Wagon wheels creaked, loose dogs yapped excitedly as wild young children danced along between the slow roll of the caravans. A slue of parting harolds from the rowdy voices, all raised in overly loud, farewell jeers. Family, every single one of them; a myriad of dusky faces all a-glow with the zeal of the impending journey. So many hands, so many hearty cries that echoed back through the valley of the glen even as the Garridan disappeared over the cresting hills and roiling grasses.
The noise still haunted her ears well into the following weeks.
A cherished wagon had been left behind, a lovely caravan in bold, artful sweeps of greens and yellows. Little designs, a family emblem, various creatures of power and eldritch whorls of pagan origins; they were all lovingly carved along various plains of the sturdy wooden structure. A set of wooden stairs hovered from the decorative doorway that lead inwards, covered by a shroud of cream yellow curtains and lace. Inside was a whole other story though? Inside it was a soft, warm, and painted in a pallet of sunset hues. Rich tapestries, lush cushions, a multitude of neat little shelves that house the meager beginnings of food and other stock. Herbs dangled in the far corner near a small, fat-bellied stove, jars and bottles of the most curious contents and colors lined the walls along with various tools of the gypsy witch?s trade.
Imagine the boisterous trimmings that went along with this woman?s life all seemed to fit quite easily inside the seemingly small caravan. Perhaps there was a bit of clever work involved with the interior spaciousness that was quite unfit for the outside build? Being a practiced creature in her trade gave Lilliana many little perks and tricks.
Having retained no horse or other creature to burden her home, the gypsy instead created small ruts in the earth beneath each wheel; adding to the permanence of her presence in the glen. Far from the beaten path there was a stony foot trail that lead to her secluded bit of heaven. A river ran calm, pooling into a wide, freshwater lagoon in which one could see the bottom. Sun baked the river?s pebbly shore, drawing various little reptiles and butterflies to the mineral rich soil. Trees were a-plenty, and they sheltered the witch?s camp whole, as if nature itself held a protective, loving grasp around her life.
Settled now upon the banks of that river?s pool, down below the rise of grass from her caravan, was the fiery buxom herself. Though divested of her corset and boots, the thick layer of petal skirts and the many charms that hung about her neck; Lilliana was still a vibrant flare amongst the pale, gentle pallor of the world. It was that shock of flame-bright hair, that wild tumble of unruly kinks and curls, they formed a neat sprawl about the cream of her bare shoulders and white cotton summer?s gown.
Like fine rubies and tiger?s eye quartz, the witch?s hair shone in the dying sun?s light, a jewel in the green faucet of the sunset drenched landscape.
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http://fc03.deviantart.com/fs49/i/2009/177/b/1/A_Little_Slice_of_Rhydin_by_xEtherealDreamerx.jpg
The noise still haunted her ears well into the following weeks.
A cherished wagon had been left behind, a lovely caravan in bold, artful sweeps of greens and yellows. Little designs, a family emblem, various creatures of power and eldritch whorls of pagan origins; they were all lovingly carved along various plains of the sturdy wooden structure. A set of wooden stairs hovered from the decorative doorway that lead inwards, covered by a shroud of cream yellow curtains and lace. Inside was a whole other story though? Inside it was a soft, warm, and painted in a pallet of sunset hues. Rich tapestries, lush cushions, a multitude of neat little shelves that house the meager beginnings of food and other stock. Herbs dangled in the far corner near a small, fat-bellied stove, jars and bottles of the most curious contents and colors lined the walls along with various tools of the gypsy witch?s trade.
Imagine the boisterous trimmings that went along with this woman?s life all seemed to fit quite easily inside the seemingly small caravan. Perhaps there was a bit of clever work involved with the interior spaciousness that was quite unfit for the outside build? Being a practiced creature in her trade gave Lilliana many little perks and tricks.
Having retained no horse or other creature to burden her home, the gypsy instead created small ruts in the earth beneath each wheel; adding to the permanence of her presence in the glen. Far from the beaten path there was a stony foot trail that lead to her secluded bit of heaven. A river ran calm, pooling into a wide, freshwater lagoon in which one could see the bottom. Sun baked the river?s pebbly shore, drawing various little reptiles and butterflies to the mineral rich soil. Trees were a-plenty, and they sheltered the witch?s camp whole, as if nature itself held a protective, loving grasp around her life.
Settled now upon the banks of that river?s pool, down below the rise of grass from her caravan, was the fiery buxom herself. Though divested of her corset and boots, the thick layer of petal skirts and the many charms that hung about her neck; Lilliana was still a vibrant flare amongst the pale, gentle pallor of the world. It was that shock of flame-bright hair, that wild tumble of unruly kinks and curls, they formed a neat sprawl about the cream of her bare shoulders and white cotton summer?s gown.
Like fine rubies and tiger?s eye quartz, the witch?s hair shone in the dying sun?s light, a jewel in the green faucet of the sunset drenched landscape.
_________________________________
_________________________________
http://fc03.deviantart.com/fs49/i/2009/177/b/1/A_Little_Slice_of_Rhydin_by_xEtherealDreamerx.jpg