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Gentle light creeps over the horizon as the sun begins to rise, seeping into a nearby barn’s red wooden grain walls. The holes within the wood start to give a gentle golden glow to the inside of the barn bouncing around the piles of hay, the light starts to extend even further inside the barn until finally greeting a man near the top of one of the hay piles.
TESTING LINKS UNTIL I CAN WRITE, BLOODY HELL BRAIN WHY WON’T YOU PUT THE THING INTO WORDS FOR ME
PUTTING SCRAPPED VERSION HERE AS PLACEHOLDER TILL I CAN THINK OF HOW TO WRITE IT
(ORIGINAL ONE I SCRAPPED)
Running for long distances is hard for most people, maybe even walking for a long distance would also be considered hard after a while, but again that is for most people. I have never felt that running for days on end with no rest in-between to be hard, even though I think I would be the only one to think like this. I always was told to keep running, to keep swinging, to keep fighting, but most of all to not give up until you are sure your opponent is out. My mother always trained me in the ways of the sword and weapons in general whenever she could, all because I told her I wanted to protect the people of this nation. She trained me slowly at first until she realized that I just never got tired while swinging the sword or while doing basic stamina exercises with the spear. She soon had me wearing heavier clothing until one day I was doing all the exercises with a full set of plate mail that was custom made for me. By the time I was ten years of age she started teaching me a range of techniques to use in all sorts of situations. Throw the daggers, swing the ax, block her strike, block the same strike with something besides a shield, and even fight a boar with nothing but a rock. I did them all just to accomplish my dream, a dream to protect the nation I lived in, a dream to protect my friends, and finally a dream to protect my mother, to become stronger than her.
Coming out of my thoughts of self melancholy, I begin to pick up the pace a little more when I can see far into the distance a carriage at the foot of the hill that belonged to the Winchester family. The Winchester family was both a family of merchants and the same family that made the sword that was clinking at my side. They made it as their greatest trick. What type of knight would use something like this, a sword with hidden features? I kept telling them that knights are honorable people that wouldn’t resort to any type of trickery and still successfully defend the people. I used to keep insisting this until they kidnapped their own son, whom was my best friend at the time, and showed me that some things can’t be solved with honor. Sometimes you have to drop the honor act and use what you have on you of which my mother had always told me anyways. This was also when I learned to pick a lock for the first time, but maybe smashing down a door after getting frustrated that I couldn’t actually pick it doesn’t really count for picking a lock. Now if at the time I had this sword on me at the time I don’t think I would have had to break down the door
I can see in the distance a hill, in which the path leading up to the top of the hill is in need of some heavy maintenance with trees growing directly through the middle of the path. A carriage that seems to have rotten from years of stagnation rest ever so closer to the foot of the hill, never to make it up and over to the town that might of needed it. Slowing down my pace for the first time in two days as the metal around my body clinks uniformly all around me, I take a glance at the carriage and see the same old bones of the local merchants that came back to the town, after visiting the capital, at the worst of times. Maybe the whole town was just caught up in something that people couldn’t even fathom of happening in a so called time of peace. Finally at the back of the carriage I bring my pace to a complete halt.
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thetiniestsnowman 