Revisited

Image via Wikipedia

Note: These are several descriptions I've been working on for the rewrite of an old story. No, I don't know why there are random italics. Sorry about that.

--

Greyson estate was at its finest that evening in early spring. The sun was starting to set behind the large hill the shadowed the archery range, but there was still plenty of light to accommodate the lone boy pulling the bowstring taut. He loosed an arrow; it struck close to the center. The boy let out a puff of frustration and pulled another arrow to his bow.

Nearer to the house, a trim stable – well looked after and well used – let out a few whinnies as the stable hands brushed the horses clean of all their daily grime. There were many horses at Greyson, ready to accommodate whatever need the Duke thought up. The horses were especially fine; the Duke was fortunate enough to have made acquaintance with a man who knew what to look for in horses.

A worn path led from the stable to the manor house. It was a familiar sort of house, furnished lushly with rich, comfortable furniture. The small, well kept garden could be seen from the windows in the study, where a teenaged boy was slumped at the table, sweaty from being at the archery range and wondering why his father wanted to see him. The older man began to speak in his usual long winded manner, spreading his hands wide for effect. ...

--

Cameron ducked low over Aiden's neck, urging her to a canter. The mare was reluctant, but she eventually smoothened her gait and took long strides. The path beneath her hooves was packed dirt, damp with recent rain. The fog of a hot rainfall lingered in the valleys between the trees. Cameron could feel it wick away the warmth in his calves, tight as they were to the body of his horse.

His face was damp with sweat, but the humid air cooled the heat, though it didn't dry his face very much. This path along the outskirts of the castle grounds gave him full view of the beautiful Grendathian mountains, stark on the horizon. The sun was setting, glistening on the everlasting snow at their peaks and throwing their roughness into sharp relief.

Soon the path curved away from the mountains and toward the west, where the sun was hidden by the grove of trees planted by Cameron's forefathers to block the castle from the town. “We have enough scrutiny as it is,” they had said, and so the trees had come to be. There were few trees anywhere else near the royal palace. They grew in more abundance further from the mountains, though it didn't seem anyone knew exactly why. People said that all the trees were cut down and burnt long ago in a war of the Magics, but Cameron wasn't so sure about that.

The fog licked his arms as he rode through the shadows, slippery tongues evaporating as soon as they had formed. It blew through his hair: water through flame.

The path curved again, toward the castle, and Cameron began to slow Aiden down for the final stretch. She broke back into a trot as they began to pass his mother's Grey Garden. It was something she had once seen in her travels in the North as a young woman. In the mountains, the people made gardens of stone and dried wood, arranged in patterns. Cameron thought it looked bleak and hopeless, but his mother thought it was simple and soothing.

He lifted a hand to her as he passed; she was sitting on the granite bench – a sliver of color against the garden. She wore a dark colored dress, but her skin was fair and her hair as red as Cameron's. On her, it looked auburn and regal – not fiery or rebellious at all. She was serene. She was perfect. She was always perfect.

She smiled her calm smile at him as he rode by, then looked back to her Grey Garden.

When they returned to the stables, Cameron dismounted and wiped his forehead. Sweat and condensation left a smear on his white sleeve.

“Sir, your father has a message." ...