Posted in Posted by Martha Finley

  Here is the prologue to my story "When The Moon Turns Pale":

Imagine. Imagine yourself a bird, a little bird. A little bird flying through the air trying to reach the large fluffy clouds that floated on the blue horizon. Imagine almost reaching your destination, when the sight of a brown stone castle comes within view.

  You fly toward the structure, drawn by the beauty and valour it's large cold stones hold. You see a window, and without thought, you swoop down and enter, for it is open wide. The light that the sun pushed into your little eyes disappears, an a thick darkness fills them up in place of the gleaming light. Blinking, you land on a shelf with a thud, and dust surrounds you in a little puff. As your eyes begin to adjust, you look around to see the room in which you now stood.

  On a medium blue chair, a girl with red-brown hair slouches over a brown covered book. Her eyes move back fourth, and her face screws up now and then in disgust at whatever she is reading. A few minutes more, and you tire of watching the large green eyes move and grow large. The scent of food reaches your beak's nostrils, and it captures your complete interest and attention. You spread your wings, small as your eyes, and soar through the air, reaching a door which you use to quickly exit .

  The smell grows stronger, and stronger. You pass tall knights, standing in a single line along the wall. Their helmets with blue plumes on the top, cover their face, with only tiny slits in them to allow breath to escape their mouths. They use their spears, which they hold tightly in their steel covered hands, to swat at you. As you dodge them, you almost miss the turn to where the food seemed to be.

  At the end of your small quest, you end up in a large kitchen fillied with cooks, maids, and the one thing your heart desires at the moment. Bread.

  A young girl, about fifteen years of age, washes dishes in a small tin basin. She hums, and sways while putting each tea cup, goblet, and platter in the bubbling warm water. A smile is on her face, and she seems to be the only soul in the room not gossiping about some lord, lady, or any other bit royal with power over them. Her kind face diplays maturity, and her long brown hair hanging down her back, though not in spiraly curls, is still beuatiful for the way the sun shines on it through a window above her head.

  The window....the sunshine calls you, and you follow it. Bread, and food is quickly forgotten and you rush away from the kitchen to be once more outside. Fresh air, and the scent of oak trees from the neaby woods seap into your mind, and you do spins in the air until a clashing sound reaches your ears, and curiosity edges it's way to you again.

  Three boys, ages seem to be from sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, all clash swords together. The oldest, a curly brown male in armor up to his kneck, yells commands at the other two while they struggle for breath, and wipe their heads. The sweat has drenched their hair, and tired as they looked, the leader of the trio moves them on, commanding orders and showing them how to use the large pointy weapon.

  The training continues, and the horses in the stable neigh in excitement and exhaustion of being bound to the large wooden stables. You fly through the stables, landing on a stall door. A song wells up in your heart, and a joyous tweet comes from your beak. Unfortuantly, you frighten the horses, causing a young man to come running at you with a large horse shoe, that looked more like it would fit a giant more then a horse. You fly up into the beams of the stable, hiding from the mad man with the large horseshoe below.

  Singing a pretty song of spring, two young girls, around the ages of thirteen and fourteen, enter the stable to find the young man looking, with no success, for you. They giggle and grin, then hold up a basket of apples. Face red, he nods his head, and they make their way to the stalls. Each horse comes up to them, as they present a freshly pick, bright red, and juicy apple. They feed each horse, black, brown, white.

  Hunger returns, and when the mad horseshoe man walks out, you glide down and land on the shoulder of the once with curly blonde hair. The other, with dark brown hair, gasp is suprise at you. She reaches out to touch your feathers, and seeming to realize your pain, she puts one of the apples on a nearby stoole for you.

  You poke your beak into the core of the apple, greedily eating the treat. Another girl enters the room, leading a white horse with a horn on the forehead. Her face is covered in dirt, her dress brown. Her hair is golden, but you could hardly tell for the mud and dirt covering it. Followed by a snippy nosed, about sixteen year old boy, she nods her head as he seems to be correcting her. His black hair, and blue eyes do not seem to go together, and his face is far from any hint of kindness.

  This place begins to scare you, and with one last piece of apple, you fly away. The last person you see is a girl with the same black hair, and blue eyes as the yelling boy you fled from. She stands on the wall that surrounds them, stitching a scene of the outside country side into a blanket.

  A strange place, full of strange people. But these different people, though seeming to live normal lives, have much more to them then you have seen.....

GOD bless,

Martha Finley