The Rose of the Moor - Writers Forum

CircusFolk · 04-04-2007, 01:58 AM

Part One

This may have been the last time he could enjoy the company of the waltzing heather, the operatic brook, the whispers of the sea, the solemn whistling of the whinchats to their mates. It seemed to be one of the few days of the year when the fogs would clear the moorlands after the early morning had passed. The sun, which had banished the clouds from its presence that rare day, shined upon the dew covered grasses. The landscape appeared as though the rain had embellished the land in diamonds. A smile creased the young man’s face as he felt his boots sink into the moss, his face coloring healthily as he breathed in the chill of the air. Though he could have walked upon the cut of the moor littered with stones (a rudimentary trail,) he felt that walking within the small layer of brush was the best way to enjoy what the environment had to offer. A brisk wind swept across the stretch of open land, ruffling his fair head of hair as he walked parallel to where the moor dropped into bluff to meet the stirring seas. The breeze made the nearing heather dance, and though he watched them his mind was focused on other things aside from his pristine surroundings. Alongside a patch of fauna was a stream cutting through the grasses more beautifully than if an artist had placed it there. The entire scene was not worthy of an artist’s canvas. Again the thought drifted into his mind like a ghost. This may be his last visit to the moorland.
Soon he would be a drifter, a traveling soldier who was sent to this place and that in the name of his country. In truth, the young man was did not enjoy taking orders from authority figures but his mother was ill, his father dead, and his little sister getting thinner and paler by the day. He didn’t doubt that the only reason her skin retained any sort of vibrancy was because of the moor’s lovely air, else she’d appear to be a walking corpse as his mother was. As his family’s health declined with it went their fortunes, their feeble conditions caused by a lack of bread to eat. It was his responsibility to make sure that his family was in good health. His sister would also be bed-ridden in time and the little money obtained from her nearly-always-fruitless market endeavors would be no longer. Being a soldier would produce a significant amount of finance for them, enough to have more than just food on the table. Despite its advantages, he still was hesitant about the time that loomed closer with each passing moment, the time when he would go overseas and leave behind his homeland.
Another wind sent tufts of blonde locks into his line of vision. The tresses broke the image of heath flowers being guided by the winds, an eloquent ballet of bearberry and mayflowers. Upon this zephyr rode faint feathers, a divine voice whose source seemed to be a phantom. The boy stopped mid-step, nearly falling forward into the dancing blooms as his gaze shifted upon the horizon in for the woman to whom this song belonged. No one. Not a single silhouette of another, no origin for the harmonic voice carried by the air. The initial thoughts that came to mind were if the tales of sirens were true, that perhaps some singing apparition lounged upon the rocks at the bottom of the bluffs, awaiting him to be beguiled off the edge of the moor and to his death. Then there was of course, always the possibility of him being purely delusional, hearing nothing but the breeze blowing through the reeds thriving within the rivulet. But he could not only hear a melodic voice but words which accompanied it, which gave him doubts that he was simply mistaking it for something it wasn’t.

“Every sun
And every moon
Would watch her
As she searched for thee…”

The virtue of the voice alone, aside from the grief that it spoke of was enchanting. He revolved to glance behind him, seeing nothing but the landscape that he had already passed by. Finding the entire situation rather peculiar the young man turned to face forward again, only to meet with the specter that had been avoiding his vision so keenly.
A girl who he had somehow overlooked before, stood mere feet away from the moor’s drop off to his left. Her girlish figure was outlined in the rays of the sun as she twirled about in the heath, a serene smile adorning her features. She pirouetted, her legs positioning themselves intricately as she raised her gaze to the cloudless heavens, spreading her arms out widely as though to greet Apollo with an embrace. Still her song continued, euphonic tones kissing the crisp flutters of moorland air.

“Just one glimpse
Just three words
From thine lips did she desire.”

Extensive dark tresses cascaded from her head, whirling around her like a planet’s rings. He noticed a basket cradling a bundle of ashen roses close by, alongside a pair of worn shoes that seemed to have been leisurely tossed aside. All the while the young man looked on, his emerald optics like lanterns as he contemplated her movements. There was no count of how long he stood, gazing at her shameless rotating dance. At one point or another the girl saw his shape from the corner of her vivid eyes. The fright he gave her was immeasurable, making her jump as she stood her ground, the halt in motion causing her shirts to continue rotating before unwinding themselves gracefully around her exposed ankles. It was then that he realized that she truly had been bare foot, seeing her petite feet support her rigidly atop the heath flowers.
Just as he stared at her she stared at him, her azure blending with his sage. However, she saw the stranger only through shaky vision provoked by her continuous spinning. Soon her stationary standing became wavy, like a person who has touched land from the wobbly floors of a ship. Dizzily she attempted to regain her forgotten balance as her feet crossed awkwardly and she tripped backwards. Somehow he managed to grab her hand and pull her up before she reached the ground. Though he had kept her from her nasty fall, now supporting her on his chest, she wasted no time pushing him away. A splash of red stained her cheeks
“Thank you,” she said briefly, looking downward and brushing off her grass-stained skirts.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where exactly did you come from?” she inquired with a gentle tone though still holding a slightly brusque edge. The young man, a bit surprised she had elaborated on her previous words at all, attempted to reply as concisely as possible. It seemed to him that he was making her uncomfortable.
“Actually, I was wondering the same about you Miss. I heard your voice before seeing you. Couldn’t find you for a while either, which I find rather odd considering it is clear as day at the moment,” he replied, realizing swiftly that his intended-to-be-precise approach had failed miserably. The girl’s expression changed; her critical look softened and her flush retreating. She appeared rather intrigued. With this shift in mood went her voice, though she still possessed the soft-spoken nature that she had earlier.
“How odd, didn’t notice you at all.”
“And might I add that I remained stationary while searching for the source of the voice. I turned this way and that, look forward again, and you appeared from thin air,” he explained bluntly, recognizing a few moments afterward that he might possibly sound deranged. Nonetheless, the young woman’s features suggested that she was seriously contemplating his words.
“Odd. I have been here in this exact spot for quite a bit of time now,” she stated, seeming to talk to herself more than to him. A long pause filled the air between them, for she was unwilling to speak any more on the subject and he was suspicious of her mannerisms. Finally the boy spoke, questioning her in a grave fashion despite the almost innocent blinking of his eyes. It was the only thing that signified his nervousness.
“You wouldn’t happen to be some sort of siren or succubus would you?”
Instead of adopting an appalled or mischievous expression as the young man had expected, she looked openly amused by the idea. But the harmony that were suddenly brought to vibrant life made her mouth seem more like the gates of heaven, for he believed no angel’s choir could have sounded more worthy of god.

“Alas my love you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously
And I have loved you for so long
Delighting in your company.”

“Greensleeves?” he asked her with a puzzled smile. It certainly wasn’t every day one met someone who answered such somber inquires with English folk songs.
“No! I mean yes but that wasn’t my point sir. I would have finished you by now. Had been siren or succubus that song would have intoxicated you,” she declared sharply, oddly strong in opinion for such a gentle tone of voice. Despite it being slight aggravating, her spirited attempts for a debate, he found it rather refreshing. His retort was quickly given.
“I never said that it didn’t.”

Mike · 04-04-2007, 07:25 AM

It's difficult to get through your first paragraph. It's not that it's necessary bad writing; it's quite descriptive. In fact, it's actually too descriptive - like a top-heavy tower of dominos ready to fall. I think you could slim it down by half and it'd be much better. There's a scenic flow that you want to create, but right now you're throwing all these images at us. We're among the heather, then we're along the brook, and then swoosh there's the birds, and then the wind catches us for a while, and then.... I'm being pulled on too many sides by too many senses and visuals. It's also hard to stay concentrated on the MC.

Minka · 04-05-2007, 08:46 AM

I agree with Mike that you are overly descriptive and that makes this piece quite difficult to plough through. However, I liked it a lot. You do have some really beautiful phrases in there, it's just from time to time you use words that are unnecessary or overly ostentatious, for example 'emerald optics' would probably have sounded better if you just wrote 'emerald eyes' or 'emerald gaze.'

My other gripe was here:

Quote:

Originally Posted by CircusFolk

“If you don’t mind me asking, where exactly did you come from?” she inquired with a gentle tone though still holding a slightly brusque edge.

I thought that when the girl said this it sounded a unnatural. I think it would be more realistic if they spoke a litte more before she says this, for instance, he could compliment her dance or she could comment that it's strange to run into somebody else at that particular spot, or something like that.

But, on the plus side, once you've toned down the description a bit then you will have created a really striking atmosphere. I loved the part about the heather dancing and your description of the cliffs. I could really feel the scene at that stage, but there were definitely times when the description was too lavish.

Anyway, good luck with this. It sounds like the kind of story I'll enjoy reading and I hope you continue with it.

sierra alpha · 04-05-2007, 10:51 AM

I actually really like your opening paragraph, from " This may have been the last time" through to "dropped into bluff to meet the stirring seas" - this is exactly how I feel when surrounded by breathtaking landscape.

However, after this I think the prose begins to feel a bit tired and over-written. I think if you simplify your sentences and, as Minka suggests, make your descriptions of the characters' actions and tones of voice, etc, a little less lavish then the whole piece will flow a little more easily. As it is, I feel distracted from the characters and their interaction by all the things they're doing, which are described so intricately. I think the reader will be able to use their imagination to a certain extent, and fill in some of the details if you let them.