@-8--The Love of a Rose--8-@
Martin laid on his back. Up in the sky, clouds floated. It was little surprise, Martin saw one shaped like a rose. The sun reflected on it so that it had a red hue. Martin clenched his paw and stood. He was in Mossflower Woods. Somewhere. Travelling. Where he was headed, no one knew. Maybe not even him. He'd somewhat gotten over the death of Felladoh the Wrestler, but was still was saddened by the death of one he loved more. With all his heart.
Martin swiftly unsheathed his sword and, in a blur, swung. He then took a few practice swings. Looking around, he spotted an apple. Perfect for a quick snack. All the travelling had made his hungry. Martin neatly cut the apple in two. It fell to the ground. Reaching down to pick the two slices up, he saw in the middle, the seeds were shaped much like a rose. The apple was left, uneaten.
He was thirsty even more, though. Martin took a cup out of his haversack. He could here the trickle of water from a stream nearby. The water was so clear. So crystal clear. At the bottom was a pure white stone. Most of the stone had been smoothed out by the current. Martin could see some scratches on it distinctly, though. It seemed there was a rose sketched on it. Martin splashed the water, making the vision of the stone cloudy.
Farther upstream, Martin dipped his cup into the water, wearily. Soon, he'd have to camp for the night. It was getting dark. Martin took a long drink of the cool water. It'd only been a few seasons since Badrang's reign had ended. Martin missed all his friends. Timballisto, Brome, all of them. Martin dipped the cup in the river again and was about to take another sip. He then noticed. The cup was made out of rosewood. Martin cast the cup down in frustration and threw his paws over his head.
As Martin went even farther upstream, he saw a spider hanging in its web. A spider's web, one of natures own art. It was beautiful. Martin could see the web even in the darkening evening. Yes, beautiful indeed. He walked up to it. Carefully, he reached out to it. His claw reached it and he touched it gingerly. Sadness washed over him as he looked carefully. Woven in the web was the likeliness of a rose. Martin sighed and walked on. The weight of her death upon his heart.
Martin was nearing a pine grove. He could smell the pine from where he was. The bitter sweet smell engulfed him. Martin's footpaws were sore. In the grove, he decided, he'd camp. With the soft nettles, it'd be perfect. Anyway, the sky was getting very dark. Martin tried his best to ignore the sunset. Sunset as red as a rose.
In the grove, Martin set out a thin blanket on the ground. With the nettles as cushions, Martin lay down. It was cold. He couldn't help shivering. "I've got to get a fire going." Martin muttered. He wrapped the blanket around him and went over to a tree. A pine tree. Martin picked up his sword off the ground. There was some resin on the bark of the pine. It had frozen in the cold of the winter season. At closer examination, the resin had many marks on it that may have resembled a rose. Martin growled and let the blade of his sword bite into the tree.
Martin held the flint against the sword. He was trying to set the pine on fire. It was hard with some of the sap covering the bark. Martin tried to peel off some of the bark. There was no success. Martin went at it again with the flint. Finally, a spark set the wood on fire. Martin started to warm himself, sitting close to the fire. The fire crackled, as it does when pine wood is set on fire. Sparks flew in the air. One burst. It shaped, for a split second, like a rose. Martin groaned and smothered the fire with living nettles.
Martin soon fell asleep. He dreamed of many things, such as his days with his father and when he was a wretched slave in Badrang's castle. He woke with a start. Martin could tell winter was setting in. He shook his head, ridding his eyes of sleep. He yawned and stretched his arms. It was just before dawn. The dew was frozen on the little patch of grass poking up from the nettles. And, as you may have guessed, the intricate patterns of frost shaped like a rose. Martin got up and stomped on the grass.
Martin packed up his blanket and put his haversack over his shoulder. The sun started to rise. In about five minutes, the sun rose a little over the horizon. He walked to the stream, wanting to wash his whiskers and face. Martin dipped his paws in the water and brought them up to his face, scrubbing vigorously. He put his paws back down in the water. Martin stopped immediately. In the water floated a rose.
And Martin wept.
~~~~Okey, I'm gonna dedicate this story to Mariel Gullwhacker, for the inspiration from her stories and 'cause I'm pretty sure that she likes Rose & Martin a lot. (: Sooo, what do you think of the story?~~~~
Martin laid on his back. Up in the sky, clouds floated. It was little surprise, Martin saw one shaped like a rose. The sun reflected on it so that it had a red hue. Martin clenched his paw and stood. He was in Mossflower Woods. Somewhere. Travelling. Where he was headed, no one knew. Maybe not even him. He'd somewhat gotten over the death of Felladoh the Wrestler, but was still was saddened by the death of one he loved more. With all his heart.
Martin swiftly unsheathed his sword and, in a blur, swung. He then took a few practice swings. Looking around, he spotted an apple. Perfect for a quick snack. All the travelling had made his hungry. Martin neatly cut the apple in two. It fell to the ground. Reaching down to pick the two slices up, he saw in the middle, the seeds were shaped much like a rose. The apple was left, uneaten.
He was thirsty even more, though. Martin took a cup out of his haversack. He could here the trickle of water from a stream nearby. The water was so clear. So crystal clear. At the bottom was a pure white stone. Most of the stone had been smoothed out by the current. Martin could see some scratches on it distinctly, though. It seemed there was a rose sketched on it. Martin splashed the water, making the vision of the stone cloudy.
Farther upstream, Martin dipped his cup into the water, wearily. Soon, he'd have to camp for the night. It was getting dark. Martin took a long drink of the cool water. It'd only been a few seasons since Badrang's reign had ended. Martin missed all his friends. Timballisto, Brome, all of them. Martin dipped the cup in the river again and was about to take another sip. He then noticed. The cup was made out of rosewood. Martin cast the cup down in frustration and threw his paws over his head.
As Martin went even farther upstream, he saw a spider hanging in its web. A spider's web, one of natures own art. It was beautiful. Martin could see the web even in the darkening evening. Yes, beautiful indeed. He walked up to it. Carefully, he reached out to it. His claw reached it and he touched it gingerly. Sadness washed over him as he looked carefully. Woven in the web was the likeliness of a rose. Martin sighed and walked on. The weight of her death upon his heart.
Martin was nearing a pine grove. He could smell the pine from where he was. The bitter sweet smell engulfed him. Martin's footpaws were sore. In the grove, he decided, he'd camp. With the soft nettles, it'd be perfect. Anyway, the sky was getting very dark. Martin tried his best to ignore the sunset. Sunset as red as a rose.
In the grove, Martin set out a thin blanket on the ground. With the nettles as cushions, Martin lay down. It was cold. He couldn't help shivering. "I've got to get a fire going." Martin muttered. He wrapped the blanket around him and went over to a tree. A pine tree. Martin picked up his sword off the ground. There was some resin on the bark of the pine. It had frozen in the cold of the winter season. At closer examination, the resin had many marks on it that may have resembled a rose. Martin growled and let the blade of his sword bite into the tree.
Martin held the flint against the sword. He was trying to set the pine on fire. It was hard with some of the sap covering the bark. Martin tried to peel off some of the bark. There was no success. Martin went at it again with the flint. Finally, a spark set the wood on fire. Martin started to warm himself, sitting close to the fire. The fire crackled, as it does when pine wood is set on fire. Sparks flew in the air. One burst. It shaped, for a split second, like a rose. Martin groaned and smothered the fire with living nettles.
Martin soon fell asleep. He dreamed of many things, such as his days with his father and when he was a wretched slave in Badrang's castle. He woke with a start. Martin could tell winter was setting in. He shook his head, ridding his eyes of sleep. He yawned and stretched his arms. It was just before dawn. The dew was frozen on the little patch of grass poking up from the nettles. And, as you may have guessed, the intricate patterns of frost shaped like a rose. Martin got up and stomped on the grass.
Martin packed up his blanket and put his haversack over his shoulder. The sun started to rise. In about five minutes, the sun rose a little over the horizon. He walked to the stream, wanting to wash his whiskers and face. Martin dipped his paws in the water and brought them up to his face, scrubbing vigorously. He put his paws back down in the water. Martin stopped immediately. In the water floated a rose.
And Martin wept.
~~~~Okey, I'm gonna dedicate this story to Mariel Gullwhacker, for the inspiration from her stories and 'cause I'm pretty sure that she likes Rose & Martin a lot. (: Sooo, what do you think of the story?~~~~