More story bits

One day a party rode out of the castle. There were many people and many horses; there were wagons and there were carriages. The young woman stood back from the road a way; it had rained, and the ground was muddy, and mud flew from each hoof that fell on it. She hid behind an oak tree; and glad she was, as she knew her mouth hung all agape and she must look an absolute dunce. Banners flew, bearing the coat of arms of the castle family, whose name she bore as well for the sheer fact that her people, for longer than time was told, had lived on the outlying fields and lands of that fiefdom.

When she returned to her cottage she noticed that the gates to the castle were not right; almost closed but … not. But there were cows to be milked, so she didn’t waste more than the moment it took to notice.

But after the milking was done, and after she had sat to supper with her sister (this poor thing had been cursed with a harelip and so she rarely ventured outdoors, preferring to weave and sew and prepare the meals), she thought to go for a bit of a stroll. It was late spring, and the days were generous with light and the breezes were gentle through the fields. As she always did, because it overshadowed her life and because of her ever present longing to see what the world inside its walls was like, she turned to look at the castle.

The gates were still just off being closed. And she knew in an instant that she must look in through the small crack there. Without another thought, without a word to her sister, she began to climb the gentle slope that would bring her to those very gates she so longed to pass through.