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So here's the first rewritten part. If you take the time and compare it
to the original first paragraph (MessageID <p218la.eb.ln@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>, see
http://groups.google.com/group/alt.games.creatures/msg/21c1d2a991a54411)
you'll find that it is /somewhat/ more extensive this time around.
And RFC - I mean it.
*****
Laiva tossed and turned in bed. It was so unfair. Nobody would have
laughed if she was a boy. She had never felt that alone before, alone
with the whole village laughing at her. She couldn't stop her eyes
from watering and even running away crying they had still been
laughing. Why had they done that? She was no small girl, she was
almost nine years old after all. Nobody understood her, not even her
mummy. It hurt so much.
Laiva sat up and clenched her ankles, resting her head on her
knees, the moonlight falling on her face. She closed her eyes and
bathed in the light as if it was the warm one of the sun. Then she
made a decision. She would show them.
She turned around and carefully lowered her toes onto the
floor. The wood bend under her feet, but didn't make a sound. Slowly
she went to her wardrobe and dressed except for her boots. Then she
fetched her backpack from the corner of the room and stuffed some
spares in and continued to the door. She turned the handle and held
her breath. Inch by inch she pushed the door open, the angles creaking
worse than ever. As often as her daddy had talked about oiling them he
had forgotten and she secretly believed that he done on purpose.
Once the gap was large enough, Laiva slipped though and
tiptoed past her parents' door. The planks bent, but didn't creak.
Down the stairs, though the door and she was at the kitchen door
already.
When Laiva stepped in she almost called out in surprise. Even
at the end of the summer the stone floor was freezing, or at least it
felt like that to her bare feet. Quickly she put her boots on and this
time entered the kitchen. The fireplace was still radiating warmth, a
faint residue of what the fire's blaze had been. For a moment Laiva
watched the ashes, still aglow, emitting a spark now and again. It
would be quite some time.
Laiva shook it off and fetched a chair. Standing on it she
could just reach on top of the small brim that marked the upper end of
the fireplace. She let her fingers run along the brim until she felt
metal, then took the small key and climbed down the chair again.
With the key Laiva unlocked the door to the left, which in
turn gave way to the utter blackness beyond. A blackness neither
bright moonlight nor the faint glow of the fireplace had the dared to
challenge. On Laiva, however, it made less of an impression. Without
further ado she mumbled a few syllables and a dim light appeared above
her, imbuing the surrounding with a ghostly glow.
The small staircase in front of her led down to the pantry, a
large windowless room with hams and sausages, shelves full of food
occupying three of four walls and large kegs the other. There was
enough beer and wine down here for the whole of the village and there
had to. After all the village tavern running out of alcohol was worse
a fate than death - if you believed old Tubby, that was. Laiva didn't
quite follow him down that road, or any other for that matter. Anyway,
she wasn't here for the beer. Not that she could ever get any of that
bitter stuff down.
After adding some bread and cheese to her pack baggage she
hurried back into the kitchen, she carefully locked the door and put
key and chair back in their place. Food she had; that left water.
Above the large stone sink hung a couple of leathern water
bottles. The pump handle made what seemed to Laiva a noise like an
infernal noise, but finally she had filled the bottle and silence
returned to the nightly house. Laiva listened for a moment or two, but
there was nothing but the occasional creaking of the wood, the voice
of ancient trees wistfully dreaming of their youth in the forest.
From the kitchen Laiva tiptoed into the taproom. Laiva didn't
mind the faint smell of stale beer hanging in the air. It belonged to
the room as the counter did and besides there was nothing that could
be done about it. She still remembered the one time her mummy had
tried to; it took litres of vinegar and weeks to get that smell out.
Laiva shook the memory off and grabbed the dagger from under
the counter. Her bow was across the room on the board next to the
front door. She took it as well and started to unlock the door, the
heavy bolts moving with an air of graveness; it almost was as if the
weight of responsibility rested on them.
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--
emmel <the_emmel*you-know-what-that's-for*@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
(Don't forget to remove the ** bit)
Official AGC feedback maniac
"God is playing creatures - and we're the norns."
"A hundred dead are a tragedy - a hundred thousand are statistics."
"I guess you can call yourself lucky." -
"I could, but Linda suits me a little better... :)
Things called lucky tend to get hit by trucks."
Hi, I'm a .sig virus. Just copy me to your .signature. And don't worry.
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