![]() I want my soldiers to carry it when fighting the enemy.” “Oh I will show you how magical my devine powers are! See this great flagpole with my banner waving in the wind? They obeyed but trembled, saying: “But Master, his magical power is too mighty for you!”Īnelious pushed them into the courtyard of his keep where his knights were gathering. He shouted at his servants to assemble the army. it was clear that Lord Ned was responsible for all this, especially the incriminating weather. In fact she had turned into a heap of grey dust with four long teeth lying alongside. When the servants discovered her earlier this day lying in the cone of light that was formed by her bedroom window she was not so pretty. His daughter, Batavia, who had been extraordinary pretty since she was born, had turned into a maneater when she reached adolescence.Īfter a certain day she developed long canine teeth, red eyes, a pale skin, a really nasty behaviour and soon the word ‘maneater’ had a literal meaning to her. the second watched the sky with his hands covering his eyes from the burning sun and his face turned into an enraged grimace. the sky bursted with bright light, and huge black clouds racing after each other. Later on Grypela was dragged before him, crying and struggling. His magical powers of manipulation were quite good but to change the sky that was yawning above him, he needed more. His mood was turning bad considering the dull sky and the shouting grandma, but then he hatched an idea: “Clouds of dust, dirt and blood shall cover theeee!” He could hear the crazy witch Grypela nagging down at the marketplace already, cursing the peasants: The view bored him.Ī grey sky, barely sunlight and lousy clouds – not worthy of a Lord’s attention. glanced out of his bedroom window to watch the morning crawl over his mansion. So, yes, a sight he would never forget and one he would soon write a sonnet about, but first, before those light words composed in the rose garden, other words, to a far-off Baron and a trap he himself had been laying for quite some time. He watched and knew he was watching history and fable being born and he knew that even though he felt such pride he felt satisfaction also.įor to make a King ride to war and doom was no easy feat especially when it was your father. Bards would sing of that ride and of the lonely boy left behind to rule a kingdom bereft of its king and how that boy avenged his father’s death with the head of the rebel - that Baron who had cut his father down in a treacherous ambush along with all his gaily caparisoned knights. He watched them all snake past him in the rosy dawn and he knew he would never forget that sight in all its wondrous and fairytale glory. So the king his father sallied forth with his best to ride into a distant land and seek vengeance. Rarely did a king leave his throne and yet he knew his father could never take such an insult without seeing it as a personal affront to his honour. This Baron had raised up high his banner in revolt and now his father as a matter of honour rode forth at the head of his household guard to settle this upstart once and for all. He knew they rode out to war with a rebel Baron far to the south amidst the marshes and arid plains which fringed the sea. Only once did it swivel in his direction and for an instant tip as if in recognition. Even the mask which was his father’s helmet seemed carved from some cold metal, distant and otherworldly. He would remember the beaten bronze of the sunrise, the golden warmth of the stones he stood next to, the towers and battlements rising up in hues of honey and copper, and through all that wound the silver and ice of the knights, upright and martial, like caryatids from a lonely Winter land. This was what all sons were born to see and he being the son of the King was no different. Even the cold of the morning which made the horses’ breath steam like dragon’s fire did not quench his pride. No, that sight would never leave him for what young man will ever forget the sight of his father riding out to war? He could not remember ever having felt so proud in all his life. It was a Flemish tapestry come alive like a woven snake uncoiling across the landscape. Xato.He watched the knights canter past the outer battlements in all their panoply and knew he would never forget that sight - the jangle of the harness, the pennants flapping in the slight breeze, fire glinting from the bassinets and cuirasses. MIS 3371 Summer 2014 Parks Exam 1 Answers
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