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Saturday, August 18, 2007
Post posty post post
I suggest someone starts a Lord of the rings club on Myo. I would do it but alas my computer messes up daily so I cant sign out and then sign back in.
This post if for the purpose of an opinion on the start of my response to FutureNovelists latest challenge.
Please read and comment on it, it's not that long, only about a page of typeing. I'll love ya for ever ^_^ (dearly)
Winters grasp
Across the endless expanse of the white blanket, tiny snow drops falling from the sky sparkling like crystals from frozen treasure, she trudged. Trenches revealed her past path, deep lines in the white feature, shadowed grey to black by the gloomy light.
The wind sung through the snow covered valley, the verdant land hibernating in winters grasp. Far off in the distance stood the tall bulks of ancient mountains, snow pilled over the treacherous slopes of which were lost high into the wispy grey clouds.
Puffs of air left the girls wind-chapped russet lips in clouds of warm mist. Her cheeks tinted red with cold. Her features are dainty and pale, even against the snows. A small button nose rested above full lips, her cheeks were full and round accenting the circular shape of her head. But the most extraordinary feature that graced her face was her eyes.
Not blue, not brown, as were the most common of the colors among the men and woman that walked this earth, no they were of the rarest color. A pair of deep honey-glazed pale lavender eyes rested beneath pale eyebrows and black lashes. Among their depths laid tales of old, and wise beyond the years gracing her young stature. They held brief flashes of emotion but they remained as mellow as the winter herself, serene and calm.
She walked amongst the barren trees, eyes downcast to the white mass, the mountains looming as her distant destination. A long faded riding cape adorned her weak shoulders, a hood hung carelessly behind against her back. She wore an earthy sweater and tight seal hide leggings that were tucked into thin fabric boots, their skin dyed with melted snow, thin tendrils of frozen water which cracked and broke with her every step.
Her arms swung limply at her sides beneath the came, her fingers turning blue with cold but she noticed not the frozen feeling that tore at her appendages.
Her hair was that of thread of flaxen pale sun, the tips of which bled into a pale silver. Shoulder length it hung around her head in curtain floated on the passing breeze that bit at her exposed flesh.
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