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Trixie
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jun 18, 2013
Magdalene's heart beat against her chest as the wheels rolled down the road. She had oft been told of these lands, of the savage hills and forests that existed outside of her father's lands, of how they were home to savage beasts some years ago. It had been over a decade since she had been told those tales, but they were as known to her as any fairytale was to any young girl. Of how the werewolves had hunted and killed and pillaged wherever they had lain their ghastly paws.
But it was different now, she reflected as the carriage hit a bump in the road, giving her a faint start. Her father, Lord Ferral, had hunted and slain and slaughtered those beasts like the animals they were in decades past, earning his lordship and his sovereignty over these southern lands, taking the wolves' savage lands for himself. He was her father, a fierce man and protector, who was taking his daughter out for a ride to the lands north of those savage wilds, to the courts of the king that ruled over all the kingdoms of man, King Valence.
It was time, after all, as Magdalene (often Maggie) had matured into a fine young woman. Thick around the hips and the belly, with lovely eyes and a lovelier smile, as was usual for girls with the privilege of aristocracy. There were hopes to bolster Ferral's lands and his standing in the kingdoms by marrying the comely young lass to another lord's son (perhaps even the prince! Not so far-fetched a thing with Ferral's service and indomitable spirit), but that would come in time.
For now, she was with her handmaid, an older woman who had been with her for the past six years by the name of Solana, likewise comely but in less stately regalia, wearing sedate blues to match her charge's lovely forest greens. "Do not worry, young lady," Solana was saying as she was brushing a comb through Magdalene's hair. "All is well," she said in that same soft, soothing tone Maggie had grown used to over the years.
While ten years separated them, at 21 and 31 respectively, their bond could scarcely have been stronger. There was a stirring from outside, a rustle in the trees that set Magdalene on edge.
They could hardly have known that those years since the werewolves had been driven back had not been spent quietly or idly. That there were wolves yet, fiercer of fang than any that had come before them. And that they lurked beyond the bend the carriage was rolling around, as her father's carriage, armed with guards while only a driver and a guard attended to his daughter, rolled some thirty paces ahead.
But it was different now, she reflected as the carriage hit a bump in the road, giving her a faint start. Her father, Lord Ferral, had hunted and slain and slaughtered those beasts like the animals they were in decades past, earning his lordship and his sovereignty over these southern lands, taking the wolves' savage lands for himself. He was her father, a fierce man and protector, who was taking his daughter out for a ride to the lands north of those savage wilds, to the courts of the king that ruled over all the kingdoms of man, King Valence.
It was time, after all, as Magdalene (often Maggie) had matured into a fine young woman. Thick around the hips and the belly, with lovely eyes and a lovelier smile, as was usual for girls with the privilege of aristocracy. There were hopes to bolster Ferral's lands and his standing in the kingdoms by marrying the comely young lass to another lord's son (perhaps even the prince! Not so far-fetched a thing with Ferral's service and indomitable spirit), but that would come in time.
For now, she was with her handmaid, an older woman who had been with her for the past six years by the name of Solana, likewise comely but in less stately regalia, wearing sedate blues to match her charge's lovely forest greens. "Do not worry, young lady," Solana was saying as she was brushing a comb through Magdalene's hair. "All is well," she said in that same soft, soothing tone Maggie had grown used to over the years.
While ten years separated them, at 21 and 31 respectively, their bond could scarcely have been stronger. There was a stirring from outside, a rustle in the trees that set Magdalene on edge.
They could hardly have known that those years since the werewolves had been driven back had not been spent quietly or idly. That there were wolves yet, fiercer of fang than any that had come before them. And that they lurked beyond the bend the carriage was rolling around, as her father's carriage, armed with guards while only a driver and a guard attended to his daughter, rolled some thirty paces ahead.