A Tag and a Reading Challenge

So, my faithful followers, this is my 200th post and you all get a combo deal today! A fun tag I found over at A Writing Maiden and a sweet summer reading challenge over at In The Bookcase! First, the tag -

At This Moment in Time:


1. Choose and post a picture that describes something you really want or feel:

I am, like the girl in the picture, waiting in thoughtful silence and contemplation of the blossoming flowers all around me.

2. Top three thoughts occupying your mind:
a. Marriage.
b. What's for dinner?
c. What am I gonna do tomorrow?

3. Two songs you don't know all the words to, but want to learn:
Amazing Grace and Love Story

4. Book of the Bible you are reading:
Uh, Psalms and whatever book I happen to open up to at the moment.

5. Issue you are working on learning how to defend to a non-Christian:
Hmm, good question....

6. Top thing you are looking forward to:
Becoming a Godly wife and mother

7. Latest accomplishment:
Sorting through my clothes and random items of junk

8. Next accomplishment you hope to ...accomplish! :)
Hahaha! Wouldn't you like to know? ;)

9. Tell me what you think of this tag:
Its short, simple yet creative and fun! :D

10. Tag 6 other people:
I'm going to skip out on this one if that's okay. :)


And now for the wonderful reading challenge! 

Tarissa from In The Bookcase writes, "How would you like to occupy the coming days of summer with the wonderful writings of Louisa May Alcott? It will be a joy for me to read some of her books this year, and I'd love to have some fellow book-readers to accompany me." I personally look forward to delving further into America's famous lady-author this summer. I have yet, however, to figure out how many and which books I shall tackle. *winks* I will soon enough though. In case you missed it, here is the link one more time - do please check it out and join in the fun! http://inthebookcase.blogspot.com/2012/05/louisa-may-alcott-reading-challenge.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+inthebookcase+%28In+The+Bookcase%29

And that's all for now folks! God bless and keep blogging! :)

Random Annoucement.

I just thought I'd take a moment to randomly announce two things. The first is that I've decided to participate in the 1,000 Blessings Challenge hosted by Carrie over at A Writing Maiden blog.

http://awritingmaiden.blogspot.com/2011/06/1000-blessings-challenge.html

And that I'm also gonna try to do the Inkpen Authoress' new writing contest which looks like a ton of fun! I'm not sure what I'm actually gonna write though.

http://inkpenauthoress.blogspot.com/2011/08/new-contest-here-at-inkpen-authoress.html

Catch ya later!

Tower Challenge Seventh Submission!

This is the first chapter in an awesome new novel by one of my best friends! Hope you enjoy it. ;)

Hunting for Hair:

A Rapunzel Retelling

By Chelise Fry.

Chapter One

My parents were extremely paranoid. They never left the cottage past eight o’clock and never strayed from the road for fear of Wolfies. Even when they did go out, they always carried a freshly baked loaf of bread under their cloaks, just in case they got lost and needed to make breadcrumb trails to lead them back home. They never talked to strangers; in fact, they never even looked at strangers. In winter, my mother baked sugar cookies, snickerdoodles, and chocolate shortbread, but she never once made a gingerbread man. She said it was because father didn’t like their taste, but I was always pretty certain it was because he was scared that they might come to life and start running around screaming, “You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!” all over the place. I knew this because he often mumbled those words in a troubled manner between snores during his evening naps. My parents were the type of people who never got into trouble and never had any adventures. They were definitely not the type of people who concealed dark secrets about their pasts, got involved with psychotic witches, had their child stolen away, and ended up with a family curse that made their descendant’s hair grow at alarmingly ridiculous rates. Yet, somehow, they were that type of people, because that is exactly what happened to them.

♥

“Florian,” said father, wheezing as he grabbed the edge of my vest and pulled me close. His voice was grating, his eyes desperate, his breath stale and hot. Bread crumbs dribbled down his still unbearded chin, which had never seen a single hair even though he was seventy years old.

                “Yes, father, I know never to talk to strangers.” I sighed, running my fingers through my short-cropped, blonde hair and staring at the ceiling as I tried not to show the annoying, hot tears that pooled in the corners of my eyes. This is worse than when mother died, I thought. Poor father, he has only me to comfort him as he goes. And I’ve no one after he’s gone. In all honesty, the thought was a bit freeing. I reproached myself sharply for my coldness and tried not to admit it to myself, but there it was.

Having been trapped inside with their paranoia for twenty years had left me somewhat cynical and bitter. My friends were imaginary, furry, or feathered, since I’d never been allowed to play with other children. The windows of our cottage were always boarded up and since we all went to bed at seven o’clock, I had never seen the stars. For a kid who spent every moment his parents weren’t looking making swords out of sticks and pretending to fight dragons and sea monsters, it was a pretty stifling lifestyle. However, I loved my parents dearly. We spent every waking moment together – fishing and gardening with father, chopping wood for mother and watching her bake – and so I had stayed, even when the other young men from the surrounding villages all went off to seek their fortunes. I stayed because I loved them. I stayed because reading about grand adventures in books was almost as good as living them (wasn’t it?). I stayed because, naturally, some of their paranoia had rubbed off on me and that meant I was under the false delusion that staying out past eight o’clock was ‘daring’. But mostly I stayed because of my secret. Because of how much trouble it would cause. Because of how mortified I would be if anyone ever found out about it. Little did I know my parents had secrets too.

            “Yes, and you must never forget that wise piece of advice from your mother. If you talk to strangers, you might get eaten up. But what I really wanted to say is that you must…” he coughed again, turning white and scarlet in turns.

                Taking his trembling hand in my big one, I finished his sentence for him. “Never stay out past eight o’clock, never leave the path, and always carry a loaf of bread no matter where I am going.”   

                “No, no, no!” he spluttered, growing irritated with his inability to finish the sentence the way he wanted. “That’s all exactly as we taught you and most wise, but that’s not what I wanted to say! I wanted to say that you must find your sister!”

                “My sister?” I stared at him in bewilderment. “Find my what…I mean my who? My sister? I don’t have a sister!”

                “Yes, yes you do, my son. Her name is…” he leaned forward in a violent fit of hacking and I helped support his back. “Her name is Rapunzel.”

Tower Challenge Sixth Submission!

Haha! The sixth submission for my writing challenge! Note to Ellie: I'm sorry it took me this long to get your awesome story up at my blog. I've been a bit busy lately and Blogger won't let me comment on blogs with the drop-down comment menu {see previous post}. Anyway, I loved your story! :) Oh and I did a once-over for spelling and grammar, hope you don't mind.

The Towers of the Pah'jera and the Nal'jera {Tower Challenge}

by Ellie.

               “Vivacious tiki torchers!” Lezanne yelled, as was her general expression of wrathful excitation.

            This phrase, while startling to some, held no sway of president over the others in the room at that moment. This phrase in and of itself needs no further description, as it only appears frequently in our story.

            In fact, nobody paid attention to the aforementioned wiry blonde girl until she let out a second yelp, a word considered partially offensive in some circles and then a general screaming dance that drew the attention of Captain Nexley, who at the moment walked into the room.

            “They’re all over us!” burst forth from the captain’s radio.

            “Keep them back, men!” The captain’s reply was cut short by Lezanne who exclaimed:

            “Sir, they’ve got two more fleets of fighters bearing down from their fleet’s left flank. The transports are moving in to land. There’s nothing our men can do. Tiki torchers!”

            There was silence in the room. The captain turned back to his radio

            “Men, fight to your death. We will move the people now!”

            “Roger that sir.” The voice replied.

            There was a long pause as all the planet’s inhabitants, poised at the ready and listening in to the intercom turned grave faces to the sky where the last of their fleet was perishing to save them.

            “You’ve been good men.” The captain said hoarsely.

            “Thank you sir. We die doing our duty.” The voice replied, then clicked off the channel. The captain turned to address the room.

            “Execute plan 30456.” Into his radio: “Prepare for evacuation. Prep the portal. Code 22. Red squadron, keep an eye on logistics. Throw any blocks into the enemy’s path. I need the rest of the troops and able-bodied men to be ready to precede the women and children through the portal to the other side. We don’t know if the Nal’jera are still friendly. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.”

            The group in the room set to work, flipping a number of switches and poking a quantity of buttons and all in all descending upon the room’s interior decoration (to whit, indescribable machinery) with such verve and gravity as to astonish any modern reader.

            Below, in the planet’s complex world of buildings and transport systems men and women rush hither and anon, for the most part congregating themselves and their choice of possessions in a central vertex of the city, a grand chamber directly below the great tower.

            The great tower’s many levels held many things, the largest being the portal-room and the above-mentioned control room. The control room, while grand in itself, held a sense of technology and militarily so far absent from the lower level. The portal room was all begot in glowing marble, lined with gold and studded with gems. It was the holy grail of the Pah’jera people.

            Lezanne and her comrades, having done all they could to deflect the enemy’s attacks, grabbed their bundles of possessions and hurried out, Major Degrass starting the auto-destruct. Missiles had begun to rocket the city sending parts of it down in flames, but once the enemy knew they were gone, they would stop their firing and try to get into the Pah’jera database. But if all went well, the people would be millions of miles away and the planet would be gone, along with the entire enemy’s fleet.

            The portal hummed to life, a glowing pit of light in the middle of the room. Once it was on the captain leaned over it, switching his radio to a different channel.

            “Hello. This is the Pah’jera portal, we request permission to come through.”

            There was a small pause then: “Permission granted, sir”.

            A squad of troopers led the way through the portal. Once on the other side they radioed back: “All’s clear sir. It does seem to be deserted, though…” The man’s slightly troubled voice trailed off into the static.

            Captain Nexley motioned for the common-people to go through next. The infant children whimpered, but the older ones gasped with expressions of ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’. The people were going in a steady stream through when a huge explosion rocked the tower. Women screamed, supplies toppled, and a few fell into the portal in a very ungainly manner.

            “Hurry!” Captain Nexley said. The stream of people sped to maximum capacity. Another explosion, then another rocked the city. Patches of marble began to fall from the ceiling, smashing into the floor. Loud gunfire exploded in the hallway. Everyone raced through the portal at maximum capacity. The scientists were soon the last on deck, loading the few necessary supplies through.

            “Leave the ration-carts!” Nexley yelled. “If the Nal’jera are on the other side, they should be able to provide for us!”

            Another huge explosion rocketed the building. Huge patches of the ceiling fell down, and then part of the tower’s wall collapsed. The smell of acid and explosions wafted into the room. Overhead the enemy’s planes circled menacingly while a few of their own held back one last area of the city.

            Lezanne and her comrades turned and fled towards the portal. As Lezanne stepped into it, she heard an explosion and looked back to see the tower’s roof falling speedily towards her. Then everything was enveloped in gold light. Then she was on the other side and with a rumble and a flicker, the portal went out.

            The other people looked surprised at its disappearance.

            “The roof, of the tower,” Lezanne panted “Was falling down upon it, last I saw.” Captain Nexley nodded.

            “So be it.”

            The main group of civilians huddled together in the main room while bands of scientists and soldiers spread out through the hallways, scanning for signs for the Nal’jera. Radios softly cackled; men flitted through the shadows. The Nal’jera had always been more bonded with nature; whilst the Pah'jera had pushed their society to become the most technologically advanced in the universe. They had come close but the Krahkulhain, their deadly enemies, had discovered a new set of laser weapons and had forced the Pah’jera to evacuate their planet.

            Lezanne’s group headed down a darkened hallway, it twisted and turned then went up a flight of curly stairs. At the top an open door led into a large well-lit room. Inside sat a single occupant: a young girl of about eleven. She turned and stood when the group entered. Her dress was large and ornate, made from gold and red brocade and layers of blue velvet. She had a large headdress on and her face was tattooed and painted wildly.

            She bowed. “Welcome, Pah’jera.” Her voice was young, but calm and steady. “I am Sensi, the Nal’trisha of the Nal’jera. I am the tower-guardian.”

            Lezanne returned: “I am Lezanne, a scientist of the tower of the Pah’jera. These are a handful of our elite soldiers.” then turned to the men behind her. “Go and get Captain Nexley, he will wish to speak with this girl.” The soldiers turned and departed, only one staying positioned outside the door. Lezanne turned to Sensi. The girl smiled.

            “It is a great honor to be the first Nal’trisha to welcome the Pah’jera. The elders will be pleased. Tell me, why did you leave your world? There is not trouble on your side of the galaxy, is there?”

            “Alas.” Lezanne replied, trying to speak in a more dignified manner in the girl’s presence. “The Krahkulhain, darn them, developed bigger blaster cannons and owned us. We had to scram. Tiki Torchers!”

            The girl’s face saddened. “Are these all of your people?”

            “Yes. The other ones got crunchified in the battle.”

            There was silence as the girl stood thinking for a moment. Lezanne’s eyes wandered around the room. Captain Nexley appeared at the door. Lezanne beckoned him forward.

            “Sensi, this is Captain Nexley, the leader of our people.” Sensi bowed and smiled.

            “I am Sensi, the Nal’trisha of the Nal’jera, the tower-guardian. We are pleased to bid you welcome.” She smiled then glanced outside. “We must start now if we are to reach the settlement by nightfall. See, nobody lives in the tower anymore, only each year a girl is picked to be the Nal’trisha and protect the tower.”

            Captain Nexley nodded in understanding. “Let us be going, then.”

            The journey was not long, and led through rolling green hills converted in wildflowers while patches of evergreen dotted the valleys. As night approached, the group beheld a large city glistening on the edge of a long lake. Sensi led the way down into the center, where a golden palace gleamed. Captain Nexley took a handful of warriors and a few of his chief scientists, including Lezanne. They followed Sensi into the court.

            Everything was glinting gold, red and blue. Women in ornate costume flitted about, and women guards stood at the doors. When they were admitted to the throne room, the monarch of the city was a woman, too. The group bowed. Sensi walked to the queen and quietly told her what had happened. When she had finished, the queen turned to her guests.

            “I have heard the story from this Nal’trisha. Welcome, travelers. We are glad to welcome you. Sensi tells me that the portal got destroyed. So be it. The Nal’jera are ready to welcome you forever. Come; let us gather together in celebration.” She stood and everyone followed her out.

            “So after years of war, we finally find a home.” Captain Nexley said to himself. He smiled. He let himself relax for the first time in… forever.

Tower Challenge Fifth Submission!

Hey all! Here is the fifth submission for my challenge, which officially ended yesterday but if you still want to get your submission to me then please, please send it to me or post it to your blog or other social networking site and send me the link. I'd be happy to spend the rest of the month posting last-minute submissions. ;) This submission is by a lovely young lady over at the Fairytale Novels Forum and she's obviously a good writer and very creative.




Tower of Tears by elf Ranger Sulwen The sun felt warm on my face. The wind played with my hair as it danced past. The scent of wild violets and forget-me-nots drifted up to me and filled my soul with content. It was a beautiful day.

I opened my eyes and gazed around the flower-strewn hill. I yearned to take just one step in that soft grass and to meet one of those flowers face to face. It was such a beautiful day, but I was here, and here I would remain.

Here was a tower, the only home I’d ever known. It was high on a hill above a far village, with only small bushes, wild flowers, and lots of green grass. Rabbits, birds, and sometimes a stray pony inhabited the fruitful area and provided me with some entertainment.

I turned away from the wide open window I had been sitting at and back into the tower itself. It was simple, really. It had a small, square fireplace in the center for during the cold winter. A rough table with two chairs sat near it. There was a bookshelf crammed with books. My bed, shaped like a half-moon to fit into the curving wall, was tucked near the opposite window. Near it was a wardrobe and mirror.
To my left was the spiraling stairs that led down to the door. The door I had never stepped through, though it had been opened many times before.

‘Why?’ I thought to myself, though I knew the answer. ‘Why is it that others get to walk free in the world and I have to stay up here?’
The sound of cheerful whistling brought me out of my brooding and back to the window. I leaned out and looked down at the footpath, knowing already who it would be.

A mop of brown hair with a tint of red was making its way up the path to the tower. I smiled brightly when I saw it.

“Dan!” I called to him.

He looked up and waved. I waved back and flew down the tower steps.

I reached the door just as the key turned in the lock. The door opened, and I had that familiar fleeting moment when I was staring out at the sun-kissed world with the wide, free sky and wild things. My heart was gripped with over-powering desire to run into it and never look back. Then Dan stepped inside and closed the door, and the feeling was gone, the thought dying as quickly as it had come alive.

Dan smiled. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes, absolutely gorgeous.” I felt my resentment at having to enjoy it from inside well up inside me and I quickly turned and went up the stairs to hide my feelings. Dan followed.

“Sit down,” I offered, motioning to a chair.

“Thanks,” he said, placing his basket on the table and taking a seat.

The basket was why he was here. It was my week’s supply of food. He always brought it to me. There were other villagers who had the responsibility to bring me things, but he was the only one who was comfortable around me. The others usually made tense conversation or simply left the basket inside the door before quickly retreating down to the village again.

So although Dan was only supposed to bring me food, he often volunteered to bring me my other supplies as well. As a result, we were very good friends.

And yet I always felt a distance between us. He couldn’t quite think of me as just another person he knew. My life was so strange, in his mind I was placed in a special category. I hated it, but I was resigned to it. After all, who could blame him? I was different, boarding on weird.

I silently cursed the neighboring kingdom, the whole reason why I was here. I was told years ago that my parents, rich royalty with a large army, had been at war with the country my tower was now in. A brave soldier had snuck into the castle grounds, stole me as I was out playing, and had brought me back to this tower, where I was to stay until a ransom was paid and a truce signed. My parents had agreed, and I had been watched over in the tower, expecting to be reclaimed in a few weeks. But the weeks had dragged to months, and finally a year. They tried to make contact with my parents, but every messenger was turned away at the border despite every attempt. Finally it came out that my kingdom had been overrun and my parents had fled, disappearing into the wilderness. I would never be ransomed; I was to be forever unclaimed.

I broke out of these thoughts and smiled at Dan again. I prepared us both tea and sat in the other chair. We chatted without thought to the time and to me there was nothing else in the room but his flashing smile and deep green eyes. I was so filled with joy at his presence I forgot all about my troubles and desires. There was only one dream I was thinking of.

Then Dan looked around and said, “Oh goodness, it’s six o’clock already! I should be home; mother will have dinner on the table.”
I stood and faked a smile as he pulled on his cape and started down the stairs. I followed him down, each step seeming to weigh my heart down heavier. I watched with a frozen expression as he took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He opened it and took a step out before stopping and saying good-bye. I numbly said good-bye to him.

“I’ll try to get away tomorrow and come and see you,” he said.

Now my smile was real, and I tried to hide the flush in my face and tears in my eyes. He didn’t know how much I depended on him saying that and how moved I was that he cared enough to say it.

“Thank you,” I said, not allowing my voice to quiver. I wanted to cry. But instead I smiled bravely and brightly. “I hope so, but don’t go out of your way just for me.” Inside I thought, ‘Please go out of your way!’

He smiled again and stepped out. Again that fleeting moment came as I stared out into the dusk at the beautiful freedom staring me back in the face. Then the door closed and locked, leaving me again in darkness. But the physical darkness was nothing compared to the darkness filling my soul.

I slowly dragged myself back up the stairs and looked out the window. Dan’s bright head was just disappearing into the trees around the town. Soon he would be with his family inside a warm house with warm food and he would forget all about me. But I would be here all alone, thinking only of him. I stared out into the sunset sinking below the distant hills and mountains. Through my tears, I looked up at the first stars shining far above me.

Then I sank down into the window seat and looked out at the twilight. I watched the world for a long time. I watched it transform into night and slowly go to sleep. The moon came out and turned my black hair into silver. Every wild flower, every tree, every hill, every blade of grass was outlined with moonlight. It was beautiful, but it could not mend my broken heart. I stayed awake for hours, until finally I cried myself to sleep.

Tower Challenge Fourth Submission!

I know I haven't been posting at all this week but its a very busy week for me and I promise I'll be back to posting more regularly next week. But for now, do enjoy this wonderful short story by one of my best friends, Gabrielle Hellwig. Check out her blog, Legend of a Seamstress, while you're online please. ;)

Tower Challenge Submission

  by Gabrielle Hellwig.

My name is Avi. It means ‘bird’ and Mamma calls me her little bird. That is because I’ve always dreamed of taking wing from our tower and flying away to explore the great, wide world outside.

My father, mother, Little Sister, and I live in a tower in the heart of the Southern Forest. Nothing penetrates here except the sun, rain, and wild animals. I know a tower sounds like a strange home to most of you, but for me and Little Sister, it has always been home. Let me tell you how we came to live here.

Long, long ago, before Father and Mother were married, Father was the king’s bodyguard. There were very close and Father accompanied him everywhere. One evening, Father happened upon one man beating up another. The poor, bloodied victim was near death and no longer able to defend himself. Father made a dash for his attacker but the man escaped, the deepening darkness and a near alley favoring him. The other was already dead, and before Father had made up his mind what to do, several of the dead soul’s kin chanced upon the two. They did not wait for an explanation, but accused Father of murdering their kinsman. They brought him to court and demanded justice. The judge ruled in their favor, and against Father, and a day was set for his execution. That morning, however, Father escaped, taking with him our Mother, to whom he was at that time betrothed. They spent many months in hiding around the country before they were able to take ship to the remote and mostly undiscovered island we now call home.

Here, in our tower, they were married, with the sun and clouds, the birds, squirrels, and deer, and our Maker above as witnesses of their sacred union. Here, in our tower, Little Sister and I were born and have been raised. We had a baby brother too, but he was born early - sick and frail, and lived barely a day. The bedroom Little Sister and I share overlooks the mossy patch of ground and the polished tombstone that mark his resting place.

Life here in our tower is far from dull. Our days are filled with lessons from Mother and games with Father. Mother is teaching us fine sewing, the art of the flute and of baking, and to do our sums. Then Father takes us outside to the sunny clearing we call our yard. There, we play hide-and-seek until we all fall laughing and breathless on the soft turf. Then, Father will find mushrooms, leaves, flowers, or even interesting toads and snakes and teach us science in such an engaging way that Mother has to call us in for our midday meal.

And often, Little Sister and I will play in our yard. A rippling, whispering rivulet of fresh water runs through our yard and we like to float sticks or leaves along, pretending they are our merchant ships. In the spring, we search for tiny wildflowers, each one unique, nestled in the crannies and cracks along the aged base of our stone tower. Just yesterday, I found a single pink one twining over the gap in a stone step.  It had petals shaped like points of a star and the center was a mass of sparkling gold like a fallen gem.

On the days when it rains, the rain pattering comfortingly on the roof and against our windows, Little Sister and I must occupy ourselves inside. Sometimes, we race up and down the cold, flat stone steps and through the numerous corridors playing hide-and-seek. At other times, we’ll play a counting game with stones on the tiled floor of the kitchen or lean our elbows on the windowsill of our bedroom, dreamily counting the falling droplets.

No, it is not that life here in our tower is dull. I do not think I would trade it for any other life. But I should like to see the world – the town where Mother and Father were born and grew up, the land they knew and loved. Perhaps some day, we shall all visit that land. For now, we would love to have you visit us here in our tower in the heart of the Southern Forest.

Tower Challenge Third Submission!

This wonderful, original and very creative story is by my good friend Joanna Glass! See more of her writing at The Letters of Askpen blog.

Tower Story Challenge Submission

 

Joanna R. Glass

 

            I suppose that not many people have been awakened in the early morning by the bickering of wood sprites. But let me assure you: it is not a pleasant thing. Such awakenings, however, are almost customary when you live right next to the woods where sprites live. Every time they wake me up, I ask Mother if we mightn’t move just far enough away that we can’t hear them in the morning. “Maybe someday, Myrian,” is all she ever says, and then she smiles sweetly and by luncheon I’ve forgotten how angry I was at the sprites and their bickering.

            Mother’s smile has always looked a little sad to me. I can’t blame her for being sad if she is, though. After all, when one has spent eight years living in an old abandoned tower out in the middle of nowhere with only sprites for neighbors, and when one’s husband has been gone for all but one of those eight years, how can one avoid being sad? That is what my younger sister Cecily always says. At least, that what she means; she’s not quite old enough to use such big words.

            I was only two years old when Mother and Father brought us here to the Tower to live. But Father went away again soon after and we haven’t seen him since. Mother says he found work far away in the mountains and has to stay there until he raises enough money to take us somewhere else to live. She always says what a nice building it is, though; so I don’t understand why she would want to move – unless, of course, it is to get away from the morning quarrels of our sprite friends; and I believe my big brother Edward is going to have a talk with them soon. She says, though, that Father’s dream is to take us far away to the other side of the big, blue mountains, the ones that we can just barely see out of the highest turret window. So I suppose we will.

            Our tower is not a very large tower (I think it a bit too small), but it has a garden all around it and a stone wall around the garden to keep away unwanted creatures. And often times Cecily and I will spend our afternoons playing in the garden together or helping Mother wash clothes near the little well in the back. But most of our time playing is spent with the wood sprites. For all their bad tempers, the sprites really are loyal companions, as pleasant as you’ll ever find so long as you don’t argue with them. They bring us food every morning and ever evening, and when our clothes get too small they make us new ones. My favorite outfit is a red jumper with a dark brown sash and an enormous brown cap to go with it. Edward doesn’t like the wood sprites, however. He says they’re ornery and spoiled. Mother calls them “proverbial nuts”. I just wish they wouldn’t wake me up in the morning.

            As for Edward, he sometimes plays with us in the garden or down in what Mother insists on calling the parlor. Usually, though, he sits indoors and reads out of the many books Mother brought with her. (There are so many books in both the upstairs and the downstairs room, incidentally, that one can scarcely find a place to sit down; but Mother says that they are good for the mind.) Our wood sprite friends like to tease Edward about being a “scholar”, whatever that is. Perhaps that is why he doesn’t like them.

            And Mother does many things. She reads, and she sews; she knits and she writes; she paints pictures and makes tapestries and braids beautiful rugs for our floors. And every night before she goes to bed, she goes outside and hangs a lantern on the gate so that when Father comes home he’ll see it and know where we are.

            Today it is very hot outside, so we are all sitting in the parlor – everyone, that is, except for Edward who is upstairs reading again. Mother is saying again how nice it is to only have the room upstairs and this downstairs room and the spiral staircase in between to clean. But I do not think it is so very nice. One day, I’m going to marry a noble with lots of money and live in a castle. And I’ll never have to share my room with anybody ever again.

            What is that? It sounds like a horse coming to the tower. Mother hears it, too. She’s gasping – smiling – laughing and crying at the same time. Now she’s rushing out to see the handsome man in the black coat. I wonder who he is. Is it Father? Mother’s calling all of us out. She’s saying something, but she’s crying so hard I don’t know what it is. The man seems to know me. I’m sure I’ve never met him before – although he does look a lot like the man in the picture Mother painted so long ago. What did he say? He’s calling out my name. Oh, sweet stars above! I can’t believe it. That man in the black coat is my father; Father’s come home for us at last!

She's also a very talented artist. ;)

Tower Challenge 2nd Submission. Mine!

Wanderer's Lesson.
By Elaine Dalton.


I'd always thought living in a tower would be sheer torture. Up there, all on my own with nothing to do and no friends or family. I thought it would it was the most miserable fate anyone could be condemned to and the idea of someone willingly living in such circumstances was insanity! That is, I thought that way until I met her. The meeting took place in a rather interesting manner. I was passing through a little known town in the middle of nowhere looking for work; a farmer and his family took me on, paying me to do odd jobs around the farm like chop wood or fix the fence in exchange for a room, food and a little money {they couldn't spare much but I was grateful for what they gave me and never asked for more}. One day, having noticed an odd weekly trip the farmer and his family took, I asked him about it. "Sir, pray tell where do you go each Wednesday?"


"Why," he replied, "to visit my niece."


"Where does your niece live sir?"


"In a tower outside of town."


"Why does she live in a tower outside of town?"


"Tell you what, why don't you come along with us tomorrow and ask her for yourself."


I agreed and the next day I joined the farmer and his family on their peculiar trip. I carried the large, rather heavy basket on my strong shoulders while the farmer walked arm-in-arm with his wife and their nine children scampered to and fro ahead of us, racing around, enjoying the fresh air and the signs of spring all around them. Not long after we left the small town behind us, we rounded a curve of the dark forest and I stopped in wonder at the sight we be held. Before us the grassy meadow sloped gently upward and then raced down into a little hollow with the dark forest stretching away to our left and two sides of the Blue Ridge Cliffs rising up behind and to the right of the hollow. A small stream poured over one of the cliffs, dropping into a good sized swimming pool of clear cold water before trickling away into the forest in a small brook. Smack in the middle of this cozy little hollow was a tower, the dandiest tower I've ever seen with roses climbing up its walls and ivy hanging down from a windowsill at the top. Aside from the window, I could see no other entrance to the tower but that wasn't my concern at the moment; my attention was focused on the sweet strand of music drifting toward us on the light breeze. It was the enchanting sound of someone singing softly in accompaniment to the strumming of a harp.


I looked at the bemused farmer, "What wonder is this, good friend?"


He laughed, "Wait and see, for a wonder still yet abides within."


Confused but intrigued, I followed the family to the foot of the tower and listened as the farmer called up to the occupant within. "Ho there, Shadow-dancer let down your rope!"


The music above stopped and a rope ladder was flung out the window, swiftly followed by another rope attached to a pulley to haul up the basket. The children one by one caught hold of the ladder and scrambled up it as nimble as squirrels, followed by their mother who clucked at them like an anxious mother hen. Having secured the basket, the farmer tugged twice on the rope and watched as the load was hauled slowly upward; when it was level with the windowsill, he climbed up after his family, and I in turn followed him upward. When he reached the top he sat on the windowsill and swung the basket around before helping his sons pull the thing through the window, and then disappeared inside after it. When I reached the windowsill, I pulled myself up and leapt through it, landing squarely on my feet only to feel knocked completely backward by the sight that greeted me.


The inside of the tower was warm and surprisingly cozy with thick soft rugs carpeting the hard oak floor. Colorful paintings and tapestries adorned the walls all the way up to the ceiling which had stars painted on it. To my left was a kitchen area, with a bright fire burning on the hearth, a counter with a wash basin sunk into it {the farmer called it a sink and tried to explain to me something called plumbing but I wasn't listening at the time}, and cupboards covered the walls of this little corner. A bowl of fruit and a loaf of bread sat on one of the counters while a black pot containing stew, I assumed, bubbled near the fire. To my right {and all the rest of the upper room as well} were bookshelves built into the walls packed full of leather bound books on every subject imaginable. A dining table with one end piled high with mending, dominated part of this right hand side of the room while a corner near a second window was strewn with cushions; obviously a reading nook of some sort. The center of the room was fairly empty and the rugs there looked as though they were frequently rolled back to clear the floor for dancing, I supposed. Two tiny staircases stood in the far corner on either side of the room, one disappearing into the floor leading to another chamber, and one climbing up to a loft where I assumed was the bedroom of the curious tower's sole occupant.


This sole occupant stood before me, completely oblivious to the cheerful chatter of the children. The person was a woman of tall slender build, surprisingly strong arms with narrow hands and long fingers, the sort best suited to play the piano or some other type of instrument. She had dark brown hair that swept in gentle waves to her waist, a tanned but fair complexion with high cheek bones and a little annoyed furrow between her slender eyebrows. Her eyes were a sparkling dark blue with flecks of silver in them and, I was astonished to noticed, the tips of her pretty little ears that were poking up through her thick hair were pointed, like an elf's or fairy's. She was dressed in a loose flowing sleeveless but modest gown of a rosy pink hue. Dumbstruck by her beauty, I forgot the few manners my poor mother had tried so hard to drill into me {half of which stuck only half the time} and stared, open mouthed, at the woman.


The furrow between her eyebrows deepened and she turned to the farmer, "Who is this staring fool? Is it a mute idiot with no manners that he stares at me so?"


The farmer laughed, which sound caused me to snap my mouth shut and frantically try to regain my self-composure. "He is the fellow I told you of who has been making himself useful doing odd jobs around the farm. Quite frankly, I've never seen him act like this before: he's usually so self-controlled." Amused at his own private joke, the farmer laughed softly to himself again.


Swinging her gaze back to me, she demanded my name.


"My name is Wanderer, fair one."


She stiffened, "Do not make a habit of calling me such ridiculous things man! I am no fairer than any other woman that walks this earth."


I opened my mouth to protest then the thought struck me that this might not be a good idea and I closed it again.


Ignoring me, the woman greeted each of the children by name and sent them rushing to the kitchen area with the promise of finding a cake in one of the cupboards. While they noisily banged open and slammed shut the doors looking for their prize, the woman greeted the farmer and his wife each with a warm embrace. Watching them, I realized that she was not just some friend of theirs but rather must be a relative of some kind. Of course, I thought, she's their niece! The farmer's wife and the tower occupant then moved to the basket, pulling off the cover and beginning to sort through the contents, putting them on the floor in organized piles. Siding over to my employer, I asked him who the woman was.


"She is my niece, if you must know." I frowned, already knowing that bit of information.


"How did she come to be here? Where are her parents? Why is she living in a tower by herself?" My questions bounded out one after another, unheedful of my attempt to slow them.


The farmer, a naturally cheerful man, chuckled to himself. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"


"Dare I?"


"Aye; tis the reason I brought you here!"

Motivated by his response and eager for the answers, I stepped beside the woman and knelt down till I was at eye-level with her. She shot me a questioning glance and I was suddenly tongue-tied. Giving myself a little shake, I pushed the image of her beautiful eyes out of my head and voiced my questions.


For the first time since I'd stepped through the window and about fell over, I saw her smile. It was a rare, beauteous moment that didn't fade when she looked up at me. "You ask good questions for an idiot."


I frowned, not quite understanding her jest.


"But," she continued, "I shall answer them truthfully." I decided I didn't like the way her eyes teased me at that statement. "Here, take these and follow me." She shoved an armload of wrapped parcels that felt like floor, meat, vegetables and such, into my arms and scooped up a similar load before marching off toward the stair that disappeared into the floor. Following her, I nearly slipped off the narrow stair several times and feared I would get stuck in one of the tight turns but managed not to by turning my board shoulders sideways. Dratted things, I could never figure out why they ended up wider than my father's. At last, we emerged at the foot of the stairs in a dark room filled with barrels and lots of shelves. "What is this place?" I asked without thinking.


"My storeroom. Below it is my library and below that is where I store my firewood and where my backdoor is hidden," she replied, her voice a soft musical sound in the near blackness. Her bare feet slipped soundlessly across the floor to one of the shelves where she tucked her previsions away before taking my load away and stowing it somewhere else in the room.


And then it was back up the narrow stairway yet this time the trek was easier for I was unburdened. However, she played a nasty trick on me by running back up and I was sore put to it to keep up. Back in the top room, I had to catch my breath and blink very rapidly to adjust my eyes to the searing brightness of the sunlight streaming in through the windows, a grand total of twelve of which circled the room at varying heights above the floor. "Might you tell me your story now, fair maiden?" I panted.


Frowning at the title I'd unthinkingly given her, she shook her head, causing her hair to ripple and toss back and forth down the length of her strong back. Distracted, I barely heard her reply, "Nay, for we have not finished our work. Duty first, pleasure later."


Sighing, I reminded myself of how much I disliked that saying and moved to help her finish unloading the basket. A good bit of fruit came out {which she hid in one of the cupboards}, several bolts of fabric and other sewing supplies, and about a dozen books rounded off the contents of the basket. Grateful that it was finally empty, I stretched, feeling more worn out helping the woman tuck her supplies away than with all my hard labor on the farm. I noticed that once everything was stowed away, the woman brought a purse out from some hidden pocket and paid the farmer a previously agreed upon sum of money, and then gave each of the children a coin, calling it her "shipping and handling fee." Whatever that meant! I was surprised when I was rewarded with a slice of cake and a glass of apple cider {neither of which I had excepted}, and invited to sit with the squirming children and their parents in the little cozy reading nook with all the cushions and the new books stacked nearby. She sat down too, hugging a purple throw-pillow to herself and then trading it for the toddler of the children who crawled onto her lap and sat contentedly sucking his thumb, gazing solemnly at the rest of us.


"Now," she began in what was obviously her storytelling voice for the children all stopped wriggling around and turned toward her, listening intently, "our friend Wanderer here has asked several good questions and the time has come to answer them. Most of you already know the story I'm about to tell so do please be quiet and try not to spoil it for Wanderer." She winked at the littlest children who giggled in reply.


"Once upon a time, many years ago, there lived a strong brave woodcutter. He lived all alone in the forest and spent his days shopping fallen trees into firewood; once a week he would hitch his tired old horse to a wagon and haul the wood to market, but he spent his nights dreaming of someday meeting a lovely young woman who would consent to be his wife, for he was dreadfully lonely. One day, while he was working and thinking about his dream, he heard a lovely voice in the forest singing a sweet song. Now he'd heard all the stories of how the forest was enchanted and haunted by ghosts and that fairies lived in the trees, just waiting for a hapless human to wander past them before they captured the person and dragged them screaming down to their dark lairs beneath the forest floor where they were never seen again. But he didn't believe any of those silly stories: he was a sensible man and believed only in what he could see, hear and touch and in God, Whom he saw, heard and felt in everything from the wind in the trees to the flowers in the field to the beat of his own heart. Thus he wasn't afraid when the voice started singing and listened quietly to the song. When it ended, he decided to go looking for the sweet singer and find out who she was.


"It took him only a few minutes to find her, for she'd begun singing a new song and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. A lovely young elf maiden with hair as black as ebony, eyes as blue as the sky after a rainstorm and skin as white as cream sat amid the moss and flowers of the forest floor, cradling a fawn in her arms and smiling at the birds perched in the trees around her. A young rabbit hopped nearby and a mother duck waddled over to her, leading her brood of ducklings all in a line behind her. The elf maiden sensed his presence and ceased her song, looking around with a concerned expression. Not wanting to scare her off, the woodcutter stepped out into the open, raising his hands to show he was unarmed and meant her no harm. At first, she appeared uncertain of his intentions then seemed to decide to trust him and beckoned him forward. When she deemed him close enough, she handed one of the little ducklings to him and watched as he gently took the tiny thing in his large rough hands, being very careful not to hurt it.


"Several months went by, with the lovely elf maiden visiting the woodcutter at odd intervals during the day; at first they were both very shy around each other, gradually getting use to one another. She would sit for hours watching him cut wood while he in turn would watch her play with her animal friends and sing songs to them. Finally, he asked her to marry him and she said yes, only if her father and brothers consented. Now, these had been watching the pair for some time and liked the woodcutter; they were married shortly afterward and a year later a daughter was born.


"The tiny little babe was born during a hard time for the family. The elves were locked in a civil war with a rival tribe of their kind while the humans were advancing in knowledge, claiming that elves, fairies and such didn't exist, that all could be proven by a thing called science. In an extraordinary way, the woodcutter and his wife had been blessed with a fortune and were well off though plagued by fortune-seekers. They knew that when their daughter was grown, many worthless young men would try to win her heart solely for the sake of her inheritance. Wanting to protect their daughter, whom they valued more than silver and gold, they had a tower secretly constructed and when she was old enough, she went to live in it. The woodcutter and his Elvin wife visited her every day, spending hours and hours with his growing daughter; and then one day he came to tell her that the time had come for the daughter to prepare her heart for the one God had planned for her. They still visited her everyday but now she used the time between their frequent visits to grow, to learn useful skills and to patiently wait.


"The girl in the tower was never lonely, for she had many friends. There were her books for instance; every time her parents visited, they brought her dozens of new books to read. There were the birds and animals of the forest, descendents of those whom her mother before her had befriended, that she loved to play with. There was also her beloved aunt and uncle and their many delightful children who visited her often and loved to tell her many stories and in turn listen to her stories. She was content and happy, living in her tower, waiting for her prince to come someday.


"But the prince never came. The years flew by and she began to fear she would stay in the tower forever, alone." Her voice trailed off, the furrow between her brows back in place and her gaze fixed on the floor, a thoughtful expression on her face.


One of the little girls snuggled up close to her and began to finish the story for her. "And then one day, when she wasn't looking for him, a handsome young man as fine as any prince and as strong as any woodcutter, climbed to the top of her tower and looked in. He found her scrubbing the floor and thought she looked so pretty surrounded by the soap bubbles that he instantly fell in love with her, not even stopping to ask her name first. Overjoyed that at last her prince had come, the girl called her friends and family together and they celebrated her engagement long into the night. And when the prince and the girl were married, they came back to the tower and lived there forever with their ninety-nine children. The end."


One of the older girls spoke up, "Wait, I thought she was weaving a rug when the prince climbed up the tower?"


Another curly haired girl said, "No, she was baking a pie!"


"Nay," chimed in a third, "she was mending a sock."


The argument, which seemed to have occurred rather often, would have continued if the farmer had not chuckled and said, "My children, regardless of what the dear girl was doing when her prince arrived, the point of the story is that she waited patiently on the Lord for Him to find the right man and send him to her."


The cleverly concealed meaning of the story hit me just then and, turning to the woman, I said, "The story is about you, isn't it? You are the girl living in the tower. Did your parents really leave you here all by yourself?"


She shot me a mildly annoyed look. "You ask a lot of questions. Yes, the story is about me, and yes, my parents did leave me here, but not when I was as young as the story might lead you to believe."


"Where are your parents?" I think she was right about my asking a lot of questions.


"Did you notice the cliff walls guarding the tower when you arrived here? Well, my parents carved a mansion into the opposite side of those cliffs so they could be near me and keep an eye on me. The land this tower stands on is theirs and they come to visit every day. Likewise, a day doesn't pass wherein I am not found running across to visit them and my little siblings still at home. I have several other siblings, all living in towers dotting the land within an easy walk from here."


I made a confused face as the children scrambled up and dashed off, bored with our conversation.


She decided to enlighten me. "Think of it as an ant hill or as the spreading branches of a young tree, growing outward from the roots and reaching up to the sun."


Her illustration clinked with something in my mind and I completely understood what she was trying to describe. "Your parents have created a sheltered environment that offers protection, help and love to their grown children while still letting them make their own decisions and live independently?!"


A dazzling smile flashed across her face, "Exactly! That's precisely what they've done! Just because a child has reached the age of eighteen or twenty or twenty-three doesn't mean that they have to be given over to the wolves and fortune-seekers of this world. They can still live in the home environment, still be a part of the family, yet still have their own space and be able to make their own decisions, such as what to make for dinner."


"I like that strategy." As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately knew that I had to get to know this woman better and that I had to meet her father as soon as possible.


Expressing my intention to the farmer later that evening after our visit to the tower had ended; he laughed and took me the next day to see his brother, the woodcutter who'd married the Elvin maiden and who was now a well-off merchant. I laid my request before him, stating my intentions in as clear a tone as possible, and waited. Great indeed was my surprise when he agreed and gave me permission to court his daughter {whose name, I learned, was not Shadow-dancer although that was one of her many nicknames}. Fighting the sudden urge to kick my heels up in a jig and to shout to the heavens, I shook his hand and bounded away to tell the woman the good news. Of course, I had enough sense to ask her what her name was before I blurted my news out.


Those silver flecked eyes twinkled mischievously. "Guess," she said.


I frowned unhappily but did as I was requested. "Rosa?"


She shook her head.


"Violet?"


Again, she shook her head no.


"Maria?"


"Nope." This time I thought really, really hard for about ten seconds. I remembered something from her story. "Is it Patience?"


She smiled, "Yes, it is."


A few short months later, we became engaged and then married. A year later, a saying started making its way around the kingdom. "Wanderer has found Patience and God has given them Peace." Our firstborn child, a daughter, was named Peace.


And yet, nearly twenty years after all this took place, I still can't figure out why someone would deliberately and willingly want to live in a tower! We lived in Patience's for about a year and then, after a big tree nearly took our home out that winter, I moved us out, first into her parents' mansion and then into a sensible cottage tucked into a sheltered little hollow near the edge of the forest. We haven't regretted our move; for one thing, it's a lot less drafty in a cottage than in a tower.

                                                                   The End.

Waiting: A Random Short Story Inspired by a Painting.

Waiting; that's what she'd always been good at. Sometimes waiting was okay, such as when she'd wait for the bread to finish baking; yet sometimes waiting was hard. The longest and hardest season of waiting was Edward's prolonged absence. She'd first met Edward when she'd been thirteen, content to run about in grassy meadows barefoot and follow her father around the docks, looking at the majestic ships at rest in the sheltered harbor. Edward was a simple sailor working for her merchant father at the time; he was barely nineteen the day his ship sailed into port. She'd dallied behind her father staring at a particularly massive ship and, upon noticing his absence, shot off running like a young deer, weaving in and out of the crowd looking for him. The next thing she'd known, she'd collided into a sailor and her momentum had sent both of them tumbling in the dust.


When her tumbling had ceased, she'd sat bolt upright and stared, wide-eyed and rather frightened, at the sailor. Edward had also sat up yet his tanned features held no trace of anger in them. Rather, he was laughing as he smiled reassuringly at her. Seeing his smile, she'd relaxed and a shy smile of her own stole across her dirty face. Years later, Edward would tell her that the smile had stolen his heart.


"Here, I say, what is all this?" Her father had demanded, not harshly, as he suddenly strode up to the curious pair, still sitting in the dust where they'd landed.


Up she jumped as a jumble of words flowed out in explanation. "And now, Papa, Mama will be so displeased that I've ripped my frock again." She concluded, gazing mournfully at the gash in the faded fabric of her dress.


"Now, now, never ye mind the frock dear one," her father reassured her as he took her in his strong arms and then glanced at the amused sailor. "Are ye well lad?"


"Oh aye, sir, well I be. This wee lassie couldn't hurt a fly even if she tried."


"Has yer ship just gotten in lad?"


"Aye sir; we had an awful time o' it with the storm a' all but we got in all right, sure 'nough."


"What be ye name lad?"


"Edward, sir, Edward Mackenzie."


"A right pleasure to make yer acquaintance Mr. Mackenzie. The name's Avery MacBrady and this here is my daughter Gleda."


That had been their first meeting. Two years later, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she'd met him a second time as she walked the docks with her four young sisters. It was sunset and Edward was returning to his ship when he caught sight of her. The last rays of the sun had changed her eyes to sparkling diamonds. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Squaring his shoulders, he'd escorted the girls back home. The next day he'd visited her father and asked his permission to court Gleda.


Now Avery MacBrady was not an ambitious man; he was content to remain a relatively well-off merchant and desired only that his future sons-in-law would be good honest hard working men. He liked Edward, having heard many good reports of the young man's honesty, courage and cheerfulness under the often taxing conditions of being a sailor. Yet he didn't want his daughter to be won so easily and made a show of having to think it over; two days later he visited Edward and gave his permission.


Gleda, when told of Edward's intentions, was at first surprised and then her childish shyness returned. His first two visits were rather silent ones for both were shy. Gradually, however, they overcame this initial feeling and soon could be found strolling in the garden discussing books and future plans or wandering about the meadows, fields and forest enjoying each other's company with Gleda's siblings never far away. A year passed then two then three. Their courtship was frequently interrupted by Edward's duties and the long separations saddened Gleda but they were never very long.


One day, in early summer, when she was eighteen, Edward joined her in the garden. "I've bad news lass. I'm being called 'way on a long voyage and shan't return for many a month love."


She'd picked another rose, nonplussed. "Edward, ye've been away for many months on other voyages afore. Why should this be different?"


"Lass, I'll be gone longer than a month I fear."


The rose dropped from her hands. "Truly Edward?"


"Aye; truly lass."


He'd left that very afternoon. She'd tried to keep up her spirits but after several long months had passed; with no word from him, her cheerfulness began to dim slightly. A year then two passed with no news of her betrothed. When the date for his expected return came and went and time raced on, sorrow entered her heart and she ceased to smile altogether. She put aside her colorful gowns and went about with a shawl over her head. When she was twenty-four, eleven years after she'd first met Edward and on the sixth anniversary since his departure from her, she found herself restless and went outside to the grey meadows where once she'd wandered so gaily with him. A strong wind was blowing that day, threatening to take away the flower MacBrady had placed in her hair that morning. Her back to the wind, her shawl over her head and her skirts billowing round her legs, she looked out to the sea, waiting, wondering. A soft step behind her caused her to turn round: Edward, ragged, scarred and with stubble on his chin, stood there as real as life. Gleda's heart soared upward from its black depths of despair as she flew into his strong arms, content and overjoyed to be his now that the wait was over and he had returned to her.