Writing Prompt 077

So. . . funny story about this one. I wrote the prompt based on an image of a black horse running out a forest head on to the camera. After spending 30+ minutes searching for the original image and not being able to find it. *glares at self for not downloading it when I picked it*. So just image that is the prompt because I don’t have it. LOL! Enjoy! 

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Dirt under her fingernails, the gentle breeze in her hair and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves like a gentle hand stroking the fabric of the earth. It all culminated into one of the most comforting feelings in the world. Violet loved tending the garden. It was her happy place.

After loosening the soil with her fingers, she pulled the dirt out and made a small hole before reaching for the tiny seedling she had been tending inside till it was strong enough to brave the elements on it’s own and be planted outside along it’s brothers and sisters. She lifted the tomato plant from the tiny pot it had been calling it’s home and settled it gently into the hole in the ground. Pushing the dirt close around it’s stem, she smiled and hummed to herself before brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She could feel some dirt transfer to her face but she only smiled. It wasn’t like she could fix that with her hands looking the way they were now. She would use her apron and the lake to wash away the traces of the garden when she was finished.

She closed her eyes and sat back on her heels as another breeze blew by and tickled her face with it’s gentle fingers. So much turmoil was happening in the world beyond her village and with each passing day she couldn’t help but admit the truth. It was getting closer. The outside world had always been just that. On the outside. But with the young prince taking power after the death of the well beloved king, his spoiled attitude was told to be the cause of the tyranny that was springing forth. Those who valued their way of life only whispered such a word. To be heart openly speaking ill of the new king could bring a punishment swift and life altering. She had never experienced it firsthand, but she had heard stories of those forced into the army or into labor for the king, their possessions seized or their children taken into slavery as a punishment for speaking ill of the king. She sighed. Thoughts of the pain outside her village walls still plagued her even in her sanctuary.

She shook her head, trying to clear the depressing cobwebs from taking up residence within her mental domicile. Turning back to her plot of earth, she sank her fingers in once again to loosen the soil when a thundering beneath her body startled her. Stretching her fingers out flat to feel the vibrations more clearly, she strained her ear to catch even the slightest sound.

Thundering hooves.

Standing suddenly she looked towards the woods. A small bit of movement caught her eye. It was a horse, plowing through the underbrush and sending the birds scattering and clamoring out of the way. His black mane flowed behind him, matching his black body perfectly. His head was high in fright and his ears back. She gathered her skirts and rushed towards the edge of the forest to head him off. As she drew closer she realized that he was saddled.

And without a rider.

She stepped in front of the steeds charging path, raising her arms to ward him to a stop She gulped for air to catch her breath. The horse saw her at the last minute and snorted, throwing his head back as he half reared and stamped his foot in front of her. But he didn’t run anymore. He was wary and she could see the white of his eye until she cooed under her breath. His ears came forward and he breathed heavily through flared nostrils as she held out a slow and gentle hand towards him.

“Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Violet barely spoke the words above a whisper.

After a lengthy pause. He stepped forward and touched his nose to her hand. She softly rubbed the sweaty muzzle and slowly worked her hand up his face. Showing him her other hand, she slowly moved it towards his neck. Softly petting and patting him, all while crooning sweet platitudes, she glanced at the saddle. A royal saddle. It had the crest of the kingsguard on it. A lion and a cobra. Her heart leapt into her throat. A kingsman so close. The horror stories from earlier shot through her mind and she tried to catch her breath. Until her heart stopped entirely for a moment.

There was blood on the saddle.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .