Chapter 1:
The castle bailey was filled with the succulent smell of Pepper's special Rosemary Roast as my friends, Jethro and Gunther, and I sat at the table. The boys conversed - debated, really - about the weather, the harvest, and the current famine as I stared at nothing and everything, numbering my obervations.
Smoke was piling out of the chimney of the kitchen, the sun was setting on the western horizon-
"-but really, Gunther," Jethro said, blonde hair catching in the last rays of the setting sun, " think about it. If it rains now, it would completely destroy what little crops the farmers are bringing in. They'd drown if a sudden storm hit, and we can't handle that while it is so close to winter!" Jethro slammed his soot-caked blacksmith gloves down on the table for dramatic emphasis.
-the garden was looking lush and green, and-
Gunther shook his head. "Smithy," he said, calling Jethro by his petname, "you don't get it. That's exactly what we need! If prices on food go up, farmers get more income and the economy is stimulated!" Gunther stated, scratching the newly-accumulated scruff on his chin cockily, "We could use this small famine for the greater good!" Jethro threw up his arms passionately.
-there were forty-three whorls on the wood of the table, an anthill was accumulating on the gray cobblestones-
"Sure, if the 'Greater Good' is your father's pocket!" the blacksmith exclaimed. While Gunther himself was a young knight, his father, the Merchant, was a rich and somewhat arrogant man in town who had earned the reputation of a swindler; always looking for the quickest shilling. Amazingly, though, our noble ruler, King Caradoc the Great, employed the dirty rascal on a frequent basis.
I sighed as they continued their conversation, wondering why I was even in the vicinity of these two.
"Do you have something to say about my father, swine-handler?" Gunther growled, standing threateningly, hands clenched.
-there were three birds resting on the clotheslines, a lithe figure was shuffling quickly away from my tower-
I paused my observations and stood suddenly, startling the men's conversation. I smiled tentively at them and scratched my bushy, red head in embarrassment.
"Um, I will catch up with you two later," I said nervously, "I just remembered something I must check on!"
And with that, I sped off to my room; a former storage keep in the top of one of the towers in the castle. It was small and leaky, but it was home.
I sped up the stairs and pushed open the heavy gothic door that lead into my abode. My bed was built into an alcove on the left side of the room, which was originally a mop and broom closet, and my various sentimental knik-naks littered the shelves and mantle. My only set of armour was piled on a practice dummy in the corner, and tapestries hung pendulously from the walls and ceiling. I ignored it all, rushing to my window with bated breath.
The large, west-facing gap in the wall was arched and held a magnificent view of the forrest below. However, what I was interested in was the small, yellow piece of parchment folded neatly and set on the sill, flower pedals and baby's breath strewn carefully over it.
I hurriedly snatched up the letter and swept the flower pedals into the bag where I had been collecting them. I slammed the shutters of my window and kicked the door closed firmly, making sure no one would see as I read my daily letter.
Dear Jane,
I observe my Rose:
My Rose is strong
My Rose is sweet
My Rose is beautiful
My Rose is crimson
My Rose brings laughter
My Rose is you.
I am awaiting you tonight with utmost excitement, my Rose.
A/N: Hey y'all!
Have you ever recieved a love note? Have you ever sent one? Was it a secret admirer, or did you know who it was?
Tell me! I like to hear from my readers!