As the life was slowly being drained from the sky, the snow began to fall. Snow, like soldiers in battle getting slaughtered and left to rot on the battlefield. The innocent army began to impale itself into the ground, with the only hope of survival was to die. An army whose uniform was covered in the blood of its previous owner. When it coated the earth, the snow was almost turning the bloodsoaked ground pure with the colour of its flesh. It marched in dull, lifeless, empty lines as those behind tried to follow them hoping to meet a better fate. But they didn’t. Spirits fell with the snow that landed on the ground. Small patches were left uncovered, almost perfectly preserved. Almost. In the midst of the deep forest, the trees spoke in soft, …show more content…
This rider, however, was different from all the others who had ridden through here. This rider was dressed in black head to toe. A black setston covered the head of the rider, down to the approximately the eye sockets. The face of the rider was covered in a black, silk-like material, shrouding their face from the falling army and whatever debris the horse may kick up when it trotting through loose subterrain. A long protective cloak shielded the rider from neck to knee, it was most likely waterproof, something only the royal guards had inside the castle.Last of all, came a large weapon with a sharp spear positioned at the end of it. A weapon of cowards. The user could either pull a trigger to instantly kill their opponent, without a last thought, or a spear injected into their chest with full force no second thoughts on how they do …show more content…
The rider did it again, and again, and again. Small cries of pain and whimpers came from inside of the bush, the rider ,who thought it had done its best of fatally injuring the thing inside of bush, stuck its gloved hand it to collect its prize. When the rider dismounted the beastly stallion, tentatively stroking the outer edges of the bush, before slowly letting the bush engulf their arm. The speared weapon still lying dormant in the bush, prodded the riders finger and the rider now confused where the prize they had so gladly speared had gotten too. Cautiously, they began to move their arm around the small shrub. Until something finally landed into their hand. Then, a sudden sting of pain revelled throughout the body of the riders a they felt something trickle down into their glove. Inside the bush, a nefarious smile protruded the face of the one who caused the pain inside of the rider's arm. It began to scurry, scamper, scramble across the maze of twigs and sticks. Scraping its skin, causing a sharp hiss to expose the inner animalistic side of it. A strand of hair; brighter than the sun on the lightest day of the year, reaching down to what is presumed the shoulders. The rider, still with red crimson still beading out of its arm, like a creek. Yet this time this creek is draining life not giving
...om its original habitat it presents the one who chose to harm it with the pierce of hurt from its thorns, but once the thorns are know of, caution is used when handling it.
Brock awoke to the sound of a trumpet. He was ready to get training. Brock put on his long johns, pants, shirt, coat, and hat. Then he slowly walked out of his tent. When he walked out he was greeted by Major General Wayne. He said, “Follow me i'll show you where you will be training.” Brock followed him for a about a mile until they walked into a large field with hundreds of saddled horses, and about 80 other men. Major General Wayne said,
Swords in the Middle Ages had many uses. One of these uses was to knock enemy riders off their horses. Once they were off, their long riding weapons were of no use to defend them. They were bombarded by soldiers and killed easily.
“Men, for many of you, today is your first day training as a Knight of Camelot,” said Prince Arthur to the group standing before him. “And be grateful you’re not stuck in a torrential downpour as I was on my first day of training here on this very field. The sun is shining and I plan to work you hard.”
They woke up and trudged on, through the deep and treacherous snow. “Roar”, all of them stopped in their tracks, they looked around but saw nothing except for the thick blanket of pure white snow.
...rward, broke the ring, and fell over the steep edge of the rock to the sand by the water. At once the crowed surged after it, poured down the rock, leapt on to the beast, screamed, struck, bit, tore. There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and claws (Golding 153).
It was similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses with stale Bermuda grass, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through a white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car, I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, and the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled, even silenced, by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, but somehow familiar blanket. The smell of burning wood was coming from every direction, as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume rising gently from the chimney. The plumes represented the warmth and comfort of the many people I imagined to be nestled by the fire. Looking down the street, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice-- like icing on a cupcake, or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand-- covered the street. But on the side of the street sat a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Preparing to succumb to the temptations before me, I was momentarily hindered by the fear of my parent’s wrath. But had that ever stopped me
beneath its branches. Then Gods angels came down from heaven and shouted " cut down
3. Chapter 1, page 5, #3: “Moving through the soaked, coarse grass I began to examine each one closely, and finally identified the tree I was looking for by means of certain small scars rising along its trunk, and by a limb extending over the river, and another thinner limb growing near it.
Birds, cows, horses, boars and other creatures were running wild in the forest. He tried to tame a boar by petting it’s tusks. The boar charged at him instead, but Kiden saw it as affection. Bruised and bloody, Kiden returned to the shack. On his way there, he looked up at the stars.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
captive by a sheath of frost, as were the glacial branches that scraped at my windows, begging to get in. It is indeed the coldest year I can remember, with winds like barbs that caught and pulled at my skin. People ceaselessly searched for warmth, but my family found that this year, the warmth was searching for us.
The tribe slowed down to a jog and looked warily at their ominous surroundings. The impending trees' branches entwined like spidery fingers, clawing at the overcast sky in an upward spiral. Their ears pricked, listening for the creature’s footsteps. Boom! A giant claw of hideous jagged blade like nails emerged out of the hidden bush and petrified the helpless people as the dragon took a deadly swipe at the tribe.
The snow that was predicted to be several inches by the end of the weekend quickly piled up to around eight inches by that evening. At times, the snow was falling so heavily you could hardly see the streetlights that glistened like beacons in a sea of snow. With the landscape draped in white, the trees hangi...
Many sands had the tree known; many green neighbors had come and gone, yet the tree remained. The mighty roots had endured such whips and scorns as had been cast upon it, but the old tree had survived, a pillar of twisted iron and horn against the now sickly sky. In the waning light of evening, the tree waited.