Post by Tarafrather T. Furthermore on Mar 13, 2008 12:25:09 GMT -5
It was a new day in Mossflower wood. The sunbeams filtered through new leaves that swayed over head in the morning breeze. The birds were chirping there flighty melodies and basking in the sun that shone brightly in the top branches of the canopy. On the ground, the air was still frigid with nightly cold. Tarafrather Toxowalter Futhermore crouched and scooped a mugfull of a dark brew out of a small pot that bubbled over a small fire. Standing up rather stiffly (sleeping out in the cold tends to make ones joints uncooperative), he siped at the steaming mug, letting it warm his paws. Turning to the west, he looked out over the vast flatlands and meadows. The trees cast their shadows far out into the flatlands, but further out the sun shone warmly down, unhindered. The meadow birds flit about; the wildflowers display their purple, yellow, and red blossoms with pride.
A stiff breeze whooshes into the grasslands. Tarafrather pulls his cloak closer about him. What a beautiful morning. This was why he had fallen in love with Mossflower. Turning back to his fire, Tarafrather stooped and set his mug near the flames. Taking a few twigs from a small pile close by, he pushed them in the hungry tongues of fire that where dwindling fast. Darn fire had been acting up all morning. He had made the mistake of letting it go out the night before, and it had been a struggle to get it going again. Satisfied that it wouldn’t go out too soon, Tarafrather once again looked out over the grasslands. From his little camp that was on a slight rise on the edge of the woodlands, he could see a good bit. Out west the dusty path stretched from north to south, a marked divider in the flatlands. To the right, he knew, was the abbey of Redwall, though it wasn’t in view. To the left about four hundred meters was st. Ninians church, or at least what was left of it. Beyond St Ninians and further out in the grasslands, east of the path was a farmhouse; one that Tarafrather knew too well. He looked away, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it in the end. He sighed. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. Procrastinator.
Peering out to the northwest, Tarafrather watched the uniform movement of the grasses. But then something caught his eye. A different movement, out in the tall-grass. Some of the grass was moving differently from the others. There was someone out there. Or possible more than one someone. Tarafrather leaned against a tree and watched; waiting for the someone to make it out of the tall grasses and onto the path where he could see him. Now the someone stopped. The grasses moved evenly now. Tarafrather kept his eye s pinned to that one spot. Twenty minutes later, it started again. It’s zig-zaging progress was slow. So Tarafrather stood patiently: waiting.
A stiff breeze whooshes into the grasslands. Tarafrather pulls his cloak closer about him. What a beautiful morning. This was why he had fallen in love with Mossflower. Turning back to his fire, Tarafrather stooped and set his mug near the flames. Taking a few twigs from a small pile close by, he pushed them in the hungry tongues of fire that where dwindling fast. Darn fire had been acting up all morning. He had made the mistake of letting it go out the night before, and it had been a struggle to get it going again. Satisfied that it wouldn’t go out too soon, Tarafrather once again looked out over the grasslands. From his little camp that was on a slight rise on the edge of the woodlands, he could see a good bit. Out west the dusty path stretched from north to south, a marked divider in the flatlands. To the right, he knew, was the abbey of Redwall, though it wasn’t in view. To the left about four hundred meters was st. Ninians church, or at least what was left of it. Beyond St Ninians and further out in the grasslands, east of the path was a farmhouse; one that Tarafrather knew too well. He looked away, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it in the end. He sighed. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. Procrastinator.
Peering out to the northwest, Tarafrather watched the uniform movement of the grasses. But then something caught his eye. A different movement, out in the tall-grass. Some of the grass was moving differently from the others. There was someone out there. Or possible more than one someone. Tarafrather leaned against a tree and watched; waiting for the someone to make it out of the tall grasses and onto the path where he could see him. Now the someone stopped. The grasses moved evenly now. Tarafrather kept his eye s pinned to that one spot. Twenty minutes later, it started again. It’s zig-zaging progress was slow. So Tarafrather stood patiently: waiting.
