flint! Letty turned to face the first day of the rest of her life, hoping one day to do a good turn to someone as the old hare had just done for her.
A small, lean squirrel glided swiftly and silently over the dead leaves. Her expression was one of concentration, though her body moved through the heavily wooded glade as is on a path. She wore a short emerald tunic, unlike young maids of her age, and a strange cloak over it. The cloak was mottled brown, dark and light green, and seemed to melt into the background, breaking up her shape. Because of all this, she was near impossible to see.
The squirrel soon approached a tree, and gazed along the length of it, suspicion in her eyes. She tended to be suspiscious of anyone and everything. Her eyes, hazel color with a twinkle shining through, were framed by long dark lashes. The eyes were set above a decent length snout and a decisive chin. She hesitated, and that turned against her. A cleverly hidden door in the tree opened and a creature dragged her inside, all within a heartbeat.
The old hare’s wrinkled eyes looked up and down the young squirrel, her look resting a moment on the battered, ink-stained pack, and scars around the wrists not yet covered by the chocolate brown fur. “You’re a slave?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” the squirrel said, her voice soft and low. She looked down to her wrists, the scars made by chains still very visible, and raw. “D’you have food to spare for a hungry traveler?”
“A traveler no more, my dear friend,” the hare said. “Welcome to Mossflower country. What be your name?”
“Delettan. Delettan Wordsmith, at your service, sir.”
“Oh do sit down. You must have a story to tell, Delettan. I would like to hear it as cook supper.”
“Please, call me Letty,” Letty said as she sank gratefully into a chair. “It is quite a tale, and i shall the the truth of it for the second time.
You see, it all started back when I was small. In our little community, I lived with my Ma and Pa and plenty of aunts and uncles. Everyone there must pick a useful thing to do for the community. We were a whole, a full working machine. Trouble was, I could never pick something to do. Ma said I was like a butterfly, flitting from one idea to the next.
Eventually, the scribe saw some talent in me, and forced me to stay with him. I learned the arts of the trade. I was pretty good, too. My poems always people breathless, if I do say so myself. It was a happy time. Then, I only ever picked up a knife to sharpen my quills. No fighter was I.
Then they came. The slavers. They needed galley slaves for the pirates they sold too. I never learned the names of the scum who killed my Ma. She was too far to frail to take. They murdered the scribe, too.
They locked us in chains, and left us in a dark cave somewhere. I fought against the chains, A testimony which are on my paws. I was never so desperate in my life. I was also the youngest one they took, me being about 12 years then. The elders, they all started handing me little sharp pieces of rock and such, once we started seeing sense. Trying to unlock my chains hurt even more, made the scars deeper. But I did it. Somehow, I unlocked it. Pa says it from all my days taking rare books out of the secret cupboard the scribe kept.
Once I unlocked mine, I unlocked most everybody else’s as well. Then a few others and I went searching for the ones who locked us up and killed our family members. The first searat, I biffed over the head with a club. He crumpled, just like that. I didn’t have time to go into shock just then. I grabbed the searat’s belt of throwing knives, these right here, and threw three at the searat’s mates coming to avenge him. Who knew how I had become such a good shot? Each knife met its target.
Then was when I threw up. This new life wasn’t one I enjoyed at the time. The others moved forward and knocked out any and all vermin they found. Except for the leader, though. He was the first one I’d killed.
After that was over and we were all safe and snug back home, I knew I’d changed. I couldn’t fall back into the life I had. So I left very quietly at night, and left my Pa a note, and my last poem. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him, not so soon after we lost Ma. But that’s always been my problem, I guess. Not thinking things through.
So I left, and met this mouse on the road. A sturdily built creature. He taught me the finer points of knife throwing and blending into the background. He even gave me this cloak in exchange for a few of my poems. Said he could het good money at a peddler’s for them. We split paths, and I’ve been wandering ever since.”
The hare looked up from the pot of soup he was stirring. Its delicious aromas filled the air. “So much pain for one so young. How many years since then?”
“Four,” I replied.
“Very well, youngster. As I said before, Welcome to Mossflower.”
The squirrel finished her soup, and left to the spread out comunity of Mossflower, she looked back to the hare who help her only once. He had been so kind! Filling her pack with vittles that somehow fit around her sleeping roll and writing supplies. He had even given her a new cooking pot and flint! Letty turned to face the first day of the rest of her life, hoping one day to do a good turn to someone as the old hare had just done for her.
