Wednesday, June 2, 2010


He was weary of travel and disguises, having been following the roads and paths of the life he chose for himself three years ago. He missed home. The warmth of the hearth, the rich selection of food, and the softness of a bed that made the ground feel harder than necessary. Soon, he knew, it would be time to return home and accept his responsibility. Until then, he intended to learn more about the plight of the people than any advisor, all born to wealth and privilege, could ever tell him. He pulled the rough blanket over his shoulders, staring into the sputtering fire and listening to his trusted guards discuss the dangers of tomorrows journey to Gerdania.

Tomorrow would be difficult. He would visit the villages in the furthest reach of the kingdom. His scout had told him it would be disheartening. Death would lie in the streets. Food would be scarce. Men, women, and children would live in filth. As Prince, he would be held responsible, being the son of a man he now saw as a tyrant. These villages lived the most desolate lives, receiving only high expectations from the King. His identity must be kept secret if he wanted his men or himself survive. These were his last thoughts before falling asleep.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***


  1. This is very odd to read with the Abba playing in the back ground.

    I can see a use for this piece of work. Would take a lot of explanation.