I think I'm spoiler happy.

Some of you have already seen this, but I don't care. This is to share, just a bit of fun.



There is a dream in everyone, young and old, that doesn’t meet the common occurring thoughts of Earth. A little something in everyone’s hearts pleads to never grow old, never get tired, and be carefree and humble. The weary often dream that they could fly away to a place where they can enjoy the limitless ends of their imagination, and stay away from the idleness of everyday worries. They watch others who always seem to have fulfilled their quest for happiness, but then think that true happiness can’t possibly be reached by anyone mortal. Few have found the solution, and many of that few have decided that the solution wasn’t what they needed, because they didn’t see it for what it was.
But, as one should see, the imagination can be used in several different ways. It lets us see our handsome young faces smiling at us in the mirror, in a beautiful home the way we would like it, in a paradise land set with numerous adventures and discoveries left just for us. Almost like opening a capturing book and finding ourselves sucked inside and caught in the plot and surrounded by wonderful creatures and people. This is the dream that many may not know exists in each human heart, but they may realize it very soon.
The imagination can also make us sulk. But that is why it has many uses; so that the sulky thoughts can be lifted by happy thoughts.
Happy thoughts. The things that make us feel like flying, that make us feel lighter than the air we breathe. There is one person who knows quite a bit about the great effect of happy thoughts, and sulky ones. And he is the one who has solved his problem.


The wind fingered through his hair delicately as he glided through the sky, searching with a keen eye for the house number fourteen. Dancing across the great orb-like moon, he began to count the houses backward. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four…twenty-one…. He scoured down the street to be sure he was going the right way; it was still quite dark outside. Then he found the large window with the balcony that looked down into the house garden, the window closed, the white drapes hanging sullenly after waiting a year. Landing softly, he peered in through the glass and tried to see as much as he could, but the drapes obscured his view. With a slight push and a refreshing gust from the wind, the shutters opened peacefully and silently, and the drapes flew up in joy. Funny, he had to stoop down now to get inside the room.
He watched the blankets rise up and down as she breathed peacefully in her sleep, probably dreaming about mermaids or fairies. He could tell it was something nice by the serene smile on her face as the wind from the open window blew a cool draft through the room. Looking around the nursery, he was actually a little surprised to still see dolls and little horses and letter blocks, but a beautiful instrument case he’d not detected before rested against the wall. Now his mother would play him music!
Breathing in, he inhaled the memories that were stored in this room, good and bad. He was glad to see his shadow was now very attached to him, unlike those many years ago, when he’d tried to stick it back on with soap. And the many girlish giggles that had at first made him feel inferior to little Wendy Darling. And flying with John and Michael, and having Wendy as his first real mother. He crawled on top of the blankets as he usually did, and went psst.
“Hey,” he whispered softly into the girl’s ear. “Jane, wake up.” The auburn head stirred in knowing, a slow groan emitting from her throat.
“It’s that time of year again,” he said, still in a low voice. She wiggled. And then he woke her up. “Spring cleaning!” Peter cried, flying up into the air. Jane sat up, a groggy smile still on her lips.
“Oh, the best time of the year,” he sang. “When Mother’s always here. It’s time for spring cleaning, Jane!” Peter landed skillfully on the floor right in front of the bed, staring straight at her, wearing his goofy grin. Jane just sat there and laughed. Peter liked it when Jane laughed.
“Peter Pan,” she said seriously, smiling warmly in greeting. “You’ll never stop being the boy you are.” Peter frowned.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She said, shrugging. “It’s what I love about you!” And with that she leaped off the bed and gave Peter a great hug. Then suddenly Jane stepped back in surprise.
“What?” Peter said, immediately alarmed. “Jane, what’s wrong?” She looked up at him.
“Peter, I think you’re taller than me.” She now looked down at his grubby, bare feet.
“What ho? Taller, am I?” he cried, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at his own toes now, too.
“Here, let me see you stand up straight.” He began to puff up his chest, looking proud. Jane shook her head at his silliness. “No, no, let’s stand back to back.” She turned around so she was facing the opposite direction. Peter didn’t get the gist. Continuing to look down, he cleared his throat.
“Jane, what are you doing?”
“You’re supposed to turn around too.”
“Oh,” he said, and promptly turned around like Jane had said. He felt Jane touch the back of his head with her hand as if she were measuring, and then they both turned back to each other.
“Peter, I was right,” she told him. “You’re much taller than I am now. At least three inches.”
“Well, how tall are you?” Peter wondered.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’m a normal size for my age. Oh goodness, am I seventeen now? Oh, Peter, I feel old—” Peter instantly covered her mouth with his hand before she could finish. He was suddenly very scared. She stared back, wide-eyed, knowing she shouldn’t have said anything.
“How old is seventeen?” he asked tentatively. Jane understood his fear. She knew that he had suffered from learning of her mother’s growing up too late after it had happened.
“Well,” she began nervously. “Peter, seventeen is pretty old. It means that I’ll grow up in a year.” Stroking his hair gently she looked him in the eyes, trying to comfort him. But nothing helped.
“No!” he cried. “You’re not supposed to grow up! I thought you would stay young, for Wendy, because she didn’t!” It wasn’t a normal boy’s whining anymore, though. Jane could tell something was different.
“I’m sorry, Peter, but I don’t live in Neverland all the time.”
“Well, then come with me now and stay there forever,” he said with conviction. “Come on, Jane. That way you can’t grow up.” Jane looked at him, knowing he only wanted a good mother, because he had ran away from his own. But she also knew that she couldn’t simply abandon the rest of her family.
“But what of my mother, Peter?” Jane begged. “I know she hurt you, but would you hurt her back?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked in confusion.
“Oh, you remember when she showed that she was grown up, and you began to cry.”
“And that’s when you said, ‘Boy, why are you crying,’ remember? How would I be hurting Wendy?”
“By taking me off to Neverland just so I won’t grow up.”
“Do you mean that you want to grow up? Jane, you can’t!” Jane shook her head exasperatedly.
“No, Peter, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“Then what did you mean?” he asked. Jane sighed.
“I meant that it would break my mother’s heart to see me leave, and my father doesn’t even know everything about you and Neverland, so he would get worried. And they have so wanted me to make more friends in school, Peter. All the other girls laugh at me for wanting to play with toys still and I’m often caught daydreaming. Peter, they only want me to enjoy my life down here.” He began to bow his head, trying not to cry. “Oh, Peter! You see, it’s very complicated. I very much wish to stay in Neverland, I really do, but sometimes I think that I would only break everyone else’s hearts. Mother already wants me to forget you.” Suddenly she covered her own mouth, knowing that she’d made a mistake.
“Wendy wants what?” he said incredulously, infuriated, whispering. Jane could do nothing now. She watched him sit down like the big child he was and cuddle inside his knees, and listened as he started to sniffle and sob. Kneeling beside him, Jane put her arm around him.
“Peter,” she whispered softly. He stuffed his head deeper into his knees. “Do you want a kiss?” He almost put his head up, but then burrowed it further into his cave.
“How would that help?” he moaned in a muffled tone. “Thimbles work better.” Jane sighed exasperatedly. No matter how many times she had explained to him that her mother had curiously switched the meaning of the two words when she was younger, Peter either didn’t care or still didn’t understand. “Fine,” Jane said, and she kissed his forehead cradling his head like a mother should.
“Jane,” Peter muttered.
“Yes?”
“If I’m taller than you, how old am I?” The question shocked her.
“Peter, you never get older. You stay in Neverland! How could you ask a thing like that?”
“Aren’t tall people old? Aren’t they grown up, like Wendy? She’s tall.”
“Well, I couldn’t rightly say that. There are plenty young people who are taller than most would be. Why Uncle Michael seems a giant to me still. And he was that big when he was sixteen…. Oh dear.” Peter had pushed away.
“I don’t want to be sixteen! You’re already seventeen, Jane! What if I am growing up? What if Neverland doesn’t work anymore?” Silly as the words sounded, the thoughts were too alarming now; Jane knew they were.
“You know what, Peter. I think that this is too much grown up talk and I want it to stop now. We should be thinking happy thoughts, so we can fly and do spring cleaning. Wouldn’t that be great?” She stroked his head. “Come on, now, Peter. I’m your mother still, and I always will be.” Being the inner child that he was, even though he didn’t know that he really was older, Peter nodded, satisfied, and stood erect.
“I wish I could have seen Tinker Bell, Peter.” Jane sighed. “You need another fairy.”
“I wish I could remember Tinker Bell, Jane. I do need another fairy. But you and I know how to fly even without pixie dust. Think happy thoughts and find the second star to the right and straight on till morning!” And just like a very young girl, Jane did her childish thing and cried “Yea!”
Some thought she was so very strange for being seventeen and pretending she was ten years younger, in spite of all the schooling she was so brilliant at. But Jane didn’t care; she actually laughed at the girls who tried to look ten years older, and enjoyed every moment of her youth, except when she was made fun of for it. She was happy right now, thinking happy thoughts of mermaids and fairies and Indians with Peter Pan, knowing that her imagination was closer to her than anything else.
“Oh, the cleverness of me!” Peter cried in his usual cocky way, putting his fists on his hips in a proud manner. “I know exactly how to get out of grown up talk when flying to Neverland is what I am trying to do.” Jane just looked at him and said sarcastically,
“And I did nothing at all, of course.”
“Oh, well you helped. A little.” He said, not seeming to want to give any credit to her.
“You are the most cocky, most forgetful boy I will ever have met—I will ever have known.” Jane mocked him. He simply puffed up his chest and smiled proudly as he prepared to soar into the clouds.
Before she even knew it, Jane had gone up into the sky and circled Big Ben as she always did, thinking of how wonderful it was just to fly on a cool spring night. Her smile grew even wider as she watched Peter somersault and corkscrew in the air, or lie down as if on a flat surface and lazily float around while suddenly pulling an acrobatic trick or another every once in a while. They both flew further up into the sky until Peter cried, “Head on!” which meant that they needed to go straight forward and on to morning.
Jane streaked through the night air and was dazzled to see the familiar colors dance in her eyes until the royal blue of midnight was a rainbow of bright greens and oranges and reds and yellows and many other splendors. The pretty flashes of light were like being inside a kaleidoscope. Looking down she saw the great ocean and the island she had only been imagining for a year; now she was there, she was back. She could see the mermaids’ lagoon, the Indian village, and the wood where Peter had his hidden home. It surprised her that a ship was anchored at the other side of the island, facing Marooner’s Rock. Peter gestured her to head downward, into the forest. They floated just above the trees until Peter darted inside a sudden hole in the top of an old, gnarled stump that couldn’t have been anything else: the home underground. Jane felt as if she were almost sucked inside rather than gone inside on her own. But she felt sure and exhilarated.
Jane had returned to Neverland.
A great crowing filled the room as Peter was somersaulting around the room in the air, bursting with energy and his pure, boyish, innocent joy. Jane remembered her mother saying something to her when she was young about how people forgot how to fly when they were no longer gay and innocent and heartless. Peter would never forget, as long as he was just that. And Jane knew that he always would be, whether it seemed he was growing up physically or not. Peter landed and stood before her.
“Come, Jane,” he demanded in a funny tone. “We must get to work. It is due time that the spring cleaning has begun!” Giggling, she instantly found the broom and started sweeping all over the place. The broom was also used as a duster, and so the handle had been cut slightly shorter so that it didn’t scrape things. She found some difficulty adjusting to it again, having grown her last bit during the year of waiting. Jane smiled as she swept around the many bunks and hammocks still there in memory of the Lost Boys. They were all grown up now, just like her mother. All of them had done it, her adopted uncles; become a lord, a justice, and many other things that they wouldn’t have wanted to be if they hadn’t left Neverland.
“So Peter,” Jane said. “What great adventures have you had since the last spring cleaning?” Peter, who was going through boxes of old trinkets, and all of his past ‘kisses’, didn’t get a chance to answer before hitting himself in the head by a wooden horse he was throwing over his shoulder. Yelping, he turned around and rubbed the side of his head.
“I have a new Captain Hook,” he said matter-of-factly.
“A new Hook? Peter, that’s not possible. You killed him not too long after you met Mother.” Jane knew about the ship, but she also knew that James Hook was dead; her mother had seen it happen.
“I know that. That’s why this one is new. She’s a Captain Josephine Hook.” She? Josephine? Jane didn’t quite understand. Peter had returned to organizing boxes.
“Peter, really, what are you trying to tell me?” she said.
“Well, Hook had a little sister, and now she’s a pirate. And she’s just as mean as he was. Maybe even meaner, but I can handle that still.”
“Don’t tell me you tried to cut off her right hand, too.” Jane joked.
“I already did.” Peter stated casually. Jane stared at him for a moment, bewildered. And then she began to laugh a little.
“Well,” she said. “Where’s the crocodile?” Peter shrugged.
“Chewing on the clock somewhere. He didn’t get to eat her hand this time. I just sort of threw it into the ocean, and I guess it must have been eaten by some other fish or drowned.”
“Hands don’t drown, Peter, they sink.” Jane told him seriously.
“Oh.” Even if he was taller than her now, and maybe perhaps Jane’s own age, Peter still had so much to learn. “Jane?”
“Yes, Peter?” she eyed him quizzically.
“I want to call all of the Lost Boys back, but the Lost Boys are gone.”
“Oh, I know, Peter,” Jane said sadly. “But maybe we’ll find more. There has to be some runaways who haven’t been claimed for nearly a week. Maybe when we’re done cleaning we shall go and look for some.”
“But I need to get a new fairy first, because the fairies are best at finding them.”
“Where do they live?” Peter scratched his head.
“I forget.”
“Oh, Peter,” Jane moaned. “Some day you’ll stumble upon a fairy nest and think it’s a bird’s nest. Maybe you could try to lure one here with Tinker Bell’s old negligee. Should we try?”
“I don’t know, Jane. You can try, but when I find one, I’ll tell you when you can stop.” Jane’s jaw dropped in awe.
“Peter! You little scoundrel!” She threw a pillow from one of the bunks at him. He smiled teasingly at her, blocking the fluffy thing with his hand. Jane swore if he acted like this to other girls her age they would have either slapped him or instantly fallen at his knees. And then, she did think that as he was very handsome, the latter would have happened more likely. Oh, what to do with a charming, cocky, innocent, boyish, tall person? That was all Jane could describe him as now.
“You didn’t really tell me about your adventures, Peter. You only said that there was a new Hook.” She said.
“Oh, well, not much. I think I did tell you. I cut off Hook’s hand. Josephine’s, I mean. And I remembered that it was the right one the first time, so now she looks just like her brother, except she’s a woman.”
“How did you get into a fight with her, Peter?”
“She was being just like her brother and she kidnapped Tiger Lily. I guess the princess had been caught trying to sabotage something and they were enjoying her punishment.” He seemed to be cheering for the princess on the inside, like he approved of her actions full heartedly. Jane got the idea. Tiger Lily would probably have married him by now if Peter weren’t still so young.
“How did you save her this time?” Jane asked.
“I used my old trick.” Peter shrugged again. Then he began to tell his narrative, using exciting gestures and flying all over the room in excitement of his triumph. “She-Hook was riding in to the rocks on this little rowboat with old Smee and Tiger Lily, as I flew in among the rocks above them. I made not a sound, because I’m Peter Pan.” Jane giggled at his cockiness. She watched him as he flew around the home, reenacting the story joyously. “And then I began to pretend that her brother was in the rock, and I made voices, sounding like the ghost of old James Hook. Smee got very scared; he might have wet his trousers! I told old Josie that her brother was a codfish. ‘No, James, you were never a codfish to me!’ she said, thinking that his ghost was insulting himself.
“And then I said, ‘Yes, I was a codfish, and so are you!’ This time she got suspicious. ‘Who are you?’ she said, and I replied, ‘I am your brother, I’m afraid. What a pity I came to be. My enemy was not worth fighting against.’ At this she became cross and inquired, ‘You had an enemy, brother?’ ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘What kind of enemy? Spirit?’ she said. ‘No.’ I answered. ‘Person?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Man?’ ‘No!’ ‘Child?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Boy?’ ‘Yes.’ She sounded really confused there, when she heard my answer at that. ‘Just an ordinary boy?’ she said, and I could tell she thought her brother was a fool. ‘NO!’ I cried. And then she said, ‘An extraordinary boy. Who can be such a boy?’ And then I finally told her, after making her go through that tedious guessing game. ‘His name is Peter Pan.’
“But She-Hook was smarter than I had predicted and she had come up behind me. But because I used my ears, I was quick to react, so I turned around and fought her while I was lying on my back, and I almost fell off the rock I was perched on. But then she lifted her sword, thinking that she could just finish me off, right there, and I rolled off and flew back up. Her face looked funny when she got surprised; you should have watched us, Jane. She stood there just like a codfish and I slashed her hand off and it fell down into the water while she screamed. You girls scream very loud, you know. I had to cover my ears for a second.”
“I don’t suppose you want to hear me scream any time, do you?” Jane joked.
“No, that wouldn’t be very nice.” Peter murmured quickly.
“Anyway, I pointed my sword at her chin and said, ‘Unhand the princess ye foe!’ in my best big voice. But somehow she had managed to grab her sword as it was falling and she countered me again. But a Hook, even a She-Hook, can never beat me. I had almost cut off her other hand when Tiger Lily made a weird noise because she began to go under water; Smee had chained her up on the rock, you see. So I went down to get her when I saw the mermaids coming in, and they started to throw rocks and shells at She-Hook. That’s how I made my way out quietly while the two pirates were trying to dodge seashells and I brought Tiger Lily home. The chief was very proud of me and he had a big celebration with us. I almost thought I saw a fairy peeking in at our party.” Jane giggled, and then turned very serious.
“You should have tried to catch that fairy.” She told him. He landed with his hands on his sides and simply replied, “Maybe, Mother.”
They returned to their earlier duties of cleaning the home, and when Jane had dusted every corner Peter’s eye could scour, which was a surprisingly keen search for undusted areas, they cheered lightly and then became silent. Peter suddenly perked up.
“Let’s spy on the ship and see what that She-Hook is up to now!” he suggested enthusiastically. Jane agreed and they began to climb out of the home. The two of them smiled as their ears feasted on the noises of the animals and the birds rushing about their day. Jane walked out into the bright sunshine that peeped in through the trees and breathed deeply, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Then just as quickly as she’d begun to hear it, the noise abruptly stopped, was snatched away by something, and Jane opened her eyes in surprise. Turning around, she saw only Peter behind her, looking equally puzzled and bewildered. They listened closely, and looked around carefully, for anything that might betray the presence of something sinister. For a short moment, something chirped, and then was hushed, which made both of them jump. The silence did not suit the usually happy forest, and this made Peter and Jane furrow their brows with great concern. But Peter then bluntly shrugged his shoulders and motioned Jane to follow him as he lifted into the air.

Hmmm....

You KNow? I really don't tell you guys very much about me anymore. Maybe I should have put that in my poll. And even though some of the pictures I've taken can be a little old, I'll just show you what I've got. But first, I must wish you all Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! And then I have whatever news I can think of.
And first ting I think of is the Christmas Concert that took place last Sunday at the Marysville Stake building, and that was really cool. I played in a string ensemble and accompanied the choir on the very last song. But the highlight of the evening was when Jennifer Thomas accompanied on the piano with a friend who was a soprano on O Holy Night. It was so pretty and so powerful that I cried, right there in the front row, sitting between the two boys I was going to play with not long after this song. I was actually as little scared that I wouldn't get myself together in time to play our song because after the soprano came one song from the choir and then we were on, but I was so touched I was in hysterics. But I did fine. And there are definitely hopes for next year's successful performance, this being only our third annual Christmas concert and already blowing away crowds with the talent and the wonderful, powerful arrangements, just think of the future! So that was basically the big family night (it was also my dad's birthday).
And then Monday became really hectic once I got home from school. Go to violin lesson, and then go shopping for gifts and to find the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack that I've been wanting forever!!!! My mom cut it really close and I was a few minutes late for Everett Youth Symphony, even though no one said anything about it. I was fairly peeved when I got there, but thanks to the girl I was sitting next to, Stefanie, I was cheered up. She kept digging into her purse because there was a bag of Hugs in there that she was eating out of, and a cd fell out once while she was doing this. It turned out to be Riverdance, and she offered to give it to me. Of course, I asked if she had her own copy at home before just taking it because for a second I was kind of caught off guard by the offer. But anyway, I got it, but because it was so scratched up I could only get half of the songs to play. What I have is still good, though. So then everyone there said goodbye for the holidays and my mom took me out for MORE shopping. I was starting to get really piqued then, until we finally found everything we needed and went home. So I left the house at 3:00 and got home at 9:30. And I didn't any homework done. I crashed.
I really don't remember much about Tuesday because it was pretty uneventful, but Wednesday was band night. Me and my dad always go to Lake Stevens to practice, because thats where our drummer lives. This brings out Ed from Camano Island, and I don't know where Dave lives, but he's Nate's (drummer) brother. And then Liz is Nate's wife, and then me and my dad. I'll just rattle off who plays what: Nate- drums, Ed- lead guitar, Dave- rhythm guitar, Evan (dad)- bass guitar, Liz- extra percussion, Me- keyboards, and we all trade off singing, but Liz sings most often, so I guess she would be the lead singer. But on nights hen she's trying to handle the kids, I try to fill in, even though I have to admit, I can't sing classic rock. Now, just plain classical music and folk and jazz are fine, but I would actually need a good deal of voice lessons for rock to ever happen. It was cool at the start because the missionaries were over and me and my dad knew one of them because they had been in our area for a long time before he transferred. And it was fun to play Jump while he was going out on the drumset for a few minutes. He's good at the drums too, maybe not like Nate, but good enough to get his own band going once he came from his mission.
So we had fun and I got home at 11:00 and instantly crashed (I didn't even change out of my clothes). Thursday was just that kind of day where everyone's bouncing in their chairs because school's almost out for the break and no one can wait. And Friday turned out to be satisfactory. At seminary, we had a really good breakfast (even though I didn't eat too much because I'd already had my normal bowl of cereal). I collected a ton of candy because I hadn't had time to pack a lunch and that was my only chance to get something to eat because I was, and still am, basically broke, thanks to Monday. And then after PE I changed into my real Christmas spirit, which I don't have a picture of, but it looked really cool when I wasn't carry a backpack and purse. In band and science, we did nothing but party and exchange Secret Santa gifts. I got the fuzzy blue socks I'm wearing right now, two Caramello bars (I'm saving one for Christmas, but it's really HARD), and The Beautiful Letdown by Switchfoot. I already had the cd, but the guy who gave it to me, Nate (a really troubled but really sweet guy that basically calls me his sister) couldn't find the receit for me to return it so I'm going to figure out what I going to do with it. If he finds it after break and gives it to me, that'll be fine. And after school I practically messed around until we went to the church Christmas party.
Now, let me tell you about the Christmas party. There was a a small band playing, one guy on guitar, and then a brother and sister who would switch off on fiddle and the brother also played mandolin, the girl also played flute. Strangely enough, I already knew the brother and sister from before. From where? From the old building that Old Time Fiddlers was held at, in an old grange that was bought out about two years ago. When I began going there, the brother was the child fiddle prodigy and his sister was the follow-up. I remember his name is Toby, but I forget her name. My dad recognized them first last night because he'd seen the dad every time I went. But for some reason they just stopped coming altogether, and then the grange was bought and everyone was ousted into the old Arlingotn High School building. But, small world, there those kids were playing for everyone to enjoy before and after the actual program began. I'd forgotten that Toby is actualy younger than me, because he totally looks sixteen, but he's actually fourteen. It was pretty cool to talk to the family afterward while my dad took down all the sound equipment (he's the sound guy for everything, I swear). Eden's friend Jessica kept on getting up on how I should totally flirty and scare the crap out of myself pretty much, but it was fine just talking like I normally do. My parents did their old 'brga about Madison' trip on them, even though I think they just though it was cool that I was just as interested in Celtic music as they were. They didn't seem proud; actually the dad kept telling me to keep up the fiddle until we all had to leave. But it was almost literally like a time warp to the past. Toby still plays better than I do, but then, I need to get out of my whacked up state and start practicing more. So yeah, last night was cool. And then Eden, Jessica and I watched Tristan and Isolde (which I would rather have not wanted to watch, now that I've seen it) and we all spent another hour trying to fall asleep afterwards. So that explains why I'm not at church practicing with the choir right now and writing this post instead. :D!
And you know what? this post is long enough to read, so I'll scare you with the load of pictures later. Now you are spared. BYE!

Awesome commercial!

Hey-Ho! Another spoiler for all of you!

I really don't know why, but I thought it would be interesting if I wrote a story in journal style. So I did. But, I'll have to say, this excerpt really doesn't give too many clues on the rest of the plot, so enjoy what I have so far of the intro.


Klave-Rand 7; 1,722
Before I tell of my day, I want to give a description of how I received this diary. I go it only yesterday, so telling this shouldn’t be long. Though, I should mention, I do go into detail as if I were writing a book.
I stood in the hip yard in my coat and bonnet, my hands in gloves holding onto my two carrying bags. Sniffing the air, first I wrinkled my nose in disgust, then I breathed in the fresh feeling of the ocean. The ocean was always new, always changing. There was never the same salt in the same place, never the same fish, because everything in the ocean moved. Just like me. I was moving, changing, at that very moment. I would miss living in Lovence, but I had welcomed the idea of sailing to Peventry. My mother began straightening my coat.
“Now remember,” she began, already sounding like she would start bursting into tears, with a pinch of fussiness. “You are going to be living in the finest palace there is. Here, let me retie your bonnet.” She loosed the bow and continued. “The king, I believe, will be teaching you fencing, so do your best to behave politely and be ladylike when you’re not sparring with him. And—” she finished the bow and smiled. “Don’t be embarrassed lest you ever beat him.” I laughed.
“Yes, mama,” I replied. She patted my cheek lovingly, which only made her chin tremble. I could see how hard she was trying to control her emotions; no tears were flowing yet. The foghorn on the boat bellowed so loudly I almost though the sound was tangible. It seemed to push through my veins, telling me it is time to go. I suddenly felt slammed against a rush of joy and a rush of sorrow, and thankfully I was able to embrace my mother before we both went hysterical. I’d always been good at keeping my true emotions under control, even masked. One of the few masteries I’d made during all of my lessons. Ugh! Being a princess should seem frightful to other girls.
“Drieda, dear,” my mother said. “I have a few things for you before you go.” I watched expectantly as she produced a small carrying bag lined with velvet and held closed by a drawstring. She opened it and first pulled out this diary. “I know that it looks old and heavy, but I would that you record your experiences in here. It became mine when I was eighteen, so the same shall be to you.” I began to thank her, but she stopped me and continued. “This book is as old as your great-grandmother and there have been diaries before for generations. Please take care that you never lose it. Write in it often, but you’re not required to make an account of each day that passes. And that is not all.” Handing me the diary, she then took out a bottle of perfume.
“Oh!” I cried. “Mother, I already have—”
“This is not to use on yourself,” she said firmly. I was quieted and listening. “I can’t explain it all now, but if you are ever in trouble, this will aid you. One last thing.” She put the perfume back in the bag and produced two envelopes; one of a normal parchment color, the second was dyed red. “I will give the details of all these things in the first letter you receive from me. I’ve not the time to explain everything now. The bells are calling you in!” In fact they were. I kissed my mother goodbye, took my things, and boarded. My mother’s tears ran silently as the ship began to move on. I need to sleep now; I’ll continue this entry later.

Early Morning, Klave-Rand 8; 1,722
I thought that sailing would be miserable overnight, but my good rest proved me wrong. This assures me that I’ll enjoy the next three months, though I will feel lonely. But loneliness can always be mended! I naturally arise early in the morning. My body falls asleep before the blue is gone from the sky, and it wakes with the sun. I’d probably make a better farmer’s daughter than a princess. People of the court are lazy when it comes to time. All except I.
I guess I should return to what I was telling before. I forgot to mention that my brother had come to bid me farewell also, but he had left before the scene I described. I am glad, though. Mother had to force him to kiss me goodbye, and even then it was a heartless peck on my cheek. He never believed that I should be any good for any kingdom. On no, Drieda Firensa could never rule, but all hail Great King Gordic Hanzal! Ha! And may I repeat his farewell to me? “I hope you can at least keep the dirt off your boots.” I have never met a more immature, impossible, impertinent pest! Undeniably, I shall serve Peventry well, whether I wed one of their noblemen or not.
That is one thing that frightens me about leaving Lovence. I may not have a choice in whom I marry, and my choice most definitely would not have suited. For you see, I liked to be with one of the stable boys, Joabr. He seemed to be the only man throughout the whole palace who knew how to enjoy life. And I’d rather learn to fence from him than the king of Peventry. Certainly a middle-aged man wouldn’t show such grace and poise as Joabr. And the king most definitely can’t be as handsome and charming.

Klave-Rand 11; 1,722
I’ve neglected writing in here for the past few days because I was reading my mother’s story of how she met my father. I wish I could have seen him. He died in battle even before I was born. My first clothes were black, even the blanket I was nursed in. but by the account of my mother he was sweet and handsome. She always said I had his eyes, even the same sparkle he once had. Gordic says that I have the same will to be different, which feels like a small compliment, but all the more of an insult to both father and me. Gordic never regarded anyone highly, though, except himself. It boggles me to think that he’s been king for nearly five years since he turned eighteen. I wouldn’t be in the nearest interest to serve under him for any longer than that.
Oh, goodness, my horrid grammar! I made all that as one body, what a shame! My mind is so scattered in the afternoon; I’ve been forgetting to control my train of thought since I boarded the ship. I guess I must stop here.

Klave-Rand 13; 1,722
What a pigeon I’ve been! I’ve been on this ship for a week and I only just realized that most of what I have been eating is fish! I used to hate fish as a child, but now I don’t mind a bit at all.
I don’t know why, but it makes me think of Joabr. Maybe because he treated the horses with apples and carrots all the time, and none of them got tired of it.
Oh, Joabr was my best friend, and he’ll always hold that title for me. Even though he’s only a year older than I, he proved to be my best teacher. I learned fencing, horseback riding, dancing, and even a few basics about sewing from him. That is only a handful of what he taught. Also, he taught me how to speak Singuine, Butanyan, and Kartekkan, the most beautiful languages yet few others in Lovence teach it.
I especially liked dancing with him because he didn’t abuse it and he respected me. Hardly a guard in our palace could be given the same compliment. But I think he taught me to dance for the same reasons I wanted to learn. It was grace that stopped Gordic from intervening with our lessons. He wouldn’t believe us even if we swore that there was no affair between us. I would say there might have been a great attraction between us, but neither of us came forward with it. I regret that now; it should break Joabr’s heart to believe that I may not like him, and I’m going off to choose a husband of Peventry. I should stop myself before I lose control.

Klave-Rand 26; 1,722
Oh, that conniving little brat! Where has my diary been? That little twerp of a ship’s boy found it beside my bunk and took it to Lord knows where, and decided he’d read what he can. Being a poor child and only eleven, it took him nearly two weeks to go through the end of my mother’s views, and then all of mine! And then once he finished what did he do? The brat gallivanted around the ship teasing me about having such a rude older brother and accused me for being ‘all over the stable boy’. Is that not enough to drive a young girl mad?! Oh, the impertinence of some people.
So beside that problem, I found out from the captain that I might be allergic to dust. Dust! Such a small, insignificant, silly thing that can’t do anything for itself can hurt me! Yes, one would think I already knew this fact, but the housemaids in our palace can’t stand having the knowledge of anything filthy anywhere in the place, even the dungeons, which are seldom used. I would say every speck of dust was lost to every feather duster that prevailed them. So therefore, Lovence was thoroughly clean, if not sterile. But as for me, I have not been accustomed to it and so my immunity is weakened against it. Which would explain the rash I’ve begun to acquire around my neck, arms, and legs. One of the crew’s men said I blushed redder, but it was only a way to make me imagine the problem as a blessing. I’d rather my complexion were naturally red than infectiously colored.
But aside from all of the bad news, one of the navigators found a short cut to Peventry through a strait. So as long as the ship isn’t blown completely off course, then I will be able to arrive in Peventry in a short month. If we hadn’t found this strait then I would have had another two months to go while we detoured around Jirke’dissa’s peninsula. So I will be happy to write to my mother about my early arrival and learn all the things about all her gifts to me.
I still wonder about them. I can understand why she gave me the diary, but the perfume and the envelopes I haven’t found clarity on yet. I tried to sniff the perfume once while I was alone in my cabin and I think I must have fainted because all the memory I have of that moment is smelling something dreadfully odious and then opening my eyes to find myself on the floor and a few hours had passed. All I could understand about it was that the perfume could knock out an opponent, but it didn’t defeat them instantly. Anyone who read this might think that while an enemy was unconscious I could easily kill them, but that itself is dishonorable.
I believe I must say goodnight, because that’s all that I can think of right now to say. So, goodnight, diary.

Who doesn't enjoy watching this?

Beautiful Disaster

I just love this song, how about you?

The Big Red Button!

Do not push the red button Please, don`t push it.

Spoiler again!!!

This is just a short part in one of my stories that I (strangely) was really proud of. It's from one of the stories that's all connected to most everything else I write.


Atara had enjoyed dinner, seeing all the little children, learning their names, but something felt strange. It hadn’t even been a full day since the fire, and she was suddenly acting like she had stepped into a paradise. She felt comforted, but that comfort was shrouded with guilt. It was almost as if she was glad her parents were dead. The thought sickened her. Soon she hadn’t been able to spoon another portion of her stew into her mouth, and then she’d excused herself early. Now she sat here, on the bed of her new and unfamiliar bedroom, feeling strange, awkward, guilty; she thought that she would become diseased because of it. And then something came to her mind that seemed to punch her in the stomach, stick a lump in her throat, give her a headache—no, a heartache.
Lord Verdisis and Lady Maiream were her parents, and they were dead.
Atara’s home was gone.
Nothing could bring anything back.
And she couldn’t do anything about any of it.
Atara put her hand over her aching heart and began to hyperventilate. Her breathing felt hard and slow, but she knew it was coming fast, terrifyingly fast. She was paying so much attention to her alarming breathing that she couldn’t feel the large, burning tears that spilled, cascaded down her cheeks until she had fallen onto her pillow and begun sobbing loudly, as if she would cry her heart out through her throat and die with tears never dry on her face. She wanted to die; it didn’t seem so scary and final anymore. It felt so appropriate! She didn’t even think of how Jaren would feel if she did die. All that was happening to her now was her tears, not even simply tears but more a waterfall made out of sorrow, stinging on her cheeks, and the pillow that was becoming ever wetter. Atara didn’t even know her own voice when it let out a pitiful, wrenching wail, and how it moaned of its own accord. She began hiccoughing and gasping for breath in a strange, distressed manner.
This—this horror, this nightmare was consuming her; Atara was falling into a pit of despair. It was as if she looked down upon herself, inside a dark, wet hole, looking thin, pale, sullen, gaunt, and even aged. The vision showed her writhing and thrashing around dangerously in pain. Atara didn’t know herself; she just wanted to forget it, forget everything, and maybe even forget what had happened and who she was.
Suddenly the vision simply went away, and everything became dark. Atara felt exhausted and lost, and then her thoughts and feelings became mixed in a pot of nothing.
She slept soundly and heavily all night.
Atara didn’t leave her bed when she woke in the morning, neither did she leave it at noon. She ate nothing and fell asleep crying again. That night she had a dream, or at least something she had seen during the night.
She was walking through a hall that was very simple and plain, the floor, walls, and ceiling made of wood, small sconces lit with drooping, mostly melted candles. She smelled something that must have been old, maybe even dead, and she looked for a room it must have been coming from. Then she realized, there were no doors lined along the corridor, only the sconces that held the melting candles, which she noticed, were red. A whisper seemed to tap her shoulder, and say, “Atara, we love you,” and it echoed through the hallway. The voice repeated the same words, and this time Atara could tell that it was a woman’s voice speaking. All the candles then flared for a sudden second, before returning to their normal sizes. Atara stared at them, for they each began dripping wax, and as it dropped onto the floor, she had expected it to hiss and smolder, but it did not. As the woman’s voice repeated the same loving words, it began to sound familiar. Atara put her hand under one of the candles and let the wax drip into her hand. To her surprise, it did not burn. Lifting her hand to see the wax in the candlelight, she suddenly screamed. It wasn’t wax. It was blood.
“Atara, we love you,” her mother whispered.

Video!

Okay, YouTube is being stupid, so I'm just going to attach it an e-mail if you want it and you guys can see it from there. It has basically everything I told you about in it, so enjoy. Oh, and a note: My camera can take video, but it doesn't have a microphone for some reason, so the marching band in the parade isn't really playing the theme to the Olympics. It just was good enough to play it and the theme was the best music I had that would go with it. Anyhow, tell me if you want it.

Aloha!

Alright, now that I'm finally onto giving you all the details of my trip to Hawaii, I have to say I'm glad I went, but I'm glad to be back! Thankfully, I've made a video of most of the pictures that I took so you can get a glimpse of what I saw. I'll note about some of the pictures while telling you about it, so be prepared. So, to start, our flight was early in the morning on Friday, so my parents wanted us all to get up at five (Eden and I thought "We'll just pretend we're getting ready for seminary!"), right? Well, it turns out that somehow Eden and I missed our alarm and got up at 5:30. Thankfully that wasn't a problem. So then we went to out cousins house, my aunt took us to the airport and then drove our car home, and we fly over to Los Angeles because my grandpa could only get us tickets that included a couple layovers. We had a six hour layover, so my parents decided we'd go out for lunch. Let me tell you that traveling on a bus in LA is TAXING! I'll tell you that it took us 2 hours to travel 7 miles to the pier. But we enjoyed our time eating at Bubba Gump Restaurant. Yummy shrimp!!! On our way back to the airport, we rode in a taxi...all seven of us. The only people who didn't have anyone sitting on their laps were the driver and my dad. Funny thing, our driver was from Armenia. He had a cool accent. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the airport. Yeah, buses don't really work.
So then we flew overnight to Kona (we got there at 10:00 there, but like midnight in Washington). We met our grandparents, drove to the condo we were staying in, unpacked a few things, and then bushed. We spent the day going to beaches and just planning out what we wanted to do on Hawaii. And the first thing that happens at the last beach we go to, my sister Reagan gets bitten by an eel. We'd been at the beach for 10 minutes and he gets bitten by a moray eel! Their called puhi in Hawaiian. So that night she gets to the condo and all these medical people come in and look at it, tell my parents she should go to the hospital, she could possibly get stitches, and blah blah blah. Just Reagan, my parents, and my grandpa went, while the rest of us stayed at the condo watching Shrek The Third (HECK YES!). She came back fine, and no stitches.
So then we went shopping in Kona and I got this really pretty necklace at a market and a pair of sunglasses that actually work for me! Oh, funny story: There are fruit stands at a market right? Well, my grandpa gets a bag of seven papayas because my mom didn't want anymore than that. But on the other side of the market, my grandma gets 14 papayas. That's 21 papayas! and we had to finish those in less than 5 days before we went to Oahu! so every morning my grandparents would try to stuff two of three papayas in all of our faces so they'd disappear. Oh! we went to the temple too and got some pretty shots!
On Sunday, it happened to be regional conference, which included ALL of the Polynesian islands. So we went to a ward and watched half of it and then left to go on a hike down to a black sand beach (and I got an amazing picture there!) where it was really warm. For the rest of the day we enjoyed beaching and taking pictures.
Monday we went to Hilo, the only real city on Hawaii, and we just took a good look at the gardens on the beach and then looked at the waterfalls. Tuesday we went snorkeling on a catamaran. It was awesome!!! On the way back we came across a hunting pod of dolphins and they started to swim along with the boat as if they were getting a free ride. It was SO COOL! And one of the guys on the crew of the boat actually came from Lakewood. Small world. On Wednesday we went to this ice cream social that included all the people staying in the condos (They were Hiltons, you know) and they had a band playing outside. Thursday we just window shopped at the small outlet and then flew to Oahu.
And Oahu had all the interesting things! I'll tell you, you heard someplace playing Brown-Eyed Girl every day. We basically stayed in a small apartment in Waikiki (7 people in an apartment! I know, isn't that crazy?) because even though my mom had asked for two rooms, the lady running the place didn't give it to us for some reason (the place was basically empty except for us) but she still charged us for the same price of getting both rooms. Rip off! Both of my parents were ticked and the lady got a talk before we left.
For dinner we at at Duke's, which was really good, and then we to this big market that sells everything! Reagan got this coupon from these guys who sold pearl jewelery that basically got her whatever came out of the clam for $5! And what does she get? Two pink pearls out of one clamshell. Call that LUCKY! I would have gotten this pretty pair of earrings that looked like it had a nice Celtic design, but I learned that it was embeded with blue coral and it was $70! I only had $30, so no, it didn't work. It was funny when people asked us how long we'd been there. When we said that we'd just gotten there that day everyone would say "Oh, cool! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!" That night there was a holiday parade that we all watched (it was less than half a block from our "hotel room") and it was really cool. It had bands, Pearl Harbor survivors, dance groups, military vehicles, and Santa Claus!
The next day my parents took us to a free continental breakfast buffet before they had this big talk thing with this really nice lady about hotel rooms in this really awesome place (we got a mini-tour of it) that had hotel rooms that had up to four bedrooms! Hecka exspensive! But most of the time, all us kids did homework and watched Happy Feet :D Then we went shopping for groceries and I got the pair of earrings my mom had been begging me to find throughout the whole trip.
Saturday was the best part. Saturday we went to watch a surfing competition and the Polynesian Cultural Center. We watched the Canoe Pageant, went to all of the 'islands' and saw all of the different cultures. The dancing was awesome! And those drummer guys were really funny, especially the Japanese guy. And the belt that this one lady had on was awesome. I'm jealous! You'll see it on a lady talking into a microphone in the video. At this one place, this guy was demonstrating how to use different parts of a palm tree, and he made toys, a dish (which we got to keep), a headband (which I got to keep. He even smoothed my hair out when he stuck it on my head), and he had some ready-made baskests to show us, and tons of other things that can be made out of just a palm tree. We ate dinner at the restaurant that is there, where they showed a luau. They had cooked this pig, and it was huge! I didn't get the best picture of it because even with the flash my camera was too far away to get it clearly, and it was pointless to take a picture after it had been cut up. Then we went to the temple on that island, but I didn't take any pictures (i don't know why, it looked really cool at night) before we saw the dance show at the PCC called Horizons. Oh, it was just amazing!
Sunday was half laze-around and do homework day and half visit Pearl Harbor day. It was really laid back, but we were happy to rest. Monday we prepared to to leave, my mom gave away all of our bus passes to people while we waited for our shuttle to come. So at the airport (and this is funny) I happened to notice this family with a kid that looked like someone in my band class, but they were in a different part of the terminal. But as we're boarding, I see them getting on the plane, so apparently they had been waiting in the wrong area. In the morning we land in LA again, but we only have a 2 hour layover this time. So while waiting for our flight, who happens to be continuing onto Seattle? This guy and his family are going to Seattle, just like us. I just thought it was crazy that they were going from Hawaii to Seattle just my family, so I had to get a picture. The kid in the green jacket looks like the person in my band class.
So, we got home and spent Tuesday sleeping and finishing homework. And now I'm back at school, everyone says I'm tan even though I don't think I am, and all of my friends enjoyed a souvenir of chocolate covered macadamia nuts. I hope you didn't fall asleep. I'll post the video later. But as for now, I'm finishing homework and getting to bed. Goodbye!

Sorry Danielle, I really liked this one!

Another Spoiler!

Alright. this one actually has a chapter heading! But this isn't the full chapter this time. This is just the beginning. But I proofread it a little bit and I think that for starting this in fifth grade, it's really good (even though I've had chances to enhance it). Enjoy!


Chapter 2:
Tyrants of the Forest



The girl was hurt, poor thing. She wondered why she had to suffer the pain and why no one seemed to care for her. She guessed that she was probably the only one who knew her own name, Maritire. Tucking her waving red hair behind her ears, she clutched her ankle, holding it as delicately as if it were a valuable glass object. Maritire sat on the forest floor, wishing she were somewhere different, somewhere wonderful, instead of being this nomad orphan stuck in a great wood. She was lucky to be caring for her foot at the moment, having been nearly killed numerous times in her life. She thought of all the memories, all the things she had gone through. Several thoughts came to mind.
She squeezed her eyes to shut everything out. Maritire knew she was a complete wreck, feeling selfish at her own spoiled thoughts. She had thought she could outrun that thrice cursed dark person, but then the rock had come out of nowhere, and set her foot turning at a weird angle. Barefoot, too, which meant that all the cuts around the wound could become infected, and there would be no one to tend to them. Why didn’t a bear as well make her his dinner now? Her only question was why the person had run on and left her alone after chasing her for so long.
Oh, she could just picture the bear lumbering to her, sniffing the air and breathing heavily in its brutish way. And then he’d smell everything; the blood, the meat on her bones, her human scent, the stench she had gained since she last came to a deeper part of the stream and bathed. It would be two seconds, a simple blow on the head, and she would be over. Maritire didn’t see the point of her wandering anymore either because it had gotten her nowhere, and everywhere it took her chased her away quickly. She’d liked it when there had been a home for her, a bed, and a family. The bear image suddenly shifted into something about the same size, but several times more menacing.
Shutting her eyes again, Maritire hoped that she didn’t have to remember, that she didn’t need to think of it now. But her memory groped for it, against her own will, clawing at her eyelids so they would stay open to the past. These moments were the times that kept her vigilant because of what they reminded her of. Maritire had to keep the horrid memory intact, only so that she kept the will to live and again knew her mission. The heat in her chest grew, all the images swirling to get in order, to where everything had begun. To the beginning, when she’d had all that she needed, now all vanished. The cursed klethimobix.
Her mother, lying in bed, called her name with a hoarse voice, saying,
“Maritire, I want you to take care of your father the best you can. I know your so young, but do what you know.” Maritire’s high-pitched six-year-old voice sobbed,
“You’re not going to die Momma. Poppa can take care of himself. Why am I taking care of him?” A small chuckle was followed with,
“Because he’ll lament my death. And yes, I know it’s sad, but I am dying.” Tears flowed down both of her cheeks. She was gasping now. “Try—you m-must t-try to b-be good, p-please?” All Maritire could do was nod yes and leave the room while her mother fell into a soft slumber.

Maritire was seven now. Her mother lay in bed, coughing in a horrible manner. Her father held her shoulder tightly, hoping for his wife’s survival.
“Maritire,” he said. “Go into your room and do anything you are able to do in there that will occupy yourself, alright?” His voice shook slightly. Maritire didn’t hesitate, but she ran through the house, tears flowing all over her face, wishing her mother would either die now or be cured forever. She hated klethimobix. Hate was the best she could do for it. So Maritire let her wrath wring out until she couldn’t cry anymore. By then she was asleep and she could let the years pass until she saw the day her mother left.
She woke in the morning and rushed to her mother’s room. Thank heaven she was still alive, but the klethimobix had now taken her mother’s voice along with the hearing that had been gone for months. All Maritire could think of was how much she pitied the sight of her invalid mother, too sick to speak, hear, and soon she wouldn’t have the right to see her pretty daughter’s face. She hated klethimobix.

Maritire was now eight, glad that she could have at least a couple weeks with her mother before she died. The sad part was that her mother couldn’t speak, hear, see, or feel things physically. She was frail and whiter than a ghost, with an exception of the yellow blisters that had been all over her skin since the beginning of it.
During supper, Maritire had a feeling that something, or someone, was coming to her home. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling at all; she was afraid of what might happen. Her mother could die any moment, and people would take her away to be buried, or Maritire would be taken away herself because her father would also die because of the pain. She didn’t speak to her father during the whole meal, but regretted it. A knock sounded heavily on the door, as if the person wished to break the door down.
“Enter.” her father said solemnly. With a loud boom, the door slammed wide open and in marched five large men in dark cloaks and hoods that covered their faces and an assortment of things on their belts.
“Your daughter is to come with us,” One of them addressed her father in a determined tone. It was almost frightening. “You may not make any disagreements, sir.” Maritire looked at her father apprehensively. They would not take her away, even if he did die out of a broken heart! At the man’s words, her father looked at them seriously and told them,
“My daughter has no importance to you whatsoever.” The one who had spoken shifted onto another foot.
“I believe you are mistaken.” He took a strong hold of Maritire’s arm.
“No!” her father cried. “You will not take my daughter away; do you hear me! “ the men began pulling her toward the door. “She has a mother to tend to and a family. You will—” He stopped. The lead man was dragging her out the door roughly, and another stood outside ready to take her up into his arms. Raising his voice, her father cried, “If you ever knock at my home again, there will be no mercy!” Maritire was frightened at her father’s words, for these men were twice his size, and her father also had no weapon with him. What scared her worse was that these men wanted her for something she was sure had to be dreadful, but she didn’t know what it was. The one holding her fingered the hilt of a sword at his side with the other hand.
“You shall not hinder us, man!” said another of the men. “I swear by our master, we will take your daughter with us or your family will die before we do!” And with that he drew a sword and advanced on Maritire’s father. The first let go of her and followed suit as all five of the men came toward her father. Maritire stared at her father fearfully, unable to move. Closing her eyes tightly, and then opening them again, she turned and ran before she could see the rest of the horror that had been wrought.
Crying, dashing blindly, she prayed to her god, wishing—hoping—that her parents would be all right, knowing that her efforts were fruitless. After many hours, she was so exhausted that she fell on her face into the winter snow and cried herself to sleep, curling into fetal position. Later she woke and crawled into a hollow at the bottom of a great tree and there she fell asleep until she would run again.
Maritire brought herself back to senses and shivered hard and long. That day had been not only the worst, but the devil owned it himself. She knew those men still awaited her somewhere, to take her life for the reason she didn’t know. Whatever master they served knew her, and Maritire was sure that whatever purpose she had was powerful enough to stir someone evil, even though she didn’t know what it was herself. The thought of her mother drove her mad, the idea of her father was loathsome, but thinking of herself and the way she had managed to stay alive was truly enough to curdle the world. She wanted to face those men someday, no longer a small eight-year-old, strong and wise, and defeat them all, though it seemed highly unlikely that would ever happen.
Then she remembered the darkly dressed person who had been chasing her before. The temperature seemed to drop as she thought of what his purpose might have been. Or maybe she was trapped in this forest! He’d chased her just to get her scared, and then when she stopped believing that she’s was in pursuit, strangers would come up all over and try to take her away to the master one of those men had spoken of. But Maritire thought, it still could all be ridiculous anyhow and the man had mistaken her for someone else. He could possibly have been someone who was thrown out of a city because he had a dangerous mental condition. But what were the odds of that?
Quieting her unhappy thoughts, Maritire listened carefully, and heard a trickle from somewhere far off. Oh, why did she have to smash her foot on that stupid rock? Slowly scooting towards the sound, she made her way over to a small stream, which didn’t look pleasing. Taking a handful of the muddy water, she splashed it onto her scratched up face, then she washed her foot, which was throbbing with pain.
The wood was filled with grand trees that looked down on her in a condescending way. Their boughs sat as if on hips, their hollows glaring at her in shame. Maritire almost told them to quit staring at her, and then reminded herself they were only trees. Yet she believed trees had great power. They housed hundreds of creatures, whispered messages in the wind, and sheltered the ground from the rain. But because they sheltered the rain, they held it all to themselves. This made the trees tyrants of the forest. Her washing ritual continued for a while, as she sat watching the wood, and then Maritire retired to sleep.
Restlessness ran in her brain, as if the slight paranoia that she’d gained could wake though she herself slept. It drove her far from where she lay, far from the wood and the stream, but no further from pain.
She was standing on a tall hill, seeing a vast valley before her eyes, with a war raging below. It was dark in that valley, yet moonlight shone on her hill. The cries from below were anguished and desperate. Horses fell, men fell, flags fell. Fire flew from the hands of a group of men all garbed in black, their faces grinning maliciously. Looking to the east, Maritire saw a light flare in a tent as a young man helped a young woman inside. As they entered, their silhouettes told that the woman had been lain down. Had she been wounded? Two hands joined together above her face; she was still conscious. Maritire turned back to the battle out in the field.
She seemed to be getting sick by the sight of bloodshed when a darkness came over her. The white dress she wore seemed to glow, and was the only source of light throughout the area. The noise of the battle ceased, leaving her clueless of direction. A breath sounded behind her, and with a turn she faced something she couldn’t see. It was someone, or something, her size; it must have been human. Hearing a whistling noise in the air around her, the hilt of a sword collided with her head, leaving Maritire to fall unconscious to the ground, blood blending in with her hair.
Seeing her fallen figure, Maritire woke and sat upright, nearly hyperventilating with shock. A dream about war didn’t feel good. It added to all the other ideas that she so hated. Looking all around her, Maritire gasped.
The place where she had fallen asleep wasn’t the same. It was elevated, so it felt like a round top. She couldn’t see anything very well, it was dark. Shaking with terror, she pulled herself into a more comfortable sitting position. After a while she adjusted to the darkness and she saw her dream hill. Nothing was raging around it; she was glad of that. She was also fortunate not to be wearing white, but a plain brown. Maritire felt her forehead, hoping she was seeing things. Something had dried there; she felt it all down her face and over the scalp. Was the dream real? That was impossible. And she was not a victim of near death—again.
Maritire shifted her weight so that she didn’t disturb her ankle as much. Her dream was really frightening to her, for one who had been nearly killed probably thousands of times. It reminded her of when she’d had to watch her parents get killed, though that was far different from the dream. In the dream many people had been dying, and Maritire might have been witnessing the last moments of a very young woman.
She felt at her bodice, and finally grabbed hold of the picture she’d drawn of her parents when she was younger. The lines were perfect, the shading exact. She fingered the hair she had done on her mother, as if trying to stroke it vicariously through the drawing. A teardrop fell on her finger, thankfully missing the paper so that it didn’t spoil the picture. Her only talent seemed to be art. It was a work that she knew deserved a frame. Before she could spoil the picture, she tucked it back into her bodice and wiped her eyes. Maritire could make herself seem so strong, but inside everything was weak, like rubber. She hated showing weakness because she knew it would be disgraceful. At least, it would be if it were shown before someone she cared about or before people who looked up to her. Thankfully, there were none of those categories.
Well, she had to sleep the night out now, strange place or not. No more thoughts, no more worries, let the head stay down. Maritire tried hard to simply listen to the gentle breeze around her. Soon her mind calmed and she laid herself back down.

Hello!

I really don't feel like saying much, so whatever comes out goes out in here. I've been pretty fine lately, and I guess I have no reason to feel unenthusiastic because I'm leaving for Hawaii on Friday. Tonight at church we're making movies--I think. that's what I heard at least, and I'm sticking with it untl I get there and my idea is changed. Actually, I think we are because people were talking about using cameras and stuff, so yup, we're making movies. I don't know anything more specific than that. I'll take pictures to give you all an idea of what really went on. You know what? I'm going to put in a spoiler before I leave on Friday. That'll keep you readers busy. Just what story I'll use will be the issue. but it's my issue, not yours, so why bother you with it? I'm a little tired today. Okay, no I'm really tired. I scared someone in science because I got sick of them telling me what answers to certain questions were. Usually I don't bite their head off, but I think I did today. Oh well. We all have those days. Mine was just today. At least I have something to look forward to. Ta ta for now. Boing. Bounce. T-I-Double-Guh-ER. TIGGER. TTFN.

Miss Me?

I've been gone, I know, and I really don't have that much time now, but for all of you who haven't heard much from me, this is for you. I've been doing pit orchestra fror the musical at school every school night except Fridays, and somehow Friday still doesn't end up being open. My Halloween was aweome though!!! Once I get pictures from my mom you'll get to see what i mean, and I'll tell you about it later. But, I had planned to be a minstrel (even though I couldn't exactly carry an instrument around all night through the neighborhood) just to find something that modified my costume. But then some kid who was in the musical camde looking for someone to take his awesome staff away because his mom thought Halloween was evil and if he came home with it he'd be dead, and I took the opportunity. I became a good sorceress instead. That's the summary for now, but I'll be back later!

PICTURES!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I've been slacking on the nature side of the picture portion, and man do I have good ones now!
These are in no order at all, and therefore the titles (which few of them have) Will be found nowhere execpt on caedes.net, and only 6 of my photos are on there yet (they only allow you to upload one a day). Just search for celticsoul, you'll find me. Enjoy the view!

Albi The Racist Dragon

I wasn't recommended to any other things by these guys, but this one is good. It's Puff The Magic Dragon all over again!

You Are 70% Boyish and 30% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

What Fantasy Archetype are you? Your Result: The Hero   You are the ultimate defender of justice, freedom, and purity. The hordes of evil quail before you. Nothing can stand in your way due to your combat skills, keen intellect, gorgeous looks, and sheer luck. Plus, you usually end up happily wed.
The Damsel in Distress
The Hapless Extra
The Mentor
The Prime Evil
What Fantasy Archetype are you? Take More Quizzes

You scored as Mysterious, You wish to hide who you are from all those around you. You find it very hard to trust people. You also may enjoy the fun that comes from playing mind games with others around you.My advice Get out there and reveal the true you if only to one person! Mysterious 58% Eyes full of Pain 58% Anger 58% Diamond Eyes 42% Passion 42% What do your eyes reveal about you?(PICS!)Updated created with QuizFarm.com

Car Wash and School!

Okay, I got a little happy with my camera last Friday before the game. Molly didn't want her picture taken but I took it anyway. Then she wouldn't talk to me for the rest of lunch. The lamp above seemed interested in posing so I got him instead.




Isn't he ADORABLE!!!!!!

Isn't he CUTE!!!!!!

So, then Saturday the band had a car wash. Well, to be correct the band Boosters had a car wash, but we did all the work and we were raising money for our own cause so we should get the credit anyhow. I had no clue which station was the the one I was really supposed to be at when I got there, and I didn't even look at the names of the people I would be with when i switched shifts, so I ended up with some pretty okay people. Alex Howard talked a whole ton, and he likes hugging people more than I do. Even more than Jordan Tanguay. Wow.
I felt kind of funny wearing my dad's sweatshirt, which went down to my knees and my arms got clammy after it got wet, and that felt pretty weird. After we finished I brought out my camera once again for the memories.


Kenny Krueger, the biggest goof I know. I'm still not over his whole joke on Latin in seventh grade. (apparently the plural of circus would be circi. 'And that's how you speak Latinus.') I wouldn't take a picture of his butt, so I got his face. Cute smile. :)



Ah, Melody. I met her at a birthday party about 2 years ago. I could swear her face is cuter than Hello Kitty herself.



Me and Melody. Aren't we cute! My eyes look extra bright, and more blue than gray in that picture. Lately I've had trouble deciding which color they are. Melody can take a self portrait way better than I can. I guess I like pics of nature too much.


Funny face!!!!
There it is. Living proof that the Scrunch-Faced Puckered Fairy exists! HAHA! I found it!!!!


Marissa's older brother. Marissa is only my best friend from school. Well, I guess, one of them, but she's the one I see most often during the day. I wish I could see all the rest. Belle, Ryann, Karoline, Danielle. Oh well.


And here you have it: The Ultimately Famous G!
Mr. Grabowski the band dirctor himself ladies and gentleman. He does not like candid pictures of himself, as it appears. If he does, I just caught him in a bad picture.

Well, that's all for tonight folks, enjoy the rest of your day!

He! He! He! Ha! Ha!

Okay! I'm not tired today, yay me! (had to put a little London Tipton in there. She's so cute!). So, just as I promised, I have something new for you all to read. I don't reveal too much in this one, so you get to think for yourselves what is going on. And trust me; you have no idea what's being plotted in this sly world of mine.













I glanced over my shoulder as I mounted my horse. Daza was cleaning the stalls on the far end of the stables, whistling the same nonsense song my brother had sung earlier this morning. Suppressing a snort, I ran through the obstacle course again, trying hard to focus. I needed to really improve before the race next week.

She went over her lines again and again, seriously trying to catch that accent. It was her fault that she was stuck with this traveling theater troupe. As the wagon jostled hard, the girl looked out to see the large rock they had just passed over. As she was about to turn back to her lines, the corner of her eye raised an eyebrow as she caught Tezho getting out from the wagon behind and hauling it over to the side of the road. He was a stuck up show-off.

Oh, it was beautiful to watch. Every movement was so graceful, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the girl on the stallion. Funny, her brother had never told him her name; really no one called her by any name. But maybe there wasn’t a name to describe the wonderfully indescribable. With a head filled with the yellow of the sunset, and the heavenly white of the horse, nothing else looked more worth making a picture of than that.
Watching over his shoulder, Daza turned to get the oats from the barn. He was excited to be taking her to the race so soon, with no one else but Kjanne, Swege, and Vioti. Shirewin Faire was one of the most famous celebrations in Thayes Cein. It was a party full of wonderful events, like the horse races, dramas, fire shows, musicians, dueling, tournaments, and feasts. Daza surely hoped to catch her name on the journey.
It irked him that he knew so little about someone that he had seen around the barn for over a year. He was also displeased that he was too cowardly to confront her. Daza wondered if she even noticed him. But then, he also wondered about all the things that she might like, or might not like; what would impress her; if she was tomboyish; if she were patient enough to teach him how to read; oh, just about everything. All he knew was that she looked beautiful on a horse and she had a pretty laugh.
Daza scratched his head and pulled his fingers through his red curls, noticing how long the hair had gotten. Goodness, down to his shoulders! He set the bag of oats down and leaned over the watering trough and looked at his reflection. Staring back into his dark, dull green eyes, Daza tried to wipe the dirt off the ridge of his nose. The natural bump in the middle of it peeved him. He didn’t like his square jaw either; it made his head look unbalanced on his shoulders.
Pulling up his sleeve, Daza traced the thick scar that ran over the shoulder and over the muscles of his upper arm. His right arm was the only thing he owned that he was proud of. Just like his left arm, it was ripped with muscle, but the long scar made it unique, special. He didn’t fancy the memory of receiving it, but he thought that it showed how tough he was, how experienced he could be in certain situations. And just about anyone was fascinated by a battle scar or a memento of the troubles one had seen. Rolling the sleeve down, Daza splashed his face with water and picked up the oats again. Pouring them into a bowl, he mixed them with water.
“You’re still up here, Daza?” A voice chuckled in surprise from behind. Daza looked back as he reentered the stables. Aburyfmi had returned from the village. “Of course I’m still here,” Daza answered. “Your sister doesn’t have the time to take care of the horses right now; I do.”
“Funny you mention my sister before yourself,” Aburyfmi joked, getting a consequential sock in the shoulder. Daza smiled anyway, knowing how best friends tended to be. Aburyfmi peeked out of the barn to see the course. “Talented, huh?” he mused with his eyebrows raised, turning back to Daza.
“Phenomenal. I think the wind is trying to catch up to her.”
“Naw, you daydreamer!” Daza leaned away as his friend mussed up his hair. “And, lo and behold, the enchanting rider cometh!” Aburyfmi pointed at the dismounted girl about a hundred yards away.
Leading Rifar by his bridle, I saw my brother pointing toward me as I walked closer to the barn.
“What’s the indication for? I’m coming.” I called to him. When I neared the two, Aburyfmi smiled mischievously. “What?” I cowered at his knowing expression.
“Daza, here, bets five tobs that you’ll lose the race.” Daza looked like he wanted to punch my brother, but when he saw my glare he changed attitudes.
“Ten. Five and ten tobs is what I said. I think he might be hard of hearing.” He jabbed his finger at my brother. This time he stared proudly back at my glare. Fifteen tobs was not a bet I wanted on myself. I turned to Aburyfmi.
“And what do you suppose?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“I say seven on your winning.”
“Only seven?” Where was my brother’s support?
“I figure if I lose the bet, he gets only seven tobs, but if he loses, then I gain my good fifteen and keep my seven, with which I can do anything I want.” Logical and clever enough. “And we already shook on it; neither of us can back on his word now.” I straightened my back and set my shoulders down in a proud posture as I walked Rifar into the stables.
“Well,” I said to Daza. “At least someone knows how to use logic. I would wish you luck on winning your bet, but you look like you have enough.” I looked pointedly at his long red curls. He turned even redder but remained expressionless while I passed him. Aburyfmi gained a jokingly ridiculing face as he exchanged silent words between him and Daza. They shoved, punched, and eventually began a playful wrestling match as I unsaddled Rifar and put away all of the riding gear.
“Alright, Abur, everyone will be worried at home if we don’t make it back before dark.” I said as they pulled each other apart and stood up. Well, Aburyfmi more like scuttled up to his feet; Daza was somewhat more graceful.
“You know, I never asked,” Daza said. “How far out do you two live?”
“From here?” Aburyfmi questioned.
“Mm hm.”
“Say, about four miles away. Why?”
“Just a curious thought. I’m still trying to get to know the country and most other people.” At this, Aburyfmi piped up.
“Well, if you like you could come eat dinner with us.” I was about to protest; I must have begun to turn red because when my brother glanced at me he made double takes. “Are you alright?” I cleared my throat.
“It’s still a little warm outside.” I lied. Shaking his head n confusion because it was obviously fairly chilly by now, Aburyfmi turned back to Daza.
“You could meet the rest of our family,” he urged. Daza considered it a moment, and then confirmed his answer.
“I’d be much obliged. It’s about time I got out for a night.” He left to get his horse. Aburyfmi turned to me.
“Where’s Rifar?”
“In the stables; why?”
“How are we getting home, then?” I groaned and burned my cheeks even redder as I went back to saddle Rifar up again.
When I came back, the first sight I saw was the most amazing horse I’d laid eyes on. A Frisian! Goodness, Daza was lucky; he had a Frisian! The horse must have been a female; Rifar was getting excited. If he were a human, he would have whistled. The two men were in conversation when Aburyfmi stopped and looked at me.
“Could I ride in front today?” I was no mood for arguing, so I consented and mounted behind him. He smirked at Daza before kicking Rifar into a walk.

“Whoa!” Momentum slowly pulled Triah back as the wagon came to a stop. It was tradition that the drivers of the wagons helped the women of the one in front of them out. Glancing up, she saw all of the other girls flock to the back of the wagon as Tezho approached to lift them down. Folding her arms, she reminded herself that it was her fault that she was stuck here. Triah waited until he had lifted the rest of the girls down to give him a straight, dark look in the eyes. He timidly raised his hands to indicate he was helping.
“I can climb down my self,” she said stubbornly. Tezho dropped his arms, rolled his eyes, and sighed.
“Look, I understand that you’re new, and you may not trust me, but it’s just a simple tradition.”
“I am very independent of getting out of a wagon.” He sighed again.
“Please?” he begged.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“If you don’t let me get you out, then—what are you doing?” Triah had swung her leg over the backboard.
“I told you I could climb out myself.” He was not grabbing her waist now.
“Then pull your dress over your leg, please.” He said, turning away. Giving him an aggravated look that he couldn’t see, she pulled her skirt down over her foot. Alright, he was really just trying to show off his modesty. Swinging her other leg over, her foot got caught inside the skirt, making Triah slip. Tezho took the liberty of catching her in time, nearly hugging her.
“That easy, isn’t it?” he said sarcastically.
“Get off!” She cried, pushing away from his chest. He staggered back in amazement.
“For someone as light as you, you’re strong.” He complimented. She just turned away, growling at his artificial charm, walking as quick as she could. “Supper’s the other way!” All Triah could imagine right now was ripping every dark brown hair from his perfect scalp.
Everyone all sat and sipped stew around a fire, sitting on rocks, or logs, or an object substituting for a seat. We had settled near a great meadow that stretched for and wide beside the road where the wood had ended. The grass was nearly two feet high, with spots of moist earth scattered within the meadow everyone where. Daaenya flounced over to Triah in her perky way and sat, still nearly bouncing in her seat. “I heard you made a fit for Tezho. What did he do?” Triah moaned.
“I’ve seen too much of his pretend courtesy. So, I decided I could get out of the wagon on my own and he could leave.”
“So you did something?” Daaenya’s eyes widened.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like Tezho. He isn’t trustworthy.” And for her, that was almost a gospel truth.
“Oh, you just don’t know ‘im yet. He does like to show off sometimes, but he doesn’t boast. And besides, for someone like us, ‘e looks a-jizzy.” Huh?
“Daaenya, please try to translate your slang before saying it. A month is not long enough to pick up a lingo.”
“Oh. Me apologies. I meant he’s ‘andsome. Don’t you agree?”
“A little. But he’s too perfect for it all to be true. And why is it tradition to have the men help the women from the wagons?” It was so silly!
“It teaches the boys at young ages how to be polite. But Tezho’s the only one who actually is nice.” She sipped her stew.
“Rubbish.” Triah sipped her own stew in turn. Daaenya licked her lips before speaking again.
“No. Someday you’ll see. I mean, he likes you, I don’t see—“
“What?!” Triah nearly choked on a potato.
“Oh, come on. Tezho likes everyone the same. You should try that, too.” Putting her spoon in the now empty bowl, Daaenya sauntered away in a less perky manner. Triah stood also and went to dispose of her bowl in the wagon with the scullery girls attending to it.
“Triah.” She jumped at the voice behind her. Turning, she saw Vindoah hovering over her. “Yes?” she replied.
“How are your lines coming?” he asked in his deep, round tones.
“I’m fine with my lines; why?”
“That’s splendid. I’ve finally chosen someone for the part of Martifreyo.” Triah had to stop herself from snorting at the name. The most outrageous name for the man she was pretending to love. “Only a week is left until the Faire, so I would like you to practice with him every day when we stop to rest and eat.”
“And who is my partner?”
“Tezho.”

The cutlery clanged against the plates and bowls as the family and Daza peacefully ate.
“So, when do you plan on leaving to the Faire, Daza?” my father asked.
“We’ll be here one more day and the group leaves in the morning.” Daza answered.
“That soon?” Father turned to me. “Then I believe the riding is coming along well?”
“Very well, Da.” I said. He was so talented at conversing with me without calling me by my name. I was glad of that. “Even Abur believes I’ll do great.” I had to keep from glaring at Daza. Sneaking a glance, I noticed that he looked perturbed, also.
“Wonderful!” he cried. Aburyfmi blushed at my father’s joy of having the two of us getting along.
“M’ma, could you pass me the butter?” Lili peeped. She was so small for an eight-year-old girl, and so frail. It frightened my parents.
“Here you go, love,” my mother said, reaching to set the butter across the table. “Mm…. Freshly made this morning. Finally something yellower than our hair.” Lili and Groy, my other younger brother, giggled in their sweet childish way. My mother chuckled and then pulled back the few thin gray wisps that had escaped her knot on top.
“So will you be able to do chores before you leave in the morning, dear?” she asked me.
“Yes, mum.” I answered.
“Are you sure?” This came from Daza.
“Daza,” I said. “If I’m to wake before sunrise to do chores and we’re to leave at mid-morning, wouldn’t you think that I would have plenty of time?” he gave a small nod and a nervous smile and silenced himself. In refrain from looking smug I took a bite of bread.
“So Daza, what else do you do?” my mother asked. “Are you looking to be a cobbler, or a carpenter, or a smith of some sort?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. Just horses,” he said.
“Really? But you must have some interests other than that. You’ve never had a wish to be a scholar, or a warrior, or maybe even an artist?” she continued. Mother liked to hear the tales of dreamers. Daza looked like a disappointment. He also looked like he wanted to tell her something but thought better of it.
“No. I just want to take care of my horses and be a simple merchant. I’ve no need for importance,” he said humbly. I wondered how he could say that. Didn’t he want to be known by people; didn’t he want a name; didn’t he want friends? To feel no oblige to have a little pride was somewhat alien to me. Until now it seemed that no one could live a fulfilled life without enjoying one moment of pride and glory. Mother looked slightly put out.
“Well, that’s very interesting. Aburyfmi, here, plans to be a sailor.” She indicated towards him as he gave a fleeting sheepish look towards Daza. Apparently my brother was aware that our family’s pride might make him feel unaccepted. “And my daughter here would be a jeweler if it weren’t for horses.” I was turning red again and so I bent over my food, trying to hide my face. I blushed because I was glad that Mother hadn’t spoken more than that, but I also fumed somewhat that she had said so in the first place. She knew that jewels easily diverted me and I would gladly recite my knowledge of them to anyone I trusted, but it must have been clear to Daza that I cared nothing for the career and everything for the animals we both so loved.
As supper closed, Father looked out the window and saw how dark the sky had become and at once I knew what he would say next and I dreaded it.
“I do believe that it will be too dark for you to travel tonight, Daza. If we could make a space for you, I don’t think it would do any harm to let you spend the night here and ride with my eldest two to the stables tomorrow. We have room for your horse here.” To my disappointment, Daza said,
“That’s very kind, sir. If it weren’t the dark of fall, I would ask to leave, but thank you for your kindness.” Mother began clearing the dishes while I helped and as she did so, she began spouting off suggestions of where he should sleep. I wondered why my parents showed these actions when it had at first seemed that he was disappointing to their expectations? They were kind, yes, but to invite him to stay? Only three other people had been given the privilege to board in our home that were like him, and they were all close relations. I remembered when my second cousin had lost all of his fortune and had stayed with us for over two years before windfall struck him at last and he landed a good home. Daza wasn’t quite so poor, but I knew that he never seemed to leave the stables as everyone else did, so I knew that his only payment was the low payment of a stable hand. To me it was certainly lowly enough, though. I would have guessed that he slept in the barn! My mother tapped my arm as I was carrying more dishes to the washtub.
“You wouldn’t mind if you shared space with Aburyfmi tonight, so that Daza could use your room, would you?” I was amazed at how I didn’t lose my constant vigil over my temper, but somehow the smile stretched on my lips and the words escaped my mouth.
“No, I don’t mind at all.” In shock at my self, I hurried to the washtub and the smile was gone completely.

Triah stared at Vindoah for a second too long, for he asked if she was feeling well. Shaking her head, she flustered.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know him very well and this is a very—um—different way of getting to know him. And I’m getting drowsy; my head feels light as it always does at this time of day—night. Or maybe I ate too much…” She felt as if she were going to be sick! Putting her hand on her forehead to see if she really wasn’t feeling well, she suddenly reeled over and hit something hard.
Triah. Triah, wake up. How’s your head?
“Triah, are you feeling all right? Triah, get up!” Someone shook her gently and she finally came to. If she weren’t just waking from a strange moment of faintness, she would have moaned in annoyance. The light from the candles sitting nearby fell upon Tezho’s perfectly loathsome face, which was creased with worry, and out of the corner of Triah’s eye she could see Daaenya fiddling with something.
“You’re not my partner,” she groaned at him, meaning to tell him that he wasn’t to come within a fifty-mile radius of her. He looked at her strangely.
“Yes, I am.” He said plainly, in confusion. “It seems you hit your head hard when you fainted,”
“I what?” Triah exclaimed as loud as her exhausted voice allowed her.
“When Vindoah told you that I was your partner, he told me that you had become nervous and then suddenly fainted and hit your head on the wheel of a wagon behind you. Maybe you’re getting sick, Triah. It would probably be best if you didn’t act in the play. Who is your understudy?” Even though she knew that she would be playing the main part with this artificial angel, Triah did not want to give up her part.
“No!” she cried, suddenly awake and alert. “I’m fine. I’m just not used to all of this yet. I’ve only been here a month; leave me alone!” She kicked from under the blankets that were laid on her and Tezho was pushed to the side with some force. Daaenya then set down her matchbox, which was what she had been messing with because she had spilled the matches after lighting the candles, and held Triah. Looking to Tezho, she explained:
“She doesn’t trust you very much, so it’s best that you leave us alone while I watch her.” Tezho looked hurt and defeated, but he came down out of the great wagon that they were in and through the dark, as it was now late at night, the two girls heard his footsteps retreat. Daaenya turned back to Triah again.
“You shouldn’t have said that. He did most of the tending to you; all I was good at doing was lighting the candles, and I made a mess of it anyway! Why do you hate him so much?” Triah swooned a bit before answering.
“He’s shows off for everyone, and he’s doing things extra special just for me. And there some look in his eyes every time he does something kind to me, as if he were thinking of something, hoping, planning. I’ve known too many men like him and I owe it to the ones who are not so polite that I’m still alive. I’ve learned that one month isn’t enough to get to know someone once they’ve instilled a suspicion.” Daaenya listened, sighing and rolling her eyes the entire time.
“Alright. Then what exactly do you see in his eyes, what plot is behind that face?” Triah thought a moment before answering, for she was unsure what it was completely, she only had ideas.
“It’s like he’s telling me that he’s doing this for a reason. That I’m just supposed to trust him and all will be well, but something extra shines in there. A look I know very well means that if I just succumbed to him, I would be taken away and all horrors are open to me.” Again, Daaenya refused to take everything seriously.
“You know, there may as well be something in his eyes that’s trying to say something more than ‘Trust me,’ but to what you’re making it, I’ve known him to long to even fathom him thinking that way. Triah, he’s very different from most other men, and he finds good in everyone. How can you find evil in that?”
“I think it’s all an act, just a display for me. I’ve gotten it several times. He is an actor anyhow.”
“Well, it must be a serious act, because he’s been displaying since before he was handsome, I think since he was eleven years old. Eight years of acting like someone you’re not would make someone crack, don’t you agree?” Triah didn’t answer. She only huffed and laid back down, just then realizing the throbbing pain in her head that seemed to enhance the feeling of her heartbeat. She held her head and screwed up her face in pain, feeling stupid about herself fainting. That was what a princess did when she learned she was betrothed to a man she’d never met. Only higher people did those silly things, not Triah. To her it felt like she’d done something very silly, something lower than she was expected. Triah liked to think of her self as a strong girl; weakness was an insult.
“Do you think you’ll sleep all right, Triah?” Daaenya asked. “It looks like your head is still hurting. Should I get someone to give you medicine?”
“No, I’ve slept with worse things with headaches before. If I can sleep with broken ribs I can sleep with small headache.” With those words, she grabbed the nearest candles and blew them out, Daaenya doing the same, so that the wagon’s light disappeared and they couldn’t see each other.
“Goodnight, Triah. Good luck with your practicing tomorrow.” Daaenya whispered. Triah groaned to herself and muttered, “Goodnight, Daa,” and closed her eyes tightly as if she could blink away the vision of she and Tezho acting together.

The girl’s room was very different from a stall in the barn. The floor wasn’t packed down with straw or dirt, and it hardly smelled of horses, though it had an essence of them. Daza simply gazed at the bed. It had a mattress, it had a pillow, even a frame! He’d never slept in a real bed before; this room was worth a palace suite to him. The blankets were folded neatly at the edge of the bed, and a chest lay at the foot of it. A table that seemed ridiculously small was set by the head of the bed, with only room for the pitcher and bowl that stood upon it. Daza stamped his foot on the floor: the boards were sturdy. Looking up, he saw a door that opened, and when he’d opened it, he almost hit himself in the face with a ladder that unfolded itself. He’s guessed that the girl was going to sleep up there. Pulling off his boots, he unfolded the blankets and lay on his back, staring at the dust waltzing in the light coming through the window above.
Daza suddenly nearly wanted to curse. He still didn’t know her name! That thought alone drove him insane. Her family hadn’t even spoken it during dinner, which surprised him, because it should have been mentioned at least once during the nice conversation at the table. He wondered if they were purposely avoiding it, but why would they be? If they didn’t trust him enough, how were they letting him stay in their house, in her room? And only her name had been omitted from the talk; he now knew her parents’ names and her younger siblings’ names.
Oh well, Daza thought to himself, rolling over onto his side. He would need to wait until their ride to the Faire and see if he could get it out of her. Maybe she just never went by her name because she seemed to easily answer to any other common summoning. Whatever the reason was, Daza was determined to learn about her as much as he could. They could even become friends on the way; he would have to tell her that the bet he and Abur had made wasn’t actually on.
Turning back to his original position, Daza kept thinking and pondering about what would happen on their journey until his mind got tired of working and he fell asleep. When the girl made her way into the loft, he was dreaming too much to notice.

Sleeping above my bedroom in the loft felt very different; and I still didn’t understand why I had agreed to let Daza sleep in my room. He had kicked the blankets off and was hugging the pillow as if it were a stuffed toy just like a child would. I pictured him with his thumb sticking out of his mouth and chuckled quietly to myself. But I still couldn’t understand what I saw when I had looked at his face. It was like he was in a paradise, or a palace, or near enough to sleeping in heaven. And then there was a trace of strangeness. Oh, I just saw a million different faces in one; sorrow, ecstasy, determination, and possibly fear.
I heard a strange thump from under me; I thought maybe Daza had fallen off the bed. It seemed he really wasn’t used to beds after I had seen the blankets kicked away. My mind pricked the thought that Daza actually did sleep in the stables. Aburyfmi sighed in his slumber, making a strange moaning sound following it. I had almost forgotten he was there because for a young man he slept so quietly. The scent of the thick layer of straw came to my nose, and, simply by reflex, I inhaled it and smiled.
I guessed the loft wasn’t such a problem, if it reminded me of the barn and how much I loved all the horses. Sometime that night I fell asleep, but I never completely remembered when or how. I’d heard one more funny sound from under, but otherwise there was peaceful silence and the smell of sweet straw.