Post by Deleted on Apr 9, 2015 16:12:40 GMT -5
The early dawn rose in amber weaves, bleeding into the darkness of the night that had come before. The smell of a freshly lit fire filled the chambers, well matched to the gentle crackling of the wood drying and burning in the hearth. Outside the window a bird cawed its lonely morning greeting, until a cascading cacophony erupted and the dawn’s chorus sang in its beauty and glory, hundreds of voices praising The Maker for the new day.
Still wrapped in the warmth of her bed-furs, Gwynver stirred. She rolled her slender frame from side to back and wearily opened her eyes. She felt dehydrated and behind her eyes a light headache already began to buzz. Blinking, dashing the last of her dreams, she began to stare at the ceiling. Obstinately she refused to give up her warm comforts for the cold morning and its lessons. Her azure eyes sparkled as they stared at the stars above her.
When she was younger her father had helped her paint them there, so that, even when she was indoors she could feel that she was outside- sleeping under the stars. He had always supported her quirky love of the world beyond the homestead walls and for that she loved him the most. In fondness and encouragement for her love of nature he had given her the nickname Kestrel and as a child she put true belief into that name. Sometimes she was like a bird, flying high above everything else. Now, most of her family called her by that endearing term. It was a sign that she wasn’t quite as grown up as she thought she was in their eyes and that perhaps she wasn’t ready to lose the sense of floating freedom the pet-name seemed to give her.
Her eyes travelled over the little white and yellow painted stars and she smiled to herself, stretching lazily in her bedding. Her shoulders felt stiff and her toes curled and uncurled as she brought herself around to the world, slowly and steadily.
As she lay there Gwyn’s mind cast back to the night before and the lecture her mother had once more bestowed upon her. It wasn’t an argument, her mother was too hot-head and Gwyn was too calm for there to be an argument, no, rather she sat and listened to her mother’s sermon and speeches as she ate her supper. Often, Gwynver would ignore the woman, but today perhaps she was caught on the hop because she found herself trying to reason, trying to give detail of her passion.
Gwynver longed to go to the city, to the coronation and to the courts of the royal family. She had made her formal request to her parents and it had turned into another of her mother’s bug-baring attacks on Gwynver. Always, her mother came back to the fact that Gwyn wanted to be treated differently to other girls her age. If Gwyn had heard her mother use the words ‘when I was your age’ once then she had heard them a thousand times.
She took a last stretch and finally rolled from the warm cave she had made. Her bare feet pressed down onto the cold stones and she rose quickly to watch in the basin that had been placed to warm beside the fire. Everyone knew that Gwyn liked to be left alone to dress and bath herself. It wasn’t unheard of for a girl of her age to have self-awareness and body-conscious issues, but the scar that started at her heart and encased the left side of her chest and arm in pink and white wrinkles was another bone of contention that it wasn’t worth starting the day by scratching.
Gwyn took a soft coral coloured gown from the back of the chair where it had been laid out for her. She ran her fingers over the rich material and sighed a little as she, once clean and dry, tugged it over her head and quickly thrust her arms into the long sleeves. The dress was cut well and hung all the way to the floor as it sheathed her slender 5’5 frame. But still a hint of rebellion remained within the girl as she forced her still bare feet into a pair of soft leather ankle boots. Gwyn did not bother to tame her wild, curly, chocolate brown hair as she swept out of her chambers. She started down the halls, moving silently and with the grace of a bird, her mind one on thing now that she had focused herself to the business of the day.
This morning she had the best intentions of avoiding both her parents company and seeking out her aunt or uncles, where she would pose her request to them instead. She was old enough to be married- yes, she was aware of that, her mother took great pleasures in reminding her- but that should also mean that she was old enough to be more useful to their family name than just a silly, scarred little girl.
~~
Possibly @arturcadag / @vittoria / Eirian Connell / @fiolethcadaga / @merthencadag
Still wrapped in the warmth of her bed-furs, Gwynver stirred. She rolled her slender frame from side to back and wearily opened her eyes. She felt dehydrated and behind her eyes a light headache already began to buzz. Blinking, dashing the last of her dreams, she began to stare at the ceiling. Obstinately she refused to give up her warm comforts for the cold morning and its lessons. Her azure eyes sparkled as they stared at the stars above her.
When she was younger her father had helped her paint them there, so that, even when she was indoors she could feel that she was outside- sleeping under the stars. He had always supported her quirky love of the world beyond the homestead walls and for that she loved him the most. In fondness and encouragement for her love of nature he had given her the nickname Kestrel and as a child she put true belief into that name. Sometimes she was like a bird, flying high above everything else. Now, most of her family called her by that endearing term. It was a sign that she wasn’t quite as grown up as she thought she was in their eyes and that perhaps she wasn’t ready to lose the sense of floating freedom the pet-name seemed to give her.
Her eyes travelled over the little white and yellow painted stars and she smiled to herself, stretching lazily in her bedding. Her shoulders felt stiff and her toes curled and uncurled as she brought herself around to the world, slowly and steadily.
As she lay there Gwyn’s mind cast back to the night before and the lecture her mother had once more bestowed upon her. It wasn’t an argument, her mother was too hot-head and Gwyn was too calm for there to be an argument, no, rather she sat and listened to her mother’s sermon and speeches as she ate her supper. Often, Gwynver would ignore the woman, but today perhaps she was caught on the hop because she found herself trying to reason, trying to give detail of her passion.
Gwynver longed to go to the city, to the coronation and to the courts of the royal family. She had made her formal request to her parents and it had turned into another of her mother’s bug-baring attacks on Gwynver. Always, her mother came back to the fact that Gwyn wanted to be treated differently to other girls her age. If Gwyn had heard her mother use the words ‘when I was your age’ once then she had heard them a thousand times.
She took a last stretch and finally rolled from the warm cave she had made. Her bare feet pressed down onto the cold stones and she rose quickly to watch in the basin that had been placed to warm beside the fire. Everyone knew that Gwyn liked to be left alone to dress and bath herself. It wasn’t unheard of for a girl of her age to have self-awareness and body-conscious issues, but the scar that started at her heart and encased the left side of her chest and arm in pink and white wrinkles was another bone of contention that it wasn’t worth starting the day by scratching.
Gwyn took a soft coral coloured gown from the back of the chair where it had been laid out for her. She ran her fingers over the rich material and sighed a little as she, once clean and dry, tugged it over her head and quickly thrust her arms into the long sleeves. The dress was cut well and hung all the way to the floor as it sheathed her slender 5’5 frame. But still a hint of rebellion remained within the girl as she forced her still bare feet into a pair of soft leather ankle boots. Gwyn did not bother to tame her wild, curly, chocolate brown hair as she swept out of her chambers. She started down the halls, moving silently and with the grace of a bird, her mind one on thing now that she had focused herself to the business of the day.
This morning she had the best intentions of avoiding both her parents company and seeking out her aunt or uncles, where she would pose her request to them instead. She was old enough to be married- yes, she was aware of that, her mother took great pleasures in reminding her- but that should also mean that she was old enough to be more useful to their family name than just a silly, scarred little girl.
~~
Possibly @arturcadag / @vittoria / Eirian Connell / @fiolethcadaga / @merthencadag