TLC Forum

Ah. That does make sense.

Before having read your explanation, Elanor, I was thinking, "So... Gunther and Michael, but in Albie and [friend's name I'm blanking on]'s position."

@Ariel: I didn't even make the connection until I read it over after I'd written it. I do wonder what happened to the two of my characters, though. Wonder if there's more of a story waiting to be told in there... (By the way, you've given me a fic idea. *headdesks*)

*"innocently" grins and forms a halo over her head with her hands...*

Here's something short:

My name is Lacey Weaver. I'm rather common-looking but I manage to catch a few stares by people passing by or those who just happen upon me, (such scenarios happen way too often for me to like). I normally live under houses, in hollowed trees, in old abandoned barns, or attic spaces (I currently make my home in one) where no one will find me. If you haven't guessed already, I'm a shy gal and my only wish is to be away from people, especially the ones who look down on me as if I'm nothing.

Even so, I consider myself talented and can spin out the finest woven designs you've ever seen. Beautiful, some have called it and I'm always delighted to think they enjoy my handiwork. Others don't take pleasure in it so much and destroy all I've made and send me on my way to a new home. It's hard moving place to place, but if I didn't I would surely die. I don't want to die. No spider wants that.
________________________________________________________________________
I don't know why I wanted to give a personality to a creature that frightens me, but there it is.

She's not... not like Shelob's size, right? (Jaygee rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaalllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyy dislikes spiders. )

So long as she's not a brown recluse or black widow I'm liking that story.

I feel ever-so-slightly bad for spiders now. But if they don't want me to kill them, they should stay in the great outdoors where they belong. *definitive nod*
Regardless, that's a fantastic little story! Didn't see the end coming!

It's been so long that I've written anything worth posting, so here's something I've been wanting to write. It's based on the song "Learning to Plough" which has grown on me ever since my first listen, it's one of my favourites now. Anyway, I wrote it from the "pretty maid's" perspective, and I'd like to write a much longer version that can capture the entirety of the song, but for now I've written this:

[No title yet so I'd like some ideas for one]

The rain stopped and I saw some light when I looked out my window. A soft light, not the harsh brightness of the morning's sun on a clear day, but a faint glow that only passed through thickened clouds overhead.

I took up my shawl and threw it over my shoulders. My worn notebook with the torn-out pages found itself nestled in my embrace as I made my way to the outside world. What a beautiful world it was. The raindrops still had a sparkle to them as they lay upon the blades of grass and budding roses. Jewelry for the flowers, as my mother told me once. Even as beautiful as it was, it was still as wet as one would expect. The grooves in the earth were filled to the brim, but I managed to make my way with only a little soaking to the hem of my dress.

Paying too much attention to where I was placing my feet, I didn't realize I made an incorrect turn on one of the paths. I was planning on secluding myself away from others in my own private sanctuary, a small meadow where only few brave animals would venture into. Instead, I found myself upon a lea. The land was beautifully tilled as if an artist, with a steady hand, drew the lines upon the land in perfect harmony with one another. I stood gazing upon the expanse of the farmland with the moors behind expanding further still, until I heard a faint noise. I turned and saw a horse standing under a tree not ten feet from me.

His ears were pricked forward and he moved towards me. I made a clicking noise I've heard my father do whenever he called for his horses, and he took a few more tentative steps. He emerged from under the shade and I saw that he was dark in colour with a light golden mane and tail. He was beautiful for a farm horse. He wasn't glossy and fit like the horses I've seen at hunting parties or those I've watched in races, but he had a kindness about him that made up for it. I could tell straight away that he was a sweet soul and meant me no harm. So when he finally came close enough I tucked my notebook under one arm and reached out to touch his nose. It felt velvety and slightly wet to the touch, but it was the loveliest feeling to have my hand up against such a gentle creature.

“Miss?”

I jumped back when I heard the sound of another human and my notebook flew from its secure place and into a puddle of mud just in front of me. The stranger stooped down and lifted it from its swampy grave and proceeded to wipe off the muck.

“I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to scare you none, honest.” He held out my still-dirty notebook so I could take it, but I didn't have my wits about me and stood staring.

“Miss, are you all right?” he asked, his eyes were genuinely worried as they scanned mine. “Maybe you should sit yourself down here in the shade. The sun's gettin' to be brighter now.” He took my hand in his own, a brash thing to do to a lady, and led me past what I assume was his horse and under the tree where the sun wasn't as bright nor the rising heat as strong.

He took off his jacket and placed it on the soggy ground for me to sit on and took his seat on the grass. “Here's your book, miss.” He held it out again and, having a clearer idea of what was happening, I took it.

“Thank you.” I nodded.

“I'm sorry about scaring you, miss.” He looked down and plucked a few strands of the grass. “I didn't mean to, but I didn't think I could truly see a girl as beautiful as you stroking my own horse.” I wasn't sure how to respond to such words and stayed silent, flipping the pages in my journal, hoping my months of work were still intact. “I'm sorry about your book.” He added.

I looked up and met his gaze. He, like his horse, had something I wasn't used to – natural kindness. He wasn't a gentleman by any standards, with his hair mussed under a cap and his clothes in disarray from the hard work he put into his family's farm, but he was better for it. I smiled, hoping it would put him at ease.

He smiled back but it faded as he looked away. “I'm sure you'd like to be off, now that you've cooled down some.”

“I think I'd like to stay for a bit longer,” I said to his surprise, for his brows furrowed when he looked back at me.

“I'm sure you've better places to go, miss.”

“I was just going to a glade further down the path,” I pointed in the general direction, “but I lost the way and found myself here. I must say, I am pleased to make such wonderful company.”

“Thank you, m-”

“Mattie,” I said quickly. “You can call me Mattie.”

“Is that your name then?”

“It's actually Matilda, but everyone I know calls me Mattie.”

“Both are pretty names.” He looked up only for a moment and resumed picking at the grass.

“How about you? What's your name?”

“You can call me Tom.”

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