Inspired by a three year old who stabbed me endlessly and then fed me imaginary food from a slinky. Ah to be young again.
Delilah honed her blade as she looked out at the woods they were to enter. She wore armor, though it had the frills of ceremony. Her mother may have taught her to be a warrior-princess, but a princess was still to look elegant.
“Princess, we should continue on.” Sir Lasit had known her parents and been at their side decades ago. He returned recently from his own sojourners and gladly joined the knights of the castle.
“As you say. I’ve some rations left if it pleases you.” She handed him dried banana chips and he put three in his mouth, slowly gnawing on them in the back of his mouth. The rest he placed in a satchel.
“Too kind as always,” Lasit winked at her and grinned, his eyes turning into crescents as his cheeks lifted. It was an infectious smile and she couldn’t help but laugh a little. Feigned hurt took the place of the smile, “Have I become a jester, m’lady.”
“No, good sir. Just a sweet old man.” The knight offered his hand and she took it, standing, the smile returning to his face.
“So now I’m old? I’ve not long for this earth.” They both laughed, making their way into the forest.
The myths of the forest were many. Some said there were creatures which had a poison to turn the blood and flesh to stone, which they would chew. Other beasts lived under the soil and waited for travelers. They would sing a song and put the unaware to sleep, feasting on the dreaming victims. A dozen other stories touched the forest, each more horrific than the last, but the forest was between the princess and her castle. There wasn’t time to go around, as was customary, and the roads were likely already guarded by the invading nation. A sneak attack after years of peace. She scoffed at this, glaring forward.
The forest was beautiful. Green leaves and beautiful shrubs hid any hint of the insidious rumors. Don’t let your guard down, she chanted, the words Lasit had spoken to her often as they executed the plan. It was nearly a mantra she had spoken it so often.
End. Yep, that’s it. All I have this morning for the blog. Time to write a novel.
...like butta' on your toast!
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