This week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge – ‘time’ – really got my creative juices flowing, and I finished up bang on 333 words (the limit). It all flowed right outta my pen, so whether I can take credit or not I don’t know! Please, enjoy and comment what you think.
“I would speak.” said Rims.
The crowd there gathered stirred, heads were turned and eyes sought the speaker. Rims held his gaze to the council and crested his chin high. The Elder there spoke, and demanded the name of he that had disturbed the gathering.
“I am Rims, son of Roste, of the first and second houses of Mallas. I would speak before the people and the town.”
The Elder,a ancient and decrepit, wrinkled his broken eyes. The naming of Roste and Mallas had shaken him.
“Then, speak for us, son of Roste.”
And unbidden, Rims climbed to the council table, standing there forward and above the crows. The folk of the town looked up at him, and he saw fear and sadness. Then blazed in him a fire of anger and redemption.
“There may come a time” he cried, “when we can not defend our wives, our families. That day we will fight, die to a man for our homes. If we tarry but here, we hasten that day forward. The Empire have slain our children and raized our barns. Raped our children and burned our crops. Why? We have the steel to defend ourselves, the menfolk to bear it and the steeds to carry us hence! Then why do we wait for them? No longer!”
He raised his clenched fist, and wind from the north did blow his hair from his widened eyes, and the crowd perceived a light as of heroes in his eyes. In their hearts a stirring, and they listened with keen ear.
“I am but a farm boy, raised and born to a widowed woman. I’ve been out the the valley but twice to the next village, but they will never take my home whilst I have freedom in my spirit and breath in my body to keep me! Ride with me! Tomorrow, I shall ride, and I shall take with me my life, my liberty. There are no heroes. We must fare our own end.