She softly whimpered, pushing her delicate frame back into the shady gray that had long since become her home, tears lifting to graze long, dark lashes. Somewhere beyond the thick, oaken door footsteps sounded. Her body momentarily turned to ice, the fear within now rising like a winged serpent; angry red eyes rushing to consume her. She prayed under her troubled breath, words barely audible. Dear God, don’t allow those footsteps to stop and torment me once more.
Her captivity had been a long and fearful one. Days had slipped into weeks and she had long since lost count of the weeks gone by. Her cell-like room was damp and cold, with nothing but an arrow slit to offer light and the fast dwindling hope of freedom. Her shoulder length, blonde hair had long since lost its bounce and her clothes were that of an impoverished, old hag, certainly not that of royal blood.
She longed for the great hall of Ryde Castle. Yearned for the love of her mother and father, to be home again, eating wild game, fresh fruits and vegetables in the company of family and friends, watching the antics of the court jesters and jongleurs, living the charmed life of a princess, the life she had been born unto.
Out through the narrow, arrow slit she could clearly see the odd golden spangle, glimmering against a cloudy, black sky. Finally the rained had stopped; the lightning and last roar of thunder, the storm at an end. An owl hooted nearby, its eerie cry mixing with the cool breeze that appeared to taunt her. She closed her tear stained eyes and tried to sleep.
A sound: the distant thud of hooves thrashing the water sodden earth relentlessly, moving closer all the time. Voices: the drawbridge lowering with a loud; grinding scrape; two armies facing off under a cloud scattered, silver moon. Battle cries fill the air, broadswords and maces clashing devastating blows against shields and breastplates, knights and terrified horses falling to the mud and the blood below.
She opens her eyes and rushes for the arrow slit, strains to see what is happening below her and for the first time in as long as she can remember; she wonders if freedom will soon be one with her. She waits, bites nervously on her lower lip, leaves the slit and crosses the dusty floor before turning and returning. Up and down, up and down she paces. There is nothing she can do; nothing but wait and hope and pray… nothing at all.
That’s all for now
Back again in just two days with the continuation