A/N Hello, you will have to tell me if this chapter is as confusing to you
as it is to me. My mother is working on papers and I can't ask her to help
(she said I could but I think I should not) on grammar.
Dedicated to: Clawtracks of a Star by neutral the story gave me inspiration, also I went into my reviews and looked for the 50th found reviewer it! Anakah you are the 50th!!!!
The poem of the chapter:
A Walk At Dusk. Tory Ann B.
Can thee hear the wind? It rustles the leaves.
In a quiet tune, it plays the trees.
Brief songs drift in: Chirps, peeps and twitters Of the
bird's imperfect melodies.
From the stream the drummers go
Abrupt, nadir, their notes so low,
they seem to vault the mossy banks
and strike the ear with, one quick blow. Then, crickets, in the smooth, short grass
Sing together as I pass;
Reflect the singing of the stars
As each one comes to tap and spark.
Against the sky's blue looking glass.
'If they caught me, what would happen? They would be angry...' my feet carried me faster; breathing became hard and ragged, coming in wisps, but not returning. "Harry, slow down kid" a strong hand grabbed my waist, pulling my tired feet from the floor.
I struggled against the hand, however it only brought me closer.
"Harry, shhh its-" the voice was worried but at the time my mind grew numb to the emotion that laced it. "Let me go! Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" The hand loosened at my pleas but did not drop me.
"Sorry for what, Harry?" the voice was calming, asking me a question I had never heard before and was perplexed at how to answer.
"I...I don't know" the hand turned me, and through my tears a glimpse of my father, the man this morning I had said I needed to protect my self from.
Hands moved; shifting over my form to cradle me. "Please let me go! I'll do anything!" I pleaded with the man.
"Don't run is all you have to do" he placed me down.
No restraints weighted my body, and he- my father had no anger in his eyes, I remember standing there looking into his eyes, as if watching for them to wash with anger, but they never did.
"Harry, can I give you a tip?" still I stared. Tip? Abruptly a sentence came to mind; 'let me give you a tip boy!' at the memory I swallowed my mouth once more dry.
"If you want to go some place, ask the paintings and they'll tell you" He seemed to be trying to start a conversation just as the other man had.
"Really?" my hopes lighted, I had heard stories from Godric of paintings; who spoke riddles, told jokes hid in another sketch to talk to another. Was this man talking of this?
He smiled, lips spreading from the frown once there. "Yes, would you like to meet one?"
"Yes," I had meant to continue, to ask if I could see his wand, but the question slipped into the back of my mind.
"Who would you like to meet? We have a knight, a young boy who's name I don't know an angel, and many more but others are far from us" he had bent to my level, I wanted to flinch but held my body stiff, though it wore out as he placed his hand gently on my shoulder.
"I apologize Harry, I wont do that again" I stared transfixed on him, at those words I felt as if I should have shaken him.
'Why why did you say that' but I held back. 'Why was he saying that?' I was confused was he telling me he had made the mistake not I?
Dedicated to: Clawtracks of a Star by neutral the story gave me inspiration, also I went into my reviews and looked for the 50th found reviewer it! Anakah you are the 50th!!!!
The poem of the chapter:
A Walk At Dusk. Tory Ann B.
Can thee hear the wind? It rustles the leaves.
In a quiet tune, it plays the trees.
Brief songs drift in: Chirps, peeps and twitters Of the
bird's imperfect melodies.
From the stream the drummers go
Abrupt, nadir, their notes so low,
they seem to vault the mossy banks
and strike the ear with, one quick blow. Then, crickets, in the smooth, short grass
Sing together as I pass;
Reflect the singing of the stars
As each one comes to tap and spark.
Against the sky's blue looking glass.
'If they caught me, what would happen? They would be angry...' my feet carried me faster; breathing became hard and ragged, coming in wisps, but not returning. "Harry, slow down kid" a strong hand grabbed my waist, pulling my tired feet from the floor.
I struggled against the hand, however it only brought me closer.
"Harry, shhh its-" the voice was worried but at the time my mind grew numb to the emotion that laced it. "Let me go! Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" The hand loosened at my pleas but did not drop me.
"Sorry for what, Harry?" the voice was calming, asking me a question I had never heard before and was perplexed at how to answer.
"I...I don't know" the hand turned me, and through my tears a glimpse of my father, the man this morning I had said I needed to protect my self from.
Hands moved; shifting over my form to cradle me. "Please let me go! I'll do anything!" I pleaded with the man.
"Don't run is all you have to do" he placed me down.
No restraints weighted my body, and he- my father had no anger in his eyes, I remember standing there looking into his eyes, as if watching for them to wash with anger, but they never did.
"Harry, can I give you a tip?" still I stared. Tip? Abruptly a sentence came to mind; 'let me give you a tip boy!' at the memory I swallowed my mouth once more dry.
"If you want to go some place, ask the paintings and they'll tell you" He seemed to be trying to start a conversation just as the other man had.
"Really?" my hopes lighted, I had heard stories from Godric of paintings; who spoke riddles, told jokes hid in another sketch to talk to another. Was this man talking of this?
He smiled, lips spreading from the frown once there. "Yes, would you like to meet one?"
"Yes," I had meant to continue, to ask if I could see his wand, but the question slipped into the back of my mind.
"Who would you like to meet? We have a knight, a young boy who's name I don't know an angel, and many more but others are far from us" he had bent to my level, I wanted to flinch but held my body stiff, though it wore out as he placed his hand gently on my shoulder.
"I apologize Harry, I wont do that again" I stared transfixed on him, at those words I felt as if I should have shaken him.
'Why why did you say that' but I held back. 'Why was he saying that?' I was confused was he telling me he had made the mistake not I?