pipeweed

It's been some time since I picked you up, journal. Don't be cross at me, I'm always busy with work. I cook from dawn to dusk for the company. I don't mind so much as I get breaks in between and my nights are free. I suppose I'm getting what I deserve, I through a fuss when Basaran hired a baker, taking offense that he did not like my bread but it was true, I needed help.

It was dark. A crescent moon drifted in the black abyss of the night sky like a forgotten and fragile gem, left behind to shimmer its crystal neglect upon a resting and oblivious town. The town was still; a sleeping child, slumbering peacefully in the womb of its mother. Where a quiet blanket draped like a shroud over the fields of men, stretching over low and desolate plains and the muscular arms of mountain ranges.

The silvery drops of morning dew slowly settled upon the green leaves of spring as the sun began its journey across the heavens.  The coming dawn had painted the sky into a crimson splendour, and a gust of chilly wind entered through the open window and blew across Denholm’s face, which was only partly exposed beneath the grey blanket. Ysle sighed and moaned quietly in her scenic slumber, and her hair was resting all over the pillow like golden strands of wheat upon a field.

Durwood had finished sweeping the old off cuts of pipe weed from the barn floor when Master Longo Burrows came into the barn.

“Durwood I need you to go down to south field, those musicians that asked to play here have gone and started their playing down there and they should be up here near the barn in north field ”