15 February 2012


Author : Talyn
Isidore gazes at his beloved, his sky-blue eyes distant as his mind falls through the memories; the woman ran her eyes over the vegetation, the lushness enhanced by morning dew. It was a morning just like this, she remembered, the day she first met and fell in love with Isidore…
On an early morning that could only descend into a perfect spring day, a flighty draught breezed through the meadows and drifted past trees both young and ancient, making the lush green grass sweep like waves and the boughs shiver. The fertile fields and hillocks overflowing with foliage blooms shook with the thundering of hooves that woke Flora from her doze. A few weeks after the arrival of six affluent guests, Flora had charmed her way into the affection of all the newcomers. Although her new friends were older than her, Flora had no trouble socialising; although her clothes are simple, her affluent background ensures quality fabric. Her only knowledge of their final destination was vague, as they only revealed their wish to see more of the world.
By the time the guests were prepared to leave, Flora had persuaded her family to let her travel with them. It was so simple. A few days of camping have passed before her companions were joined by another crowd of five acquaintances on horseback. Even though the company was by then much larger, all the riders seemed to treat her with regard and even over-covetousness – with the exception of one. Isidore; unlike others of his comrades, he acknowledged her presence with nods instead of false lovelorn phrases. From the first moment Flora had set her eyes on the striking man, she had known the feeling inside was her heart carving a space. Unknown to Flora, Isidore was also the one who directs the travellers’ voyage; his plans were to reach the other side of the county, deliver the young woman, and hurry from the frontier before his troop suffers any damage.
A few months of sightseeing and lessons in riding have been the simple entertainments that occupied Flora’s thoughts, other than Isidore. Though trifle, they have been substantial enough for her to endure the daily aches that accompany untried travellers everywhere. Another solace was the growing familiarity between her and Isidore – she simply worships his crystalline eyes and prominent features – he seems sensitive to her emotions and her blunt comments never fail to amuse him. Their friendship grew the further the company travels until that inevitable moment when their eyes met, and held…
The journey took the companions past the majestic sea and through long winding roads that never seemed to end. Throughout the expedition, Flora was bombarded by the reality of war, famine, and the deprived of the lands. During one such stretch of meandering road, Flora was riding alongside Isidore when a remarkably swift whiz caused their mounts to leap forward – the arrow missed her heart but imbedded into her arm; the horrid scream of pain was loud and piercing in the sudden split second of silence. Isidore cursed and pulled her onto his mount, beckoning for his comrades to scout and hunt down the assassin; galloping as fast as he could, Isidore hoped with all his might that the arrow is not poisoned and dashed down the last stretch of road with the rest of his company. Flora’s mind was hazy from pain, not registering the fact that she was moving rapidly towards what seemed to be a keep; the last thing she knew before the blackness envelope her was also one of the strangest experience – a tug of pain accompanied by heightened senses aided her hearing: “Your Grace! She’s wounded…” Isidore? “She can’t die; she is the key to our victory!” a low-pitched statement, “you miserable failure, I hired you to fetch her and bring her here safely, not let her be murdered outside my front door!” huh? The pain pulled her under.
Flora awakened to the feel of Isidore’s grip on her hand. Everything seemed like a bad dream – while her body have been resting, her mind was working like clockwork, especially over the last two weeks. Periods of consciousness were blurred with the numbness as an effect of the medication. The first thing on Flora’s mind was also the least she wanted to discuss with Isidore – the key to victory?, hired you to fetch her? – determined to confront the inescapable, she turned, only to see Isidore’s sleeping face. The feeling of being betrayed was too much, accompanied by the throbbing of her arm. The combination of the two coursing through her and the sudden unnecessary wave of love led to an inevitably painful outcome.
Isidore’s companions were informed by their leader to not bother Lady Flora as he stormed coldly towards the training grounds. As the maids assigned to Flora could stomach the lady weeping in the middle of the night, they also endured the extraordinary experience of having objects flown around and vases broken without being thrown. Flora started being aware of her powers during the first night of her estrangement with Isidore – after crying her eyes out with her arm feeling pounded by a hammer; her fisted contact with the cushions caused all the paintings in the room to fall off, the deliberate twitch of her fingers unravelled the curtains. Flora’s chance discovery of her abilities made her comprehend the duke’s statement about the key to victory. Beside one with powers such as hers could indeed mean the start of a long reign of conquests.
Weeks after her recovery, Flora decided to help the duke; it was a foolhardy decision and only act as personal prod to hurt Isidore. They have not spoken a word since their argument, his companions following his orders to not socialise with her. Flora found a way to fill the hole in her heart by training her hardest to improve her abilities, the exhaustion often taking her mind off the hurt of Isidore’s pretence. The day came when the duke sent for her help on the battlefield.
It was bloody, gory, and something she never wanted to experience ever again. The duke’s force was floundering when Flora arrived, forcing her hand. Enemies flew at the twitch of her hand, the duke’s arrows all finding their mark between the opposition’s armour. The bodies of the dead would be left to rot for days to come. With blood splattered on her dress, Flora rushed down the tower and bent over a bucket, her stomach heaving until all she could gag was air – soothing hands held back her hair throughout the result of her ordeal, strong slender hands that belong to Isidore. Still in shock, Flora also accepted his help in cleaning her up. Unsurprisingly, Flora decided to confess her love for him and implored him to come away with her, to go back home. Happiness welled inside Isidore as he squeezed Flora in a bone-crushing hug.
The duke forbade their leaving of the keep when the reunited couple revealed their wish to depart. They resorted to bribing and stealing away in the middle of the night. Racing away silently across moonlight fields, Flora met the eyes of his beloved and knows that everything would be alright.

This is an original narrative written by my daughter when she was 15 years old. 
Copyright 2012.

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