Your Writing: Amanda Peter
Prologue:
At the edge of the encampment, a woman lays flat on her pallet, stuggline to give birth to her firstborn child. Her brow is coated with sweat, and she grits her teeth, trying not to scream in pain, as the contractions, each one more powerful than the one before, grip her bulging midsection. The midwife stands at her side, materials at the ready, prepared to assist when the need arises. A tall man, his long broadsword belted to his chest with another across his back, stands near the entrance to the shelter, watching and waiting...
The sun is just beginning to set when the thin, annoyed screams of newborn infants finally emerge from the tent near the edge of the encampment. Mere minutes later, the man emergest, carrying two infants. He raises them high in the air and shouts to the crowd that has gathered, "Hear and witness! I claim these children as my own to carry on my legacy!"
From that moment, though they are only minutes out of the womb, their fates are sealed.
* * *
Two young children, a boy and a girl, stand silently beside their father, staring out at the shifting sands of the desert. The Kahlim Mountains rise gracefully in the distance, the setting sun appearing to balance precariously on their misty peaks.
The children, eight years old now, are nearly identical. Their straight black locks and glittering onyx eyes set them apart from the rest of their people. Their only distinguishing features being the lengths of their hair, with the girl-child's slightly longer. Both wear lightweight garments that shield their entire bodies from the harsh, burning rays of the desert sun, and each carries several long daggers at the belt. Even their expressions are identical, stern and harsh, making them seem older than they truly are. They are old souls housed in young bodies; children who have never known childhood. The children rarely speak, save to each other, and are nearly always in each other's company. They can always be found within sight of each other, as though afraid that should they separate, they would never again see one another.
Finally, the man turns and reenters the encampment, but the children stay where they are, facing the setting sun. They remain standing side-by-side until long after the sun has sunk below the horizon, thoughts and emotions flowing between them through the twin-link, comfortable in their outward silence.
* * *
The children have reached their eleventh year, and they are inseparable. When they stand side-by-side, it is nearly impossible to tell them apart, so alike are they in look and manner. Even their builds are alike, despite the fact that one is male and the other female. The only thing that truly defines one from the other is the length of their hair, as the girl's hangs nearly to her waist, despite being restrained in a tail set high on her head.
Their eyes glitter like polished black onyx in their tanned faces, their hands calloused from hard work and daily training. Now, they wear heavy broadswords in addition to the daggers. These children seem too small to be able to carry such large weapons, yet each wields it with surprising ease. Already, they can defeat nearly half the warriors of the tribe, and are well on their way to being strong and skilled enough to force the rest to their knees.
* * *
Two teenagers, features almost perfectly identical, stand in the center of the practice ring, preparing to spar. They are fourteen now, just on the edge of adulthood, and have learned all that their father can teach them. During sparring, they have each defeated all of the other hunters and warriors in the tribe, proving that, alone, each is more than powerful. But together, with their twin-bond linking them, they are nearly impossible to beat. They have forced even their father, the strongest and most skilled of the tribe's swordsmen, to kneel before them in the ring. The only ones they cannot triumph over are each other.
They salute each other and draw their swords in unison, the harsh sound of metal-on-leather creating a unique harmony between them. Then they begin. Their blades come together with a loud clang, and the fight begins. It becomes a dance of blades and bodies as each tries in vain to force the other to the ground. Here, facing each other, the twin-bond that aids them so well against other is their enemy. Just as they sense each other's moves when fighting together against others, so does the same occur now.
Finally, they come together for the last time, blades locked. Though they can last for hours, these battles always end in a draw, whether it be daggers against swords or sword against sword. Not matter how fierce they fight, neither twin can defeat the other, for they are equally matched in skill and strength. Yet these battles are not in vain. With each fight against each other, they increase their stamina and agility. They learn other ways of combating foes, and build not only their individual strengths, but their combined strength and that of their twin-bond, as well.
In the beginning, their father set out to teach them the way of the sword, the path of the blade, but even he never dreamed just how far they would go down that path. Now, as he watches them simply stand together in center of the area, dripping sweat and content in each other's company, he wonders what he has created, and just what his creations, no, his children, will become.
At the edge of the encampment, a woman lays flat on her pallet, stuggline to give birth to her firstborn child. Her brow is coated with sweat, and she grits her teeth, trying not to scream in pain, as the contractions, each one more powerful than the one before, grip her bulging midsection. The midwife stands at her side, materials at the ready, prepared to assist when the need arises. A tall man, his long broadsword belted to his chest with another across his back, stands near the entrance to the shelter, watching and waiting...
The sun is just beginning to set when the thin, annoyed screams of newborn infants finally emerge from the tent near the edge of the encampment. Mere minutes later, the man emergest, carrying two infants. He raises them high in the air and shouts to the crowd that has gathered, "Hear and witness! I claim these children as my own to carry on my legacy!"
From that moment, though they are only minutes out of the womb, their fates are sealed.
* * *
Two young children, a boy and a girl, stand silently beside their father, staring out at the shifting sands of the desert. The Kahlim Mountains rise gracefully in the distance, the setting sun appearing to balance precariously on their misty peaks.
The children, eight years old now, are nearly identical. Their straight black locks and glittering onyx eyes set them apart from the rest of their people. Their only distinguishing features being the lengths of their hair, with the girl-child's slightly longer. Both wear lightweight garments that shield their entire bodies from the harsh, burning rays of the desert sun, and each carries several long daggers at the belt. Even their expressions are identical, stern and harsh, making them seem older than they truly are. They are old souls housed in young bodies; children who have never known childhood. The children rarely speak, save to each other, and are nearly always in each other's company. They can always be found within sight of each other, as though afraid that should they separate, they would never again see one another.
Finally, the man turns and reenters the encampment, but the children stay where they are, facing the setting sun. They remain standing side-by-side until long after the sun has sunk below the horizon, thoughts and emotions flowing between them through the twin-link, comfortable in their outward silence.
* * *
The children have reached their eleventh year, and they are inseparable. When they stand side-by-side, it is nearly impossible to tell them apart, so alike are they in look and manner. Even their builds are alike, despite the fact that one is male and the other female. The only thing that truly defines one from the other is the length of their hair, as the girl's hangs nearly to her waist, despite being restrained in a tail set high on her head.
Their eyes glitter like polished black onyx in their tanned faces, their hands calloused from hard work and daily training. Now, they wear heavy broadswords in addition to the daggers. These children seem too small to be able to carry such large weapons, yet each wields it with surprising ease. Already, they can defeat nearly half the warriors of the tribe, and are well on their way to being strong and skilled enough to force the rest to their knees.
* * *
Two teenagers, features almost perfectly identical, stand in the center of the practice ring, preparing to spar. They are fourteen now, just on the edge of adulthood, and have learned all that their father can teach them. During sparring, they have each defeated all of the other hunters and warriors in the tribe, proving that, alone, each is more than powerful. But together, with their twin-bond linking them, they are nearly impossible to beat. They have forced even their father, the strongest and most skilled of the tribe's swordsmen, to kneel before them in the ring. The only ones they cannot triumph over are each other.
They salute each other and draw their swords in unison, the harsh sound of metal-on-leather creating a unique harmony between them. Then they begin. Their blades come together with a loud clang, and the fight begins. It becomes a dance of blades and bodies as each tries in vain to force the other to the ground. Here, facing each other, the twin-bond that aids them so well against other is their enemy. Just as they sense each other's moves when fighting together against others, so does the same occur now.
Finally, they come together for the last time, blades locked. Though they can last for hours, these battles always end in a draw, whether it be daggers against swords or sword against sword. Not matter how fierce they fight, neither twin can defeat the other, for they are equally matched in skill and strength. Yet these battles are not in vain. With each fight against each other, they increase their stamina and agility. They learn other ways of combating foes, and build not only their individual strengths, but their combined strength and that of their twin-bond, as well.
In the beginning, their father set out to teach them the way of the sword, the path of the blade, but even he never dreamed just how far they would go down that path. Now, as he watches them simply stand together in center of the area, dripping sweat and content in each other's company, he wonders what he has created, and just what his creations, no, his children, will become.
Labels: Creative Writing, Talent, Your Writing
posted by Maggie | 12:40 PM
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