Elsa's Entries

Hello, Fish Hoek!

2012-01-28T05:40:00.000-08:00

There’s a God. He’s there. I Am. He’s there. There’s no way any part of our lives, all of nature, all the universe, every circumstance, element, event, and thought could just “coincide” so perfectly: the whole complex magnitude of every happening and occurrence of this world couldn’t possibly be if there wasn’t a God. Think about it, could all the details and little things, all the improbable huge events of the world that come together to make your life happen the way it does, could every encounter between every person you meet on the street happen by chance? The complexity of life, everything it contains: emotionally, physically, psychologically, biologically, and every other –ally there is; does life and the happenings therein really occur by coincidence? Think about it, does the mere whim of Random Chance orchestrate the diverse and incredible courses of every single human life on the planet, every interaction between man and man, and does fortune and purposeless accidents manage this all simultaneously? A little far-fetched, maybe? Perhaps.

Still, I’m mentioning this because really, hey, only God could’ve brought all the scattered, fragmented ideas of our whole move down to Fish Hoek, Cape Town together. A few months ago I mentioned to a couple of friends that I couldn’t wait to see how God was going to work it all out. He did, by the way; He worked out every detail of the move perfectly. I don’t know why I’m surprised that He did; I mean, He always does! It’s incredible that He’s so powerful, mightier than our thoughts can begin to perceive.

Our house (in December, of all months) was sold for the asking price after being on the market for one week, we found a rental house in Fish Hoek a day later, a convenient and not-overly-expensive moving company was contracted to move our things, and after some last minute frenzied taping, bubble-wrapping, bottom-of-the-fridge-eating, and boxing, somewhat of an astronomically massive double-trailer moving truck arrived at our gate. The movers piled out and along with some of our friends, we all proceeded to cram 400+ boxes and bags and an inordinate amount of furniture into the aforesaid vehicle. The intricacies of balancing a rocking chair between eleven boxes, a piano, and an assortment of dismembered bunk-beds… delicate, crazy stuff. We did manage to get it all in at the end of the day, though, and it all worked out. The next day, Thursday the 29^th of December 2011, Anno Domini, we bid farewell to Barberton—the town of gold mines, jacaranda-lined avenues, quiet walks, good friends, and magnificent mountains—and set off on the three-day trip to the southernmost tip of Africa.

It was a great drive down. South Africa has some of the most diverse scenery you can imagine, and we saw a good deal of it. Driving past endless fields of tobacco, cacti, fruit orchards, melons, and hay; winding through the bleak, brown-grass hillocks of the Karoo Desert, meandering amongst huge masses of shale and granite mountains, brushed with wildflowers; flying across the country beneath the stretching, high dome of a huge blue, cloud-smeared sky… it was breathtaking.

We rolled into Fish Hoek (a suburb south of the actual city of Cape Town, on the southern peninsula) on Saturday afternoon, the 31^st of December 2011. One of our good friends from our Mozambique years, Mrs. Christine Hallet, very hospitably and graciously let us invade her flat for the weekend until the truck with our things arrived. We spent New Year’s Eve on the beach.

Sunday, January 1^st (Happy New Year, everyone!), came with a glorious sunrise and a view of the two craggy peaks between which Fish Hoek is nestled. A stirring sermon by Mr. Eric McCochran, great fellowship at Medway Community Church, lunch with new friends, a little more touring of Fish Hoek, and a windswept beach completed the day.

Monday the 2^nd brought the general upheaval of the arrival of the first part of the moving truck, its gush of boxes and furniture into our rental house (a small, airy affair with open rooms and an array of live snails patrolling the garden), and surprisingly quick organization of belongings and beds into their proper places. Tuesday was general finding-our-feet and walking around town to acquaint ourselves with strategically-placed coffee shops, banks, little kiosks and stores, and supermarkets, not to mention testing the death-tempting intersections of traffic that were nearly comparable with downtown Maputo in non-rush hour. Tons of fun. On Wednesday the 4^th, the second half of our furniture and boxes arrived, more sorting and unpacking followed, and everyone had a bed of their own that night; a blessing in itself.

Day followed day pretty swiftly after that, and before we knew it, my siblings were about to start school. My mom marched off determinedly to a dozen stationery stores and three malls with five school supply lists, and came back with thirty-plus bags of every possible school-related material known to humankind. My brothers and sisters were taken over to the uniform shop, and the two assistants (poor creatures) were run off their feet for three hours while my siblings were kitted out in regulation apparel. The result was five white-and-red-clad students with drastically-loaded schoolbags. The first day of school was a success with nervous faces entering the school building and exuberant ones coming out, yelling "It's so much fun! We love it!"

And so, for now, although the house is still a little messy with several almost-empty boxes, almost-tidy closets, and electricians and uniform/swimsuit-clad siblings running about; quite frankly, it’s beginning to feel like home. Isn’t God awesome? Looking out now at the cloud-and-mountain-fringed horizon, one realizes anew just how present He is in our lives, just how wonderful, powerful, and faithful He is. “Oh, taste and see that God is good!” Oh, He is so good. “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.” He is! He is a refuge for us. He’s provided us a home here in Fish Hoek, He’s blessed us with friends already, He’s given us better schooling opportunities for my siblings, a new ministry position for my dad, a better climate and a much-needed change of setting for my mom; He has indeed given us “a future and a hope.”

So, to conclude, I’m very thankful to announce that, by God’s grace, Fish Hoek, Cape Town is house and home to the Petersons. You’re more than welcome to visit any time.

Weeds, Beards, and Bumblebees

2011-09-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

When all's said and done, I doubt this is a characteristic that will have done very much good, but I do admit that I'm an obsessive weed-picker. *inspects dirt beneath fingernails critically* Yes, I'm a weed-picker. I mean, when you think of all those little roots and shoots that you've picked out at the plant-nursery, buds and new greenery and little leaves that will one day (hopefully) blossom into lilies, azaleas, daises, ferns, irises, and 'wait-and-see-what-on-earth-this-is plants' sinking their little roots down into the soil and their little shoots up into the sunshine; when their space and nutrients are cruelly stolen by foreign elements that don't particularly belong in that corner of the garden, that's when one gets the overwhelming urge to dive for the digging knife, a bucket, and start re-adjusting the ratio of garden plant to weed growth, right? Right? Maybe not. I mean, this guy below looks pretty innocent:

His single stem bravely holding up under the weather and sun, daring to grow big and make a real weed out of himself, something worth taking up soil and an aim worth growing for, he has hope and ambition and the will to live... and yes, he was unceremoniously and hastily yanked out. Shoh, is it possible to have a guilt trip over a simple weed?

Anyway, during the pulling of the innocent little weeds with their extensively complicated and sprawling networks of roots, I began thinking of Hobbiton and the Shire and the Old Took and old ale and the Party Tree (The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien had been read recently). The result of such "innovative" thinking was a bit of a rhyme.

Duri the Lound

When the stars of Mot gave way

And the moons of Feri appeared,

Duri the Lound decided one day

That 'twas time to earn The Beard.

And so he went to the Forest Coss

To weave himself a cap,

And spun a cape from a window drape

And drew himself a map.

His armor was woven from mossy felt,

His sword a whittled strand.

A bright blue feather was his belt,

And a wood chip shielded his hand.

He climbed aboard his blossom-boat,

And so sailed he away

Upon the ocean that was the moat

Of a child's castle Fay.

He alighted upon the beach-gold sand,

Looked both up and down,

And decided that adventure inland

Would further on be found.

And thus he strode with his sword a-bristle

Into the mountains Tryn

To spend the night beneath a thistle,

And snore himself a din.

This snorting aroused the Bumblebee

(Oh, the fiercest ever found!)

Sputtered and buzzed this Bumblebee

Disturbed by Duri the Lound.

Up he flew and away he hummed,

With his angry sting a-wagging,

Straight to Duri, who had drummed

His shield and set his moss-banner a-flagging.

Oh, it was a fearsome fight,

I'm sure you will agree!

With sword and shield and fist and might

Duri fought the Bumblebee.

And he flew the Bee home in the bright sunshine

To win Filberta the Fair.

He now lives content in a cottage of pine,

With a table from the pit of a pear.

(conceptual art of the Beard of Duri the Lound; he managed the heroics to acquire it... ;) )

A Morning of Fishing

2011-06-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago we went to the Guthries' farm (family friends who own a farm and whom we love to visit) for a few days for a school break. The four younger kids (Sonia, Lael, Philly, and Anna) stayed there for several day while my parents, Cole, and I went to Pretoria for a conference (which in itself was so amazingly fun!! But that's another story). When we returned to pick them up, we were invited to stay a few days ourselves. My mom and Aunt Tombie had a wonderful time reading and talking together, Cole reacquainted himself with Australian rugby, my dad and Uncle Jimmy did rather extensive car repairs amidst conversations on everything agricultural, and the younger kids fished, baked up a storm, hiked, and exuberantly inspected every inch of the farm. The Guthries' farm is pretty idyllically situated: several square kilometers of beautifully green, rolling hills, dams, trees, and waving grass that makes it look like a piece of transplanted Scotland.

Anyway, one particularly beautiful morning was Saturday morning of that week, and so some of us got up (relatively) early and went fishing. Philly's an ardent fan of the sport and so we decided to accompany him.

Lael and Johanna basking in the light with fishing paraphernalia in hand.

The sky a cloud-flecked beautiful blue and a lovely Lael with part of Dad. :)

First catch! A little red bream or barbel, or something of the sort.

Hooks and fingers and bait... and Jo.

The ambitious (and quite successful) fisher woman. :)

Voila! Well done! 'Tis a catch to be proud of, Lael! (I do have the right to say that, the biggest thing I caught was about two feet long: a fish that had evidently undergone some sort of aquatic metamorphosis and transformed itself into a stick with riverweed adornments. Hmmm.)

My mom enjoying the sun.

The troupe of fishers. Philly in his hat looks rather the part, no? ;)

Waiting for the bite. Good luck, guys!

Philly the proud and pleased hunter of redfish number thirteen. :)

Of Socks and Swims and Adieu to the Sun

2011-04-22T03:08:00.000-07:00

Winter's arrived! Six months of hot drinks, long sleeves, jackets, scarfs, and hats loom up before my empty lemonade glass, and so it's time to reintroduce the word "sock" back into my vocabulary. ;)

In a quick and undetailed flashback over the summer, I have to say it's been one of the best. In the first week of both October and November my mom traveled up to Pretoria (capital of SA about five hours away) for Dr. Wayne Mack's Grace School of Ministry counselling course. For a full week each month, she had a wonderful time studying and listening to lectures, and came home with her suitcase crammed full of books and mountains of homework. While she was gone, my dad and I attempted to hold down the home front. And I think we succeeded, considering no one died from my cooking, or was poisoned from gas fumes when we did the house remodeling that can only be done when a mother isn't there to see the mess we made. ;) In the latter half of November, we had guests stay with us for a couple weeks, finished up the Sunday School year with a play and awards' night, and then packed everything up for a pre-Christmas vacation at a nature reserve, along with some friends. Thanks to the Murray family and Luke Foster incredible fun, skin-cancer-ensuring sunburns, braais every day, Boggle late at night, Monopoly in the middle of a rainstorm, swimming in a cold-cold river, and plunging off high jetties into the cleanest, clearest water made the week unforgettable. :)

Christmas rolled around in an endless array of the nativity story, secretive smiles about hidden gifts, surprises, songs, and reminisces of the Lord's endless and unfailing love and blessings in the past year. New Year was spent watching the impressive fireworks that lit up the Barbertonian sky, eating homemade ice cream with fresh mangoes and strawberries, coaxing the dogs out of our beds, and lighting off our own fireworks. Farewell to 2010! You were a colorful year, full of new things, and with tons of memories.

January began a new school year (hello, 11th grade!)and passed by rather uneventfully. Providing that heavy, humid heat, thundering hail and rainstorms, spring cleaning in the middle of summer, swimming and barefooting one's way through the days can be considered uneventful. February began with a rain shower in shorts and ended with a windstorm in jeans. In between, headway was made in school and I got the literally brain-numbing shocking surprise of having my best friend Gracie Woodrow secretly bus down to spend a week with us. I was reading on the couch on Sunday night, expecting a relatively uneventful week, and then Gracie strolls in grinning with a casual "So where do I put my bag?" :D Thank YOU, Gracie-dear, for that wonderful week of insanely late late-night talks, crying over movies and video clips, foxtrotting with coordination in the kitchen while making pancakes with the iPod attached to our heads, and thanks so much for sticking by me during my mouth operation (tooth removal, chiseling out a cyst, yanking another one into place, opening the palate, more chiseling, and stitches) and generally being the never-say-die and just amazing friend you are. :)

March brought a weekend in Johannesburg, my sixteenth, Lael's tenth, and my dad's forty-ninth birthdays, and Cole's beloved Cricket World Cup. Oh, and the pressure of our nearing conference season. Dad's printing out of 1000+ brochures and letters, dozens of boxes of books being sent out all over the world, and hundreds of envelopes to be licked and mailed. April was all of this and more with my parents' trip to Cape Town. Our friends the Mulengas came to stay with us while Dad interviewed at a theological seminary and Mom went house hunting.

All that was last week, which brings me up to the now. Good Friday, what a beautiful thing happened today over 2000 years ago. A Jew, a lowly carpenter beaten, bloody, humiliated, and whipped beyond recognition and hammered to a cruel cross, enduring hours of agony. The Son of God dying, God's plan to save mankind from sin coming to a close in Christ's labored cry, "Father, forgive them!" and then "It is finished." And this for you and me, so that we don't have to suffer for eternity, so that we can finally be complete, so that our lives can have meaning, so that we can serve and give and be utterly filled with His love... seriously, what are we worth, who are we compared to such an act of pure, selfless love done 2000 years ago? O Saviour, thank You!

Happy Easter to all!!

Oh, and would you mind praying for my dad? He's going to up Lusaka, Zambia next week to speak at a missions conference, and we would really appreciate prayers for everything to go well. Thanks a lot!

Uncertainty, yet Hope

2010-11-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

I wonder where I'll be within the next short year,
Whether I might be hither or yon, or whether there or here.
Maybe immersed in a high school schedule of books, locker rooms and classes,
Or paging through Don Quixote or maybe wearing glasses.
I really don't know where the Lord is leading us, or even what to do,
But I know that He'll see us through, after all, He promised to.
It's hard to trust and just not know what's going to happen and why,
And try to organize things our way instead of learning to forget all my
thoughts and plans and hopes and dreams, because I'm not one to ordain
The way that everything shall come about. But to surrender to Him might and main
All that I possess, and trust and live the way He asks, and He will see me through.
Please, Father, don't let me forget that I'm not the one in charge... it's You.

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." Psalm 27:14

He will guide until the day is done...

Off to Nampula

2010-07-10T06:40:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

On Friday the sixteenth my dad, Cole and I will be leaving South Africa to go to northern Mozambique for an Editoria FIEL pastor's conference. The theme this year is Sola Five, which are the five elements of the reformed Christian faith and how to apply them. We'd appreciate prayers as people from Brazil, the U.S., and from all parts of the lower half of Africa fly in over the weekend. The conference starts on teh 20th and ends on the 23rd. Cole and I will be part of the volunteer team (volunteers??!! right-- more like draftees) and we'll be serving, cleaning (not cooking, thankfully!!), setting, folding, drying, watering, salting, etc.My dad is tackling registration and MCing and all the million tasks in between. So we're looking forward to a week-plus of 5:30am-12pm days. ;) Totsiens and I'll be back with more photos. Bye!!

~Elsa

Evangelical Press Conference 2010

2010-05-22T06:21:00.000-07:00

On the 7th and 8th of May we hosted our fourth annual EP conference. And it was so much fun! One of out elders and I were in charge of registration, and so we spent a considerable chunk of both days sorting out and trying to spell unpronounceable and unspellable last names that were over fifteen letters long. And most of them began either with D, M, or L. Welcome to African surnames. Our two speakers were Ronald Kalifungwa from Zambia and Irving Steggles from England. We had about ten sessions and each one of them was so amazing!!

Here's out photo. Thanks for your prayers!!

Oceans and Giants

2010-05-13T03:25:00.000-07:00

I have never seen the moor
And I have never seen the sea,
Yet I know how heather looks
And what a wave must be...
~Emily Dickinson

"If I have seen a little farther than others, it is because I have stood upon the shoulders of giants."
~Sir Isaac Newton

Traitor: Benedict Arnold

2010-02-17T02:40:00.001-08:00

Benedict Arnold. We know that name. Benedict Arnold the great Connecticut general in America’s Revolutionary War. Benedict Arnold the dynamic leader whose very presence was said to inspire soldiers to stand their ground and fight back against the British. Benedict Arnold, one of the war’s most amazing heroes who thirsted for danger and a fight. Benedict Arnold, the colonies’ most celebrated champion. Benedict Arnold the traitor.

Benedict Arnold started out as a merchant’s son apprenticed to an apothecary. Arnold was unhappy with the apprenticeship because, as he said, “There is no excitement or danger in the work of a druggist measuring out mercury and opium…” When the Revolutionary War broke out, Arnold enlisted and worked his way up to become a major of the Connecticut army. Arnold love to be in the action of things. Galloping up and down the fighting lines of men, his heroic figure and brave words calling them to fight for freedom had the ability to inspire his soldiers to great acts of heroism. After the capture of several forts up and down the coast, Arnold wrote to and expected Congress to reward him financially and honourably and remember the acts of bravery and valour he had performed. Although Congress rewarded him fairly, Arnold selfishly felt that they were not truly grateful and became disgruntled, often commenting that “If Congress cannot properly thanks its valiant soldiers with honour, how can it be expected to run a country?” Because of lack of gratitude and finances, Arnold then began to deal with the British, offering his services as major general. He kept his dealings quiet and low, passing plans and secrets over to British lines. Although the British commanders were grateful, they did not trust Arnold’s shifty and fickle nature. In December of 1779, Arnold was court-marshalled by his fellow American generals and majors for using army wagons, supplies, passes, and surplus materials for his own use, and slandering officers within the hearing of the soldiers. Arnold, stating that it was not a criminal offense, defended himself while calling attention to all his past glories and deeds of bravery, as all his crimes and breaches of the rules did not matter. “How can it be that I, who have sacrificed domestic ease and happiness along with a great part of a handsome income for my country be suspected of wrongdoing? My conduct from the earliest period of this war has been steady and uniform.” Arnold received a formal letter of reprimand from General Washington, which pushed him to join the British forces. No one knew of his treason and betrayal until on the dark night of September 23, 1780, a certain Major John Andre of England was caught with the blueprints and weak spots of the American fort of West Point. These plans, letters, routes, passes and strategies were signed with a swooping and distinctive signature: Benedict Arnold.

All Arnold wanted was to be a hero. His treachery caused great loss to the American forces, but though Arnold was accepted by the British, he was never trusted. He was brave, yes, but he lacked the honour and selflessness of a true hero. Arnold was greedy and power-hungry, wanting the best for himself and not caring about other men. His self-esteem was sky-high and made it seem to himself that he had simply changed his mind. His love of money was his ruling passion. Because of his treachery, several forts were lost, hundreds of men were killed, he was a wanted man by the American army, and because of their anger and he himself attacked a privateering port some twelve miles from his hometown. Arnold wanted to be on the winning side and he thought he was until the Americans won the war in 1781. He wanted to be someone whose name would be written down in the pages of history. And it is. A name ever synonymous with the word traitor.

In the Passing of Night and Dawn

2010-01-24T23:52:00.000-08:00

Creeping velvet upon the land unseen,
Covering away sunset’s last golden sheen,
Dusk sweeps across the meadows and hills
Dancing softly over houses and mills,
Leaping over the rivers smooth,
Stopping quiet a flower to soothe.
Night of velvet, quiet and cooled
Casts flickering shadows on the moonlight pooled
Of blue, gray and silver and shadowed glints
Flash on summer’s dusky tints
Of the rock in the clearing upward cast
To play its glance on the trees’ dark expanse.
While upon the leaves of the proud, proud tree
Is laced a delicate silver filigree,
That casts a dim shadow on the same leaf below,
But then enchanted and flared by the moon’s soft glow
And set upon the darkened swooping sky,
The tiny silver lights float and they fly,
And seem cast off the bow of a ship o’ dreams
That comes to moor on Heaven’s star beams.
Beneath, the earth flushed with a cool wind pale,
Sweeping over the plains to trail
Across lofty mountains and woodlands fair,
And wafting across mystic sea beauty rare.
The horizon of the east awashes with light,
Pure and fair for the day’s first sight.
The trees tip with a pale lemon green,
Dawn’s burning beauty washes over the stream,
The granite cliffs flush with bright amber’s shimmer
And sets the dewdrops in the grass a-glimmer.
The sun’s heralds arise and between them they cry
That the beauty of the dawning day will never die.
That this everlasting tapestry of splendor and glory
Tells of His love for life’s aged story.

IN the

2010-01-24T23:48:00.000-08:00

"...and a Happy New Year!"

2010-01-04T04:22:00.000-08:00

"The year grows old, and the memories cherished
Live on in pictures, smiles and gifts.
The past days we live over once again beside
A fire, as down the powder snow sifts.
Forget not these blessed moments
Of family, friends and smiles.
For though stern ambition speeds out way
Twas these that saw you through the weary miles.
Remember, memories are marked not by long hours
But by the time we took to smell the flowers."

Happy New Year, everyone!!!

Who can Say?

2009-11-06T00:32:00.000-08:00

I went through some of my photos, and for some reason, this poem came to mind...
Who can say where the road goes?

Why the sky shines

Why the mountains
Burn with light.

And why a child laughs

Why the river diappears
Out of sight.

Of Feet and Food

2009-10-11T04:47:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, long time no write. So what's up with the Peterson crew recently...hmmm.

Well, yesterday my dad got his foot stuck through the ceiling. He was doing some insulation in the attic, you know with those huge rolls of cotton batting stuff and there was a whole lot of masculine grunts coming from the roof (it's kinda cramped up there). Anyway, I was sweeping the living room when suddenly this foot crashes down through the ceiling, spattering 70 years worth of dust all over my spotless wood floor. Seriously the crashing sound was deafening!!! There was a few seconds of stunned silence then my dad says something like, "That was deliberate, it's about time we replaced the living room ceiling." Whatever. Then I made some cookies, accidentally leaving out most of the ingredients as usual (I refuse to break tradition!). They still tasted okay, but PLEASE remind me next time to read the recipe before I put them in the oven...:)

Week in Mozambique

2009-07-19T04:48:00.000-07:00

Well, we had a great time in Mozambique. Lots of fun 'n' fellowship. I'd love to upload some pictures to show you, but as the picture-uploader-thing doesn't seem to be in a helpful mood today and if you want to see the pictures, email me at wanderingwarriorpoet@gmail.com and I'll send you a link...
Love,
Elsa

A Long Overdue Report...

2009-05-31T05:40:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone!! Wow, you know, I really should start thinking about updating this blog more. Uploading pictures is such a hassle. So I hope you all don't get bored by written and un-pictured updates.
I might as well start at the beginning and say something about Mother's Day. My mom hosted a Mother/Daughter luncheon where we played teach-your-daughter-the-basic-household-chores, which included scrubbing dried jam off a window. Then my mom gave a "lecture" as she says and we watched a quick clip of how many orders a mom has to give a day. You can watch it yourself at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5z4ZsA6X9fA and it's a lot of fun! We had a really nice time.
Then my dad had his annual Evangelical Press Conference where pastors from all over the area came to listen to two amazing speakers. This year's topic was Marks Of A Healthy Church. Me and a friend tackled registration for about 125 pastors, elders, leaders and their wives. Nametags, gift vouchers, manuals, papercuts, sunburned noses and sweat-drenched foreheads were included. We had SO many last names that ended in "m" e.g. Mabuza, Mncina, Mazibuku, Mathebula, Masuku, Manwala, Mathbisala, etc. My dad MCed the whole two-day program, Cole and a couple of his buddies and two overseers hit the bookshop as cashiers, one of my dads friends recorded the whole thing, and a very dear lady offered to host the whole thing at her conference hall as well as house and cater everyone.
My dad, Cole and I would appreciate prayer as we are going to northern Mozambique for about a week, to help out at another conference sponsored by a Christian publishing organization in Brazil. Two-hundred and fifty Mozambiquan pastors and their wives are coming to learn on how to be a good Christian family. I hope everything goes well!!! So my next updaye will be on how that went. See you in a couple weeks!!!
Here's a couple random pictures of our family (Not all of us though. It's sorta hard to get eight people looking the same direction and smiling pleasant smiles at the same time!)

Easter Weekend

2009-04-13T01:58:00.000-07:00

Christ the Lord Has Risen Today! Hallelujah!

Happy Easter Weekend, everyone!! Sorry if I left you guys hanging for a awhile back!! Just couldn't get around to updating. We had a pretty fun Easter weekend. I didn't take many pictures, sorry!! But here a few things we did on Easter weekend. We went over to a friand's house in Nelspruit for the afternoon. Once we got there, we played in the river and flew a few kites (or at least we attempted to fly them!). We had a braai (barbecue) and we had such a delicous smorgasbord of such tantalizing food, that I will never forget it ever!!! NB It was so good that by the time I got my camera out

Here's a picture of Lael's hair. It is really blonde and long, and it makes me think of, you know how they say in books, "a river of gold..." :)

The grass in the sunlight and the shadow.

Here's Andrew (one of our friends) and his dog, Toffee.

Lael gesturing somewhere...

Easter Day Lunch

One of my mom's china plates. I really like the design on it.

The salad dressing jar.

Ah yes, the tuna fish-mint-jello-celery-honey-salt-sweet'n'savory cracker dip. My mom's master piece. NB: Don't judge it by its looks!! It tasted delicious! :)

The Pro-Vita crackers.

And yes, the savory applesauce tasted SO good on the ham...

My mom serving up on the dishes of food. Yum!:)

The checkered tablecloth.

My knife and spoon. I had a light right behind me so they took on a goldish tinge.

My fork and napkin.

Anna and her cracker (I think!) :)

And of course the before-and-after pictures. My plate before...

And my plate after (I just couldn't finish!)

I hope you all had a blessed Easter. Easter is not just colored eggs and candy and rabbits and eating and playing. It's about the wonderul resurrection Jesus made because He loved us so much... Thank you, Jesus, for dying for all of us, and for rising again!!

A Couple One-Liners

2009-03-02T00:49:00.000-08:00

Have a fun time reading!

Quotations about Mothers

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan

Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, bydozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothersand sisters, aunts and cousins, comrades and friends - but only one motherin the whole world. ~Kate Douglas Wiggin

The phrase "working mother" is redundant. ~Jane Sellman

I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life. ~Abraham Lincoln

The formative period for building character for eternity is in the nursery.The mother is queen of that realm and sways a sceptre more potent than that of kings or priests. ~Author Unknown

Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it islove just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together. ~Pearl S.Buck

Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible. ~Marion C. Garretty

Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.~Ambrose Bierce

If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands? ~MiltonBerle

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fallupon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us,still will she cling to us, and endeavour by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. ~Washington Irving

A suburban mother's role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and bycar forever after. ~Peter De Vries

A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.~Victor Hugo

Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers withease. ~Lisa Alther

One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters. ~George Herbert

The tie which links mother and child is of such pure and immaculate strengthas to be never violated. ~Washington Irving

Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall; A mother's secrethope outlives them all. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers. ~Jewish Proverb

Now that I'm older....here's what I've discovered:

I started out with nothing....I still have most of it.
I finally got my head together, now my body is falling apart.
Funny, I don't remember being absent minded.
If all is not lost, where is it?
It is easier to get older than it is to get wiser.
The first rule of holes: If you are in one, stop digging.
I went to school to become a wit, only got halfway through.
It was all so different before everything changed.
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
I wish the buck stopped here. I could use a few.
It's not the pace of life that concerns me, it's the sudden stop at the end.
It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
If God wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my knees.
When you're finally holding all the cards, why does everyone else decide to play chess?
It's not hard to meet expenses ... they're everywhere.
The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.
______________________

In a murder trial, the defence attorney was cross-examining a pathologist. Here's what happened:
Attorney: Before you signed the death certificate, had you taken the pulse?
Coroner: No.
Attorney: Did you listen to the heart?
Coroner: No.
Attorney: Did you check for breathing?
Coroner: No.
Attorney: So, when you signed the death certificate, you weren't sure theman was dead, were you?
Coroner: Well, let me put it this way. The man's brain was sitting in a jaron my desk. But I guess it's possible he could be out there practising law somewhere.

My Story Chapters 4-6

2009-02-27T11:42:00.000-08:00

Chapter Four
The Knightly Sword and the Journey

The early morning stars glowed, and the eastern horizon, was barely touched with rays of pink light, when all of Kandar’s crewmen were in the courtyard awaiting their captain’s arrival.
The ship was loaded with provisions and fresh water. Any torn sails had been patched, the rigging inspected thoroughly, tiller and rudder examined with care, overall the whole ship had been scrutinized painstakingly.
Kandar was taking orders from the earl, and Torin was in stables saying good-bye to Tristar, his horse. “Goodbye Tristar, I will come back and by that time, you and I will be able to ride like the wind. Farewell.”
Torin left the stables and crossed the courtyard. The earl materialized beside him.
“Torin, my son,” he said. “Here is your knightly sword. I know you will live up to be a good knight, worthy of honor. I bid you a farewell.”
Head spinning, Torin felt something cold and hard pressed into his hand. Then the earl was gone. He looked down at his sword and scabbard, the cross-hilt of shining silver, the double-handed hilt with a sapphire set in the pommel fit his hand perfectly. He drew the sword. The light, strong, perfectly balanced blade gleamed in the early dawn. The scabbard was silver ivy, circling around a bronze background.
Kandar called to Torin, “My brother, the sun almost shows, it is time we are on our way. Come, do let us depart.”
Looking back, Torin gazed at his beloved castle. Battlements and parapets glowed in the early dawn, the spires of the great hall and buildings seemed to be tipped with gold. The large stone courtyard was empty; the great double gates were open and the heavy portcullis was raised to allow the townspeople to go about their various duties in and around the castle. The smithy and warehouses were at one end of the courtyard and the stables and barracks were at the other.
The ship waited in the bay. Torin bid farewell to the earl who had come along and thanked him for the beautiful sword. The earl just smiled his quiet smile and nodded. The twitter of birds in the trees sounded like silver bells. All was quiet and still.
Torin turned to Carlin, “Carlin,” he said. “If you get that young lady, I wish you best of luck.” Carlin blushed and pounded him on the back with considerable force. “I’ll miss you, Torin me mate, so watch yourself. If you return here harmed I’ll never forgive you.”
Torin winked. “In that case I will do my best to watch myself. Until next we meet, pal!”
The longboats were tied in the shallows, the men climbed in, and rowed to the ship, Queen Sunset. There was no mistaking the pride Kandar took in his ship when he helped Torin onto the deck. “Welcome onto me ship, Queen Sunset, the most beautiful piece o’ wood ever to sail the seas. Come on, Torin, I’ll show you to your cabin.”
Torin followed Kandar, down a flight of stairs, into the crew’s quarters, through a couple doors, and into a hallway. Kandar motioned at a closed door. “In there’s your room, brother. I hope you’ll like it. Nice view of the sea and my cabin is just next to yours.”
Torin thanked him and entered, feeling every so slightly queasy. He looked his room. A large bunk was in the corner, and opposite it was a sea chest for clothing and the like. A large window was at the far side of the room. Torin opened it and felt the draft of early-morning sea air, which was quite refreshing.
Hearing the cry to cast off, Torin threw his satchel of things on his bed and, walked out onto the deck. He joined Kandar at the tiller, and stood watching the shore go farther and farther away. They sailed on and on always keeping the coast in sight. Torin went below and unpacked his satchel into the chest and found a set of oilskins for bad weather as well as a pair of sea boots.
Torin explored the upper decks and met the cook, a plump, good-natured old man who was an expert shot with a frying pan, as a couple new apprentices from Castle Rallsin found out when they decided to raid the kitchen.
The two lower decks had barrels, sacks and casks of provisions and water. Separate rooms held spare sails, rope, and other seafaring things. Purely out of curiosity, Torin scaled the rigging and climbed into the crow’s nest. The lookout greeted him cordially and pointed out the distant rocky shoreline, and spirals of smoke that showed where a settlement or castle was.
The first night, Torin went up on deck with Kandar. The sunset made rays of pink, red, orange, and purple light stretch out toward the eastern horizon. Night’s first few stars twinkled. The forest-covered coast looked almost black. From below deck, in the crew’s quarters came the strains of a lone flute playing a beautiful melody. The brothers stood side by side, leaning on the deck railing. Everything seemed so peaceful and beautiful.
“Kandar,” Torin asked. “How could evil ever come here? This country is as peaceful a forest glade.”
“Torin, don’t ask how I know. To me it just seems that peace has gone on too long, much too long. It has been at least fifteen or twenty years since the last invasion. Don’t get me wrong, I love times of peace. But the warrior in me is just saying that something is coming soon.”
Torin thought about it for awhile. “I suppose that you might be right, my brother, but if I were you I would intend not to worry too much about it, if we just stay alert and watchful, we will not be taken by surprise if this evil shows itself.”
And so the days went on, always sunny and cloudless. It was obvious that the crew respected their captain a great deal. Each order was carried out with the utmost care and detail. In turn, Kandar was good and kind to his sailors, creating overall, an atmosphere of contentment.
Torin observed this and noted that his elder brother was indeed a great man. Meanwhile, Torin adjusted to the usual schedule of the day: all men woke at the watch men’s early morning bell, and had a breakfast of oranges and boiled eggs. Then an inspection of the ship to make sure everything was in shape.
Then the men usually hauled buckets of sea water and washed down the decks. After that was done, some men fished or held wrestling matches. Lunch was bread and meat. In the afternoon the men sat around and napped or went swimming with lines attached to their waists. Supper was ale, meat, cheese and bread. Then, after supper, there were big bonfires on deck, and the telling of stories, at which Torin naturally excelled. The nights were peaceful with cool breezes and low stars. There were amazing constellations at night on the sea.
There were mock swordfights and pretend battles now and again, and every day there was sword practice. Kandar’s Queen Sunset needed very little help to navigate her way through the waters, just an expert hand on her rudder and a lookout on both her crow’s nest and stern.
The Queen Sunset sailed around the Tarnian coast, with a wind behind her sails. High cliffs of red granite sometimes towered above them, thousands of feet high, rearing toward the heavens. Woodlands often occupied the shores, deep, dark, cool woodlands that seemed to whisper secrets to those who would listen.
The ship sailed up to where the northern mountains started and where the air was chilled and snow and sleet fell at night, and all hands on deck was required all the time. The ship sailed back down the western coast, finding nothing amiss. Kandar stopped at various ports and castles and swapped news.
However, as they came close to the cape of Tarn, the men became nervous and edgy and there was an air of foreboding on the ship.
Torin, who was usually cheerful, became rather uneasy himself when he saw weapons being sharpened and kept close to hand. He himself began to practice more with his own sword. The young man thought of something the earl had once told him, “A true-born warrior and a seasoned sailor can always tell when there is danger afoot.”

Chapter Five
A Past Unveiled

One night, Kandar took the tiller. He relieved all the watchmen and they went below deck. Kandar lashed the tiller in place, due southeast and asked Torin to join him on watch.
The brothers walked around the great deck, looking at the dark sea, shiny and flecked with light from the lantern at the stern of the ship. The sky was covered with clouds. The wind hissed through the rigging making the sails swell slightly. All was strangely silent. Below in the crew’s quarters, there was only the noise of mournful lute music.
Torin broke the stillness, “Kandar, the night you arrived, you said you had something of great importance to tell me, would you tell me now?”
“Indeed, I shall tell you,” Kandar replied, rather hesitantly. “That is why I called you up here. I wish to tell you of our past. The earl was going to tell you, but I believe it is my duty to do so, as I am your elder brother. I will tell you of our parents. Our father was Lekarsa, ruler of the people of the northern mountains. It was a warring land, as the other rulers there were constantly feuding with one another. It was the unspoken law of Tarn: that the wild warriors of the north would help protect Tarn in times of danger.
“Our father’s tribe, the Tulisean, was the strongest in the north. Almost every tribe looked to him as their ruler and their king. Lekarsa easily could have made all of the north his realm, and could have been monarch of it all. Instead, he decided to move down to the south, to help protect the coasts. He took the entire tribe with him. The people of the northern mountains swore to come to his aid if they were ever needed. During the journey south, our tribe stopped at a very prosperous castle where they spent the winter. Our father fell in love and married Anadar, the beautiful princess of the castle. They and the tribe moved on and built their own castle in the fertile southern lands of Tarn. Their castle, which they called Esdan, soon became a stronghold against enemies. Esdan was the strongest fortress in Tarn and no army could defeat it. They tried, but could not.”
“I was born in the spring after the castle was built; our father was overjoyed to have a son. As soon as I was tall enough to mount a horse, I think I had only seen eight springs, our father began to train me in the way of a good Tulisean warrior.”
“When our father had lived in the mountains he had had an enemy, Varka Ragan, who was immortal. Varka Ragan had been trying for years to capture Tarn, and each time he had failed, because of the steady protection of our father.
“However, in my fifteenth spring, just after you, Torin, were born, Varka Ragan attacked again. This time he had a vast force of evil beings he had somehow created; all were as evil as he. He attacked at night, surrounding the castle, and launching huge bales of burning oiled hay over the walls. Our father and the warriors did not panic; they simply put the women and children inside the keep and formed in their battle positions.
“We passed around bows and arrows, and many an evil follower was pierced by the flying darts of the Tulisean warriors. The enemy breached the wall and knocked down the gates with fiery battering rams, and we attacked back with the ferocity of wolves. Our mother, Anadar, had the women act as helpers to the wounded. We were winning the battle, but then Varka Ragan decided to call in the reinforcements he had set aside.
“Before and during the battle, some of his minions had been digging a tunnel from the outside of the walls, under the foundation, and up into the middle of the keep, where the women and children were. The followers slaughtered all of them, sparing only those fit to be slaves. Our mother died while defending the weak.”
Kandar swallowed and looked at his brother. Torin stared off at the dark eastern horizon, with a grim face like iced granite. “Continue, please,” he grated hoarsely. Kandar nodded and commenced with his story.
“I heard the screams inside and opened the door of the keep just in time to see our mother die. My father saw her too and ran to her side. Our father kissed her forehead, and sat looking into her face, while I protected his back. Then Varka Ragan stood on the threshold, with his minions behind him, the full moon reflecting off his armor, casting off glints into our faces. All our warriors were in the keep, forming their battle positions.”
“Our father led the charge. Never was there a battle more ferociously fought than the battle of Esdan. Our father battled with the fierceness of a wolf pack, killing and slaying as he tried to reach Varka Ragan. A band of fighters and me drove the rest of the foe from the keep and tended to the wounded. I looked out the door and saw that our father was cornered at the wall, and I ran out to help him.
“Cutting a swathe through the right flank of the army, I saw that our father had reached Varka Ragan and was doing battle with him. I went behind Varka Ragan and stabbed him in the shoulder. Our father nodded at me and slashed at his enemy’s chest, wounding his foe. Our father called to me in the language of the Tulisean chieftains, and told me to ride to castle Rallsin for aid. I replied that I would stay here until death to defend our people, as I had sworn in the warrior’s oath I had taken. Our father wounded Varka Ragan again in the knee and reminded me that I had also sworn to obey the chieftain. I went reluctantly.
“I rode away on the stallion belonging to our father. I looked back in time to see him, Lekarsa the ruler of the Tulisean, the greatest warrior of all times, fall, as Varka Ragan stabbed him in the shoulder, and a follower stabbed him in the back.
“I rode on to castle Rallsin, weeping for our parents. When the earl heard my story, he immediately organized an army to go and wage war on the hosts of Varka Ragan. When we got to the ruined castle, there was nothing living in sight. I suddenly remembered you, and searched for you. I found you beside the body our father; I know not how you got to him, as you were only a few weeks old. You had been cut deeply with a blade on your cheek, and left for dead.”
Torin fingered again the deep scar on his cheek. A follower’s blade cut that mark on me forever, he thought. Another notion dawned on him, I was dreaming of the battle, the kind female face is my mother’s, the other one is my father’s, and Kandar too. Kandar looked at his younger brother seeing their father’s warrior spirit rise in his face. How often had he seen that look of burning hatred in his father’s face when he heard Varka Ragan’s recent attacks!
Kandar continued. “Two days after the battle it dawned on me that Varka Ragan had killed my tribe and my kin. I realized that I was now the ruler of the Tulisean tribe, once the strongest in the north. My tribe had been felled by the sheer weight of the enemy whose numbers were far greater than our own. I burned with a murderous rage and vowed to slay him, I would have gone to find him and my life would have been forfeit, had I not remembered you. I looked at you and saw another heir of our father, one who would some day be a warrior just like him. My rage cooled, for a time, knowing that I had a brother that would help me fight against the enemy who had slain all we had held dear.”
Kandar handed a medallion to Torin. “When I found you, you were clutching this in your hand. It is the medal of a Tulisean king. Our father would have wanted you to have it. I have one as well, around my neck. There had always been two in use in our tribe, one by the king himself, and the other by the heir to the throne. Now as there is only two remaining of our tribe then we both are entitled to have them.”
With an impassive face, Torin studied the medal. There was a sword embedded in a mountain surrounded by waves. In the center of the medal was a green leaf. The whole medal was made with extreme ingenuity. It was crafted out colored silver, and in the center of the leaf was a tiny delicate emerald.
Torin finally spoke, “You wish me to join you and help look for Varka Ragan and slay him? I consent. As it was our parents who were killed, I believe it is my duty to assist you. Besides,” and he allowed himself a grim smile. “It will be an adventure I will not easily forget.”
Kandar nodded. “Thank you, my brother. I need your help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning was cloudy and overcast, a cool wind blew making the ropes hiss quietly; the crew, as well as Kandar and Torin were strangely silent. The only sounds were a few mumbled words. The morning chores were done, and the deck scrubbed in complete silence.
It was nearing noon, and the clouds were hanging lower, when the lookout hurried over to Kandar. “Cap’n,” he said. “We are nearing castle Sorrel, and there is a really big sheet of smoke where the castle is supposed to be, sir. Aye, and the cook said to tell ye, sir, we’re running’ low on water, we just hit our last keg, sir.”
Kandar replied. “Right, assemble the crew, look out for a suitable landing spot and make ready the boats.”
The lookout saluted smartly, and ran off to do as he was told.
In a short time, the ship was anchored in the tide and the seven boats lowered and filled with each half a score of well-armed crew. A few sailors and the cook had been left on board the Queen Sunset.
The wind was brisk and cold, the water, icy. Torin pulled hard on the oars and tried to ignore the stinging bite of the cold sea breeze by thinking why he had left his cloak in his cabin. The sound of sand crunching against the bottom of the boat brought him back to reality. Torin helped haul the boats up above the tide line and overturn them.
Looking closely through the trees, Kandar saw the flickering flames. His warrior instinct’s told him that this was no mere fire. Evil had been done here, and he was sure he knew who it was. “Hurry,” he cried. “We must help.”
And he sprinted off through the trees in the direction of the castle with the crew on his heels.

Chapter Six
An Angering Discovery

As the company of sailors neared the small smoking castle it was obvious that nothing could be done to put out the blazing flames. All four outer walls that protected the castle were torn down; only a few parts still remained standing.
“Captain,” said Darce, the first mate. “We can’t do anything to help the people inside.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” snapped Kandar, and with no hesitation he leaped over the burning remains of the front gate with Torin in hot pursuit.
Leaping through the broken portcullis, the duo stopped aghast, as they surveyed the scene of carnage in the courtyard. A scorching hot wind blew through the haze of smoke, through which they saw the forms of dead men, women and children draped over broken beams and lying on the bloodstained ground.
Heaps of rubble stood everywhere, and the charred remains of wooden buildings indicated that these ruins were once that of a wealthy castle.
A slight movement at the north wall caught Kandar’s attention. Motioning for Torin to follow, he picked his way quietly over to the jerking body. It was that of a young man, obviously delirious with the pain of his horrific wounds.
As Kandar knelt down to hear the dying youth’s mumblings, Torin looked around once more at the massacre, wondering what army so large and what leader so evil could do such a thing. All the nobles in Tarn signed a treaty to live in peace and not to quarrel. Gazing at the huge piles of rubble and stone, Torin was sure that this was the evil that his elder brother had been talking about.
A sudden movement at the corner of his eye caught Torin’s attention and caused him to look quickly about. At the damaged corner of the south wall a dark cloaked shape was gliding away. It moved as if it had no legs and Torin heard a hiss, “Kandar of the Tulisean,” it seemed to say. Then suddenly the dark shape disappeared into the surrounding forest.
Torin twisted around and tapped Kandar, who had risen and was staring off into the distance. The gray-eyed elder brother turned, and Torin saw that his face was as pale as a sheet from wrath.
“Varka Ragan has returned,” grated Kandar. “He attacked the castle this morning at dawn with countless numbers of his followers and destroyed the castle and all in it.”
Torin nodded slowly. “Why such a waste of life?” he exploded. “Why would he do such a thing? Tell me not, Kandar, for I know why. He is trying to take Tarn for his own! To be able to conquer Tarn would mean he is trying to capture the entire of Calcarta! If one owned Tarn then it would be child’s play to conquer the rest of the countries.”
Kandar was breathing heavily with rage and Torin saw that his brother was in danger of falling over in a faint. Leading his fury-filled brother out of the ruins, the younger brother guided his angered kin back to the crew.
Bidding his elder brother to sit down, Torin asked the crew to dig a grave and bury the dead. The crew agreed, deciding not to ask question.
As he marked out the mass grave, the younger brother thought about what had happened in the castle. He could picture the phantoms of Varka Ragan storming the gates, setting fire to the castle, killing all in it. How could this happen? He asked himself. The people did nothing wrong to deserve this. And as he thought about it, it fully dawned on Torin that Varka Ragan was trying to capture the very peaceful country that been in peace for many a year. His home.
Some of the crew dug the grave, while others carried the bodies from the castle. Torin helped out with the latter. He felt an overwhelming sorrow when he saw the people being laid in the mass grave. A golden-curled young page, a black-eyed knight, still clutching a sword in his death grip, a young dark-haired maiden, a lifeless mother holding a dead child’s hand…
When the gruesome and sorrowful task was ended, half of the crew set up camp beside in forest, and the other half went back to the ship for necessary items and foraged for food. After setting up a lean-to, Torin lead the angry Kandar inside, bidding him rest.
The young brother went back to the beach and stepped into one of the long boats waiting there. Rowing out to the ship, he decided to get his armor and fighting equipment, for he knew, that no matter what, Kandar would undoubtedly try and kill Varka Ragan, despite any obstacles that lay before him.
Climbing aboard the ship, Torin started thinking, for some reason, about the shadow he saw. As he walked down the stairway, it dawned on him that the shadow he had seen was actually a phantom of Varka Ragan, spying on them.
He unlocked the door to his cabin and knelt at his sea-chest and began pulling out his armor, a shiny breastplate, a chain mail tunic, leg and arm guards, a gleaming helmet, and a green-weave cloak. Torin touched the hilt of his sword and thought once more of the kind, gray-haired earl whom he regarded as a father.
As he stepped into the wood hall, the young man decided to bring Kandar’s armor too. He opened the door to his elder brother’s cabin, and realized that this was the first time he had ever been in the small room.
A large cot stood at one end of the little cabin, opposite a large window. An elaborately carved wood and silver chest stood in the corner, beside a large bookshelf filled with thick leather bound volumes.
Torin knelt at the chest and opened it. Underneath the oilskins and sea boots, Kandar’s silver armor glittered in the dim cabin. Torin lifted the armor out and was about to close the chest when a small flash of silver caught his eye. Putting down the armor, the young man uncovered the silver, which turned out to be a dagger blade. Upon the hilt a small emblem sparkled: a mountain, a sword, waves, and a leaf: the sign of the Tulisean.
Torin’s eyes misted over as he clenched his hand over the hilt, this dagger had belonged to his father, the father whom he had never known.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, the shadow Torin had seen in the ruins of the castle was making its way through the alder and pine trees of the south forest. The afternoon sun made a pale green light flow everywhere. Barely a leaf rustled beneath the shadow’s cloak. Glowing eyes was all could be seen of the phantom’s face. Before the phantom, a small clearing was visible, and it glided into the glade and stopped.
A large, elaborate tent was set up in the clearing, and in the surrounding forest, makeshift lean-tos were set up. The phantom made straight for the big tent. Nodding to the two guards that stood at the shelter’s entrance, the wraith stepped inside the tent and bowed low before the figure seated on a chair.
“What is it, Raka?” the man asked irritably. “Has someone found the castle we raided this morning?”
The wraith dared to raise his eyes to the speaker. From the icy penetrating black eyes, the mouth set in a permanent frown, to the black chain mail suit and tunic covering the muscular body, to glittering sword and heavy boots, Varka Ragan was an impressive warlord by all means.
The phantom trembled, knowing that the warlord would not be pleased with his answer. “Sire,” it hissed. “The crew belonging to Kandar of the Tulisean found the castle we raided. Kandar himself brings with him a youth mayhap his kin.”
“What?!” yelled Varka Ragan as he whirled around to face the trembling wraith. “Kandar of the Tulisean?! He should be dead I tell you! I thought I killed him with the arrow at our last battle at sea. And now he comes seeking me again!”
Varka Ragan scowled irascibly and turned to stare into the dark shadows of his tent. A plan was already forming in the warlord’s active mind. He glared at his second in command, the wraith Raka, “Get up off the floor and cease your shivering. Muster the followers and tell them to prepare for battle, we attack an hour after sunset. Move now!”
Bowing, the wraith left the tent. Once outside, he threw back his head and gave an ear-piercing hiss. Phantoms, clothed in black with scimitars at their sides, emerged from everywhere. Raka, their chief, gave them the warlord’s message.
The wraiths once hearing the message, then went back to their tents and began to prepare for battle. The chief wraith went to his tent and began to sharpen his sword.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Torin, his arms full of armor, made his way through the darkening forest toward the clearing, and made straight for Kandar’s lean-to. Looking into the shelter, Torin saw that Kandar was putting a lethal edge to his sword blade.
After depositing the armor by his elder brother’s side, Torin proceeded to test Kandar’s sword blade edge with his thumb. “Lords of thunder, that’s sharp, brother. Here, I brought your armor.”
Kandar looked up. “Torin,” he said resolutely, “I am going to attack Varka Ragan tonight, after sunset.”
Torin blinked and shook his head in stunned amazement, “You can’t do that!” he retorted. “It would be certain death for you if you did that. You have the lives of the crew and your own to think about. You can’t just rush in there and start slaying. You have no idea how many followers he has!”
“None of that worries me,” Kandar spat as he stared off into the darkening sky. “I care not how many followers he has and what they do. I swore to kill Varka Ragan and that I will do. Tonight.” Kandar started to stand up. Torin placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and forced him back down.
“Kandar,” he said. “I saw one of Varka Ragan’s wraiths in the forest today. It was watching you and me when we went inside the castle. It turned around and headed into the south forests, but before it left I heard it hiss your name.”
Kandar looked into his brother’s brown eyes, so like their mother’s. “That wraith would have alerted Varka Ragan,” he said thoughtfully. “And as I am a threat to Varka, he will surely attack tonight. When you have known your enemy for twenty years, you know him very well. Go, Torin, and tell the mates to come to my tent, for now we will discuss our battle plans.”
Torin sighed, and went to do as he was told. Heading out into the sunset-lit clearing, the younger brother realized that he was actually going to go to battle. Not merely a skirmish as had happened once before at castle Rallsin, but a real battle.
Torin alerted the mates and sent them to Kandar’s lean-to. He then made a shelter of his own, and began to put on his armor.
First came the chain-mail suit over his thick tunic, then a leather jerkin. He placed the shining breastplate over the jerkin and latched the buckles. Arm and leg guards snapped on and were fastened. Attaching the cloak to his shoulders, Torin put his helmet under his arm and picked up his sword. After placing it in its sheath, he picked up his throwing and hunting dagger and thrust it through his leather belt. Lastly of all, he picked up the medal that Kandar had given him and tied it around his neck.
Sunset’s last gold rays were fading and the twilight’s first stars were gleaming when Torin stepped out if his lean-to, armor shining in the twilight. Cloak swirling behind him, he made his way over to Kandar’s shelter.
Torin of the Tulisean was ready for battle.

My Story Chapters 1-3

2009-02-15T05:44:00.000-08:00

Tale of a Tulisean Warrior
By Elsa Peterson

Gavar’s Poem

A simple tale
In a far off land
Of azure waves
And silver sand.
Of dark woodlands
And rolling hills,
Of two young friends
With two strong wills.
A tale of battle, destiny,
Love, a quest,
Capture, and the
Friendship it would test.
Adventure and conquest,
Battle and glory,
I pray you, stay awhile,
And listen to my story…

Chapter One
A Young Man, a Castle, and a Lesson

Lord Torin knelt in the fissure of a large cliff. He wore beautifully crafted silver armor engraved with a golden stag. He watched as the wicked faces of the enemy drew nearer and nearer to the campfire around which the earl and his retinue were camped. The earl carried a vital message to the Council about the enemies’ plans. If the earl were killed… it did not bear thinking about what would happen to the country of Tarn and the surrounding nations. Lord Torin grasped the jeweled hilt of his double bladed scimitar and drew it softly. He noiselessly slipped from the cleft in the rock, up to the rear of the army of foes. He quietly shifted up to the evil chieftain, muffling the sound of his silver armor. He stood poised over the ruler and with a swish, brought the scimitar…
“Torin,” came the earl’s quiet voice. “Would you mind taking this letter to Baron Bards for me?”
Torin jolted out of his reverie, as he stood gazing out the window into the early spring morning sunlight. He hurried over to Earl Sarda Locat, who gave him a kindly smile and passed him the letter. Torin was soon striding down the hall to the wing of the castle where Baron Bards was staying.
Torin was a tall, lean-bodied, scar-faced young knight with clear-cut features. A thick shock of wild brown hair hung over russet eyes that sparkled and danced with good humor and mischief. A handsome, good natured, smiling face and a talent for story-telling made him a well-liked figure at the castle, especially to the pages, who regarded him as a “big brother”. When Torin was a baby he had been taken to Castle Rallsin by his brother, the Lord Kandar, to be trained as a valiant and cunning knight.
The knight passed through the immense great hall where the feasting and dancing was held on special occasions. Even though he had been here all his twenty years, Torin could not help standing in awe of the beauty of this hall of white marble, every time he passed through it. High, silk draped walls sported tapestries, with beautiful and heroic scenes woven upon them. A huge fireplace took up the far side of the hall high and wide enough to hold the huge giant trees of the forest. Opposite the fireplace massive carved double doors opened into the courtyard. Large, beautifully carved buttressed arches rose high up into the shadows of the ceiling.
One could stay here all one’s life and still not be able to fathom the wonder of it all, Torin thought, as he went on and came to the Baron’s wing of the castle.
Torin hesitated a moment before the door, for the Baron was a fellow with a voice like the castle’s bull, though he wasn’t mean. But even so, standing too close to him for too long meant a very painful earache.
He knocked tentatively and was immediately rewarded with a bellow inside, “Come in! The door isn’t locked.”
Torin entered and handed the note to the Baron, “It is a message from the earl, sir baron, and he asked me to wait for a reply.” He retreated to the door and waited. The Baron read the message, chuckled slightly, and sat down at his writing desk to scribble a reply.
He handed the message to Torin, “Thank ye, sir knight. I see my lord earl Sarda uses knights for delivering messages about even the castle.”
“Yes, sir baron, the earl does indeed,” replied Torin. “Would you like an answer to the message?”
The Baron shook his head. “Just tell the earl if it would be possible to see him in the library in the afternoon.”
With a “Yes my lord,” Torin was off, walking down the tapestry-hung halls.
As the knight turned a corner, he nearly ran head on into another knight. “Ah, Carlin,” remarked Torin. “I was wondering when you would get out of bed. How was the conversation with that young lady last night? Did you finally woo her for a goodnight kiss?”
Carlin, the knight in question, rubbed sleep out of his bright blue eyes and scratched his red-brown hair. “Good morning to you, Torin. Beautiful day today, isn’t it? As for my young lady, I’ll thank you to keep her out of our morning conversation, as the ‘morning conversation’ between you and me is apt to be rather rough.”
Torin snorted. Carlin tended to speak for long intervals about a certain maiden he had in mind. Torin usually listened with only half an ear. However, the two knights were best friends since both of them could remember.
“Come on you lie-a-bed,” he said. “‘Tis our turn to help the pages with their sword practices.”
Talking animatedly to one another, the two friends climbed the broad stone steps of the great hall to the corridor that led to the earl’s chambers.
Torin delivered the note and the Baron’s request to the earl. “Thank you, Torin,” said the earl. “Oh, and the pages have asked me to ask you and Carlin to take them on a camping outing for one night in the forest, would you like to oblige them?”
Torin thought for a moment, four summers ago, when he had been a squire, he had taken the pages on a ride through the forest and had camped on the western plains. Everything had gone well, except for the fact that the pages had wanted to try out their cooking skills, and Torin had unknowingly agreed. After the pages had burned and scorched most of the food into shapeless, questionable, black lumps of what they called “plain camping food” it was Torin who had to do the cooking.
Torin looked at Carlin, who shrugged and nodded. “I believe we would like to take the pages on a camping outing. May we go this afternoon?”
“Yes, yes, indeed,” the earl smiled a warm smile. “And please do tell the pages that you will be taking them.”
Torin and Carlin bowed and tripped out of the room. Once in the corridor, Torin mentally began to count to ten. When he reached ten, Carlin hurled himself onto Torin and they began to grapple their way down the passage, throwing insults and falling blows. The duo wrestled their way down the steps and into the Great Hall. They went once around the great table and onto the rush mat before the fireplace. There they stopped, Torin came out on top. Sitting on Carlin he looked into his friend’s face.
“My eight wins to your three, mate,” he said, panting. “Give up?”
Carlin nodded. “Yes, yes, yes I give up. Ooof! Ow! Get off, you big lump!”
Torin jumped to his feet and offered him a hand. “Alright then, let’s go see about that sword practice.”
“Not again!” groaned Carlin, pulling himself up. “We helped but three days ago! Where are the squires? They’re supposed to help. We can’t. We have to… go to… to… we have to go to somewhere today, don’t we?”
“No, sorry, Car, today is our day to help. The squires are gone to castle Dinal, you know that. And no, we don’t have anything to do today. Most of the horses have been re-shod, the armor has been oiled, beaten out and taken care of, the grain has been bartered for and we already went to the Duke of Ranat for the spring herd of warhorses. Let’s go to sword practice.”
The two went out the huge doors and into the large busy, bustling courtyard. Traders called out their wares to sell, wagons rumbled through the gate, everyone was talking and jostling one another. The two knights shouldered their way along, past the crowds of peasants haggling with the traders, the flocks of geese honking their cries to all and the groups of children that ran about.
The duo walked into the Hall of Arms. It was a rather large hall, with a wood ceiling and walls lined with chests and racks of weapons and suits of armor. Running his hands over the razor-sharp weapons, Torin selected his favorite, a long-bladed dirk with a cross-hilt of silver and a pommel with a semi-precious red-green stone. He rubbed the red-green stone and cupped his hand over it to see it glow and picked up a shield of wood with a silver center boss.
Laughter and the clatter of feet on the stone floor caused Torin to look up and smile. He and Carlin stood and watched as four pages trotted in, Alan, Mardin, Lars and Collin. Each one nodded at Torin and chose their weapons. Enemies were not permitted at Castle Rallsin. If one man or boy had a problem with another, then they would fight it out in a public boxing match.
The gray-haired old Master of Arms, Dacorda, strode in after the pages, who had evidently been trying his patience, “A good morning to thee, Sir Torin and Carlin, I see that both of thee have come to help me with this unruly bunch of knaves. Sir Torin, would thou be as kind as to choose Lars for thy partner? His swordsmanship needs a polish as he has been… thou scoundrels of pages! Cease demolishing that armor, choose thy weapons and partners and stand ready for once!”
The four pages, who had been dismantling a suit of armor with considerable speed, smirked, chose partners and stood waiting for Dacorda’s order. “Begin,” he commanded.
Torin faced the page Lars and struck out with his sword. Lars deflected it with a blow of his shield, while thrusting out with his blade. Torin clashed his sword blade against Lars’ weapon and did a counterattack twist of his own invention and sent Lars’ blade clattering on the floor. Torin tapped Lars’ chest with his sword point. “Touch,” he grinned.
Lars picked up his sword and gritted his teeth and set against Torin with a will. For over an hour all the pages fought against each other, with every now and then a blade belonging to one would fall to the floor. Dacorda walked among them and passed out advice and praise.
The pages stopped fighting after a while and watched Torin and Lars lash out with frightening speed at each other. The match ended when Torin, for the sixth time, disarmed Lars, and tapped his chest.
“Alright, alright, I accept defeat,” said Lars panting as he bowed. “On condition you teach me that first trick.”
“Agreed,” replied Torin. “Grasp your sword and hold your wrist loose and yet firm. Remember, the sword is an addition to your arm. Next, clash your opponent’s sword and circle your blade around his and then around the hilt. Then pull your blade upwards, bringing the hilt with it. Here try it on me.”
Lars did so and Torin’s dirk fell to the floor. Lars smiled. “Another trick to add to my store of sword fighting, O master,” he said as he bowed again in mock respect.
“Cease thy prattling, page and knight. Thou art here to learn and practice swords not chatter like women,” reprimanded Dacorda. “If both of thee art finished, rub thy swords and shields and get thee off to yon stables. Choose all of thee a horse apiece and groom and saddle it. Thou must wait for me in the courtyard with the rest. We shall now see thy skill in riding.”

Chapter Two
An Outing with the Pages

After the shields and swords were clean, all the pages ran to the stables and selected their horses. Torin chose a dark brown steed named Kola, who had a brand on his rump. He groomed and saddled the horse and led it into the courtyard, and stopped behind Carlin. The other pages joined him.
“Torin, how come you always choose Kola?” asked Alan, the youngest page, who had only seen about eight or nine years. “He is very skittish and nervous, and always rears and bucks.”
“For the same reasons you choose that brown gelding, and besides, I like Kola,” replied Torin.
Dacorda joined the group, leading a spotted gray. They led their horses out of the castle gates and mounted them.
“Listen to me, all of thee,” commanded Dacorda. “All of thou will ride to the barley fields to warm up, and then go to the jumping field; thou must practice thy riding seats there. After that, thou art free to ride however thy will wish within sight of yon castle, I cannot teach thee anything new today as I must go and see about getting more arms for the squires.”
The boys mounted and started off. Kola reared and snorted, and Torin had to rein him in and calm him before riding on. The two knights, four pages and the master reached the barley fields, and set out trotting to the jumping meadows. Kola was a very fast and smooth trotter, and soon both horse and rider were far ahead of the group. Torin and his mount halted at the meadow, jumped off Kola and tied him loosely to an extremely ancient rowan tree nearby, and sat down beneath its shade.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep breaths of spring morning air. Soon he heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. He was on Kola’s back and letting the horse graze when Dacorda, Carlin and the pages arrived.
“Thou art first again, Torin,” panted Dacorda. “Come, pages, choose thy routes and let me watch you jump. Alan, thou shall go first.”
Alan set off at a canter, bouncing in his saddle. Up over the stream he went, over a high hurdle, across a deep ditch. One by one, the rest of the pages went across the field, jumping, leaping, and turning. Torin and Carlin dismounted and sat beneath a tree. The two knights were dozing in the shade when it came their turn.
“Sir Torin,” said Carlin, checking a stirrup and mounting. “Shall we do the course we devised? It has been long since we have done it.”
Torin grinned. “To be sure, Sir Carlin, let us do so, as it was only yesterday we raced it.”
Setting off at a gallop, they raced around the field to gain momentum. After a few minutes of a very complex jumping route, they sailed over the last hurdle and made for the rest of the company.
Once they got back, the pages took off for the castle, an unspoken challenge for a race. Torin and Carlin were at the head of the pack in a trice. The Master of Arms followed at a statelier pace. The pages all loved to gallop, and horses loved it too. When he reached the castle, Dacorda dismounted and said over his shoulder, “It is now mid-morning, thou all may do as thee wish for one hour, then all of thou must come back and help with the noontide meal.”
“Yes, Master Dacorda,” the breathless pages chanted. They waited until Dacorda had gone inside the gates and then lingered near Torin and Carlin as if waiting on them.
“Pages,” said Carlin, trying unsuccessfully to hide an amused smile. “Please get your things ready for a camp outing tonight in the forest. Torin and I will take you again tonight on condition that we do the cooking.”
The pages whooped with glee as they galloped off each their own way, some to the river to swim and others to the tournament fields.
The two knights went alone to the forest to decide where their camp would be. Cool breezes washed over them as they slowly walked on into the green woods. They chose a favorite place of theirs where the stream went over a waterfall and into a deep pool below. The days were getting hot and a swim might be quite nice.
Then, on impulse, Carlin galloped out of the forest and to the western plains, Torin in hot pursuit. Faster and faster they went, over the knolls and earth mounds, through long grasses and over thorn bushes. Stopping suddenly, they looked at a stump that had a large crooked T C carved on it. Torin smiled. It was their secret “cave” that he and Carlin had kept their treasures in when they were small.
Torin moved the stump aside, exposing a deep hole, filled with books and two swords, borrowed from the Hall of Arms. Selecting a sword, he handed the other to Carlin and sprang into a fighter’s stance.
“On guard!”
With that, the swords clashed together, emitting a shower of sparks. Both of the knights were experts at sword-fighting and now they whetted their experience. Parry, strike, twist, slash. The swords flashed faster than summer lightning. For indeed, these two knights had been trained by the earl himself, who despite his gentle appearance, was one of the most skilled fighters in the country of Tarn.
All too soon the old bell in the great hall began to ring. Covering the books and swords with and oiled cloth and replacing the stump, Torin and Carlin mounted their horses and set off toward the castle at a fast gallop.
Soon they came through the castle, and, handing the reins of their horses to a stable hand, the two knights slipped into the great hall, where the midday meal was set out.
Ale and wines were in their stone jugs, resting in ice to keep them cool. Several types of cheeses showed white and creamy, studded with herbs. Rye, wheat, and oat bread were still warm from the oven. Roast beef sizzled in onion sauce and melted butter gave off a mouth-watering aroma. Sliding into a seat at a table, Torin began filling his plate with cheese, bread, and lettuce. Pouring himself some old castle ale, he dug in with a will. Eating was a very serious business.
When the knight had satisfied himself, Alan, the youngest page, hurried over to him and asked when they would depart to the forest. “Oh, in about an hour’s time or so, no hurry,” replied Torin absently. Alan nodded and trotted off.
Torin rose and went outside, chuckling at Carlin, who was gazing with eyes the size of a cow’s at his young lady.
The courtyard outside was quieter now, the morning’s business being done. Torin stepped inside the smithy to see if he could help with anything. A hefty hand that resembled a chunk of solid rock granite, clapped Torin’s shoulder. The knight looked up into the kindly face of the castle’s giant blacksmith.
“Och, Torin me brave knight,” said the blacksmith, with a beaming smile that revealed gleaming white teeth. “I need ye ta go an’ get yon horse, Tristar. I need ta be a-shodding him now. Aye an’ I hear yer ta be takin’ yon little laddie pages on a outin’ by the stream. I wish I could be a-coming along with ye. Sounds t’would be nice to spend a night by yon sweet stream. Oh, would ye mind ridin’ Tristar when you be a-goin’? We need to be gettin’ him accustomed to them shoes.”
Torin smiled and nodded. At last, he thought. I finally get to ride him! I can’t wait to try him out. Torin passed through the large courtyard and into the stables. He walked over to where the horse was in his stall, and climbed onto the rail.
The horse, Tristar, was large even for a stallion, with a fine cinnamon colored coat, a black tail and mane, slender strong legs, a big muscled body, and large black eyes. The horse knew Torin and nickered softly. The young man looked at the stallion. Tristar seems to know he belongs to me, he thought. And he will, someday.
As things turned out, getting Tristar to stand still while his shoes were nailed on proved no easy manner. The horse came readily to the smithy, and stood before the forge, but when he heard the hiss of the hot iron in the water and felt something cold and hard on his hoof that wouldn’t come off, Tristar made it quite clear to all and sundry that he did not want to be shod. The blacksmith, who had years of experience with shoeing unruly horses, finally solved the problem by tying a cloth over the horse’s eyes and twisting the stallion’s nose. After that, Tristar stood quietly enough.
Lars the page came trotting in to tell Torin that all the pages and Carlin were waiting outside the gate with their horses. They had got food from the cook and had got together their things. Torin nodded and sent Lars outside to wait with the others. Torin saddled Tristar in record time and borrowed a clean blanket from the barracks.
The pages were happy to be on their way and shouted to one another in excitement. It was quite rare that a knight or squire agreed to take them somewhere, and every time they did, it was a very special time.
The company rode for about half an hour and the two knights showed the pages the place they had selected. Torin started a small fire, and the boys tied unsaddled their horses and tied them to three trees near the stream’s edge. The pages tossed the food packs by Torin and selected spots near the fire to sleep and, unrolling their blankets, they eyed the stream and as soon as they were finished, they tossed of their tunics and ran shouting into it. Carlin jumped in after them, sending off a tidal wave of foam.
Torin chuckled at the sight of them, as he blew on the smoldering twigs. The fire took light and Torin tossed some dry wood on it and stood back. The young man threw his blanket on a smooth spot on by the fire and unsaddled Tristar.
Leading the horses, one at a time, to drink from the stream water, Torin watched the small waterfall cascade down the sharp rocks. When the last horse had had its fill of cold, sweet water, Torin threw of his tunic and boots and did a running dive into the stream. The pages shouted with joy and ganged up on him, trying to keep him under water. Torin threw them off and ducked Carlin who came up sputtering. They all played in wild carousal until twilight made it too dark to see. Torin plunged under the water once more and jumped on to the bank. The pages followed suit.
After putting more wood on the fire, Torin hunted through the supply pack to see what he could make for supper. He passed around cheese, smoked beef, and oat cakes. Toasting their oatcakes on green willow withes, the pages conversed quietly with one another. Torin finished eating, lay back on his blanket and stared up at the sky, hands beneath his head. The glow of the firelight made it almost impossible to see the stars, but a single big bright star twinkled brightly through the treetops.
“Torin, do you remember your brother?” asked Collin.
Torin nodded, “Yes I do, Collin. He left for the eastern lands, twelve years ago.”
“Did he ever tell you any stories?”
Torin smiled a thoughtful smile. “Is this the clever way you request me to tell you a story?” he asked. “If so, why do you want me to tell you a story?”
“Because we like your stories,” piped up Alan, rather sleepily, “Tell us the one about the fire dragon and the ship and the magic stone and water castle.”
Torin granted the request, and, gathering his story-telling wits, spun a beautiful tapestry of a tale of adventure, fighting, and treasure, such as one might hear on a long winter’s night before the castle hearth.
Alan was fast asleep by the time the story was ended. The pages applauded softly, as not to wake him. “Goodnight all,” whispered Torin. In half a minute, the pages were snoring.
The knight gazed past the fire into the flowing stream. He thought of his brother, Kandar. The two brothers were very close, even though Kandar was fifteen years older. Torin remembered their last meeting when he was eight. The earl, Sarda Locat, had been standing next to Torin with one arm around Torin’s shoulder and the other waving good-bye to the ship. Torin remembered a tear seeming to run down Kandar’s cheek from his ocean gray eyes, as they said goodbye. The earl and Torin stood there on the shore with sand whipping around them, watching as the ship became a tiny dot on the horizon.
His thoughts wandered off and Torin thought about the dream he had been having for several weeks. The noise of the crackling fire drifted away and the young man lost himself in a thorough study of his dream.
A beautiful feminine face gazing lovingly at him, and over the lady’s shoulder, a craggy handsome faced looked at Torin with a proud loving expression. Torin had the sensation of being lifted, and yet another face, this time very familiar, looked at him with a smile. Torin had a feeling of being loved completely. Suddenly everything went shadowy, and when he opened his eyes there was the sound of screams, hisses, shouts, and the clash of swords. He felt himself moving, a blinding pain sliced across his jaw, and everything went dark.
“The ruffians,” chuckled Carlin, breaking through his friend’s thoughts. “I wager we could out-snore ‘em, Torin. What do you say?”
“I doubt that, Car,” said Torin with a smile. “Alan over there seems to be doing the job for us.”
“You know, mate,” remarked Carlin. “I was looking at you just now and I noticed you look quite the warrior with that scar on your jaw.”
It was Torin’s turn to chuckle, “Me, Car? Me a warrior? Hard to believe. I’ll probably grow up to be an old man sitting in front of a fire all year, telling stories to my grandchildren.”
Carlin yawned a cavernous yawn. “How long were you up serenading your lady last night?” teased Torin. “No wonder why you slept in! Let me guess, her father chased you away with a pitchfork. Or was that last time with the threshing axe. No, sorry, I’m getting this confused with the garden hoe.”
Carlin blushed and hurled a stone in the direction of Torin’s head. “Either would be close enough to the truth, Tor, or so I suppose.”
Torin neatly dodged the stone, and nearly keeled over with suppressed laughter at the picture he conjured of Carlin, blue eyes dreamily gazing into to his young lady’s, plucking an instrument that required the tuning of all tunings. “I suppose I would do the same to a lovesick knight who wanted to pay court to my beautiful young daughter. How many songs did you render, or should I say torture?”
“Too many! I forgot to tune my lute as well.”
“I suspected as much.”
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When Torin awoke, dawn had just broken. Golden tendrils of light sparkled on the dewy grass and leaves. The orange and pink sunrise stretched toward the western horizon. Jumping in the stream, he swam energetically for a while and then climbed out and began to build up the fire.
The pages and Carlin woke up when they smelled sausage roasting. Each taking a skewered sausage, they wandered over to check on their horses and lead them to the stream. Tossing aside his skewer, Torin picked Tristar’s lead rein and, noting the kicked tree on which the steed had tried to kick off the shoes, led the stamping horse to the water’s edge.
“Pages,” called Torin. “Do what you will now, after midmorning we will pack up and leave.”
Waving in recognition, the pages climbed up the bank and waded out above the waterfall. One after the other, they grabbed an overhanging willow branch and swung out, over the deep pool below, dropped down twenty feet, and landed with a splash into the sun-dappled water beneath. Carlin added to the fun, by tickling each one with a long reed as they hung over the water, causing them to shriek with laughter.
At midmorning the pages jumped out of the stream and rolled up their blankets. After saddling their horses, they doused the fire, and put the food packs on the horses. Hailing Torin, who was sitting on a rock, they mounted their horses. Torin saw them and swung up on the saddled Tristar. The small company started off toward the direction of the castle.
When they were half-way to the castle, Torin reined in his horse. The cliffs were beckoning to him again. He called out, “I’m going by myself to the cliffs, to take a look about. Tell the earl I will return shortly. Oh, and don’t forget to groom your horses.”
“Thank you for camping out with us, Torin,” the pages chorused.
“You’re welcome, I would be happy to do it again sometime.” Turning around, and winking at Carlin who had a lovesick expression on his face, Torin pushed Tristar into a gallop and set out in the direction of the cliffs.

Chapter Three
A Happy Reunion

Torin went to the plateau cliffs where he could see the sea crashing on the rocks below. The wind hissed around him and whistled through his brown hair as Tristar flew over fallen trees and over tiny brooks. He galloped through the part of the forest where the hunting parties went, and up onto the plateau. Torin turned the panting horse and faced the castle and surrounding area.
The bright blue sky and the golden wheat fields seemed to be part of a great painting, contrasting beautifully with the green of the forest and white of the castle. The small brown and white village was scenic with the patchwork of the fields. A breeze blew, bringing with it the tang of the sea. Torin turned Tristar and they gazed at the white flecked sea below. The water crashing on the rocks seemed a vivid sapphire color and the spray created rainbows in the bright morning. The sea was a beautiful aquamarine azure, with tiny white flecks dotting the swirling surface.
A dark shape moved quickly on the sea toward land, catching Torin’s eye. It seemed to be a ship, a sleek and fast four-masted one. It sailed into the bay, and Torin heard a very faint shouting for oars to be shipped, sails to be brought down, and anchor to be dropped. A microscopic figure looked up at the mesa and saw Torin and waved.
The knight took off on Tristar like an arrow from a bow, flying down to the castle, to tell the earl. Any ship stopping in the bay must be reported to the earl at once, for, as he was one of the most powerful personages in Tarn, he always sent out ships for scouting and bringing back important messages to his castle.
Through the forest, across the plain and into the castle gates went the horse and rider. At the hitching post, Torin dismounted and ran up the castle steps, through the main hall, and into the earl’s chambers, where the earl was holding a conference with several of his officials. They all looked up when Torin burst through the oaken doors.
“Sir,” Torin panted. “There is a four-masted ship in the bay, it just dropped anchor and the men are rowing ashore!”
The effect was instantaneous. The earl jumped up and began to bellow orders, men scurried out to mount their horses and do other various tasks. The scoutmaster came in saying something about a ship called Queen Sunset. A score of soldiers were ordered to come and accompany the earl.
The retinue of horses and riders waited in the courtyard to accompany the earl down to the shore. Torin assisted the earl onto a black Friesian, and then he himself climbed onto a sweating Tristar.
The group started off in the direction of the sea. Torin slowed Tristar into a trot and rode up beside the earl.
Soon they were close enough to see the ship.
The captain was giving orders to pick up bales of strange-looking exotic things when the earl and his party came into view. The captain gave a great shout and the men saw the group of people coming towards them. They dropped the things they were doing and ran toward them. The earl and his retinue dismounted and greeted the sailors. Torin held the earl’s horse as he talked to the captain.
Still holding Tristar and the Friesian, he wandered over to look at the ship. It was a beautiful ship, with seeming thousands of sails, and four decks. It is a superbly built ship, Torin thought. The curve of the keel, the carved figurehead, the lines of the stern and bow, the mast, it is just like Kandar’s. Wait! It is his! It has been twelve years since he volunteered to go and explore the eastern lands. Where is he?
As he turned around, he was embraced by two long, strong arms. Torin whirled around and found a pair of sea gray eyes, a shock of thick black hair, and a familiar, weathered smiling face. “Torin, my brother,” Kandar cried. “There you are, and a fine knight too. How I wished you could have come with me exploring! We have seen so many new things and new lands!”
“Kandar! You are here! And it has been twelve years since I saw you! Where have you been? Tell me everything!”
“All in good time, brother. What is this?! No sword? And yet you are still a knight! Why do you not wear a sword?”
“The earl has not yet given me one, Kandar. He has knighted me, yes, and given me my shield, spurs, and helmet, but seems to be waiting to give me a sword. The only thing I have in the way of weapons is my hunting dagger.”
They were interrupted by the earl, asking what Kandar had brought. “Let us go into the castle, my lord, and I shall show you.” The men loaded the bales and bundles onto the horses and started off toward the castle.
Torin looked admiringly at his elder brother as they walked together. Kandar’s silver armor shone bright in the sun. A dark green cloak flung over his shoulders and the way he walked gave him an air of authority. A silver and gold engraved sword and scabbard hung from his thick leather belt, as well as a long dagger. Kandar saw Torin looking at him and chuckled, “Spoils of war, Torin, we fought some pirates on the way here, and then we relieved their ship of its plunder. I chose this sword and cloak. I wonder where those filthy pirates got something as beautiful as this sword.”
There was a great feast in the castle that night. Whole deer were roasted over a spit in the courtyard, along with wild boar and pheasants. Tables of the finest wines, cordials, and ales were brought out. Huge, creamy confections of cake and fruit were there for all who wished. Tables groaned underneath the weight of salads, desserts, breads, cheeses, and savory soups.
Kandar’s first and second mate, Darce and Larn, showed the castle people the goods they brought from the eastern lands. Rolls of an odd fabric were undone with care, along with strange twisted weapons, shimmering jewelry, aromatic herbs, powders, and spices, and beautiful feathers and silks.
Torin sought out Kandar, easily spotted by his great height and sturdy build, and handed him a plate of roasted meat. Kandar nodded at him. “Ah, Torin, many thanks for this delicacy. My lord earl Sarda has been boasting to me about his magnificent stables. My curiosity is piqued. Mayhap you would be so kind as to show me them?”
Torin bowed low, hiding a smile. When it came to horses, Kandar was the expert in judging them.
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Torin led Kandar into the stables. A torch beside every stone stall and a few on the opposite wall lit the stable quite clearly. Kandar started at one end of the stable looking over each horse thoroughly. “I will be leaving the day after tomorrow, to scout out the southern shores.”
“But you have only just arrived,” exclaimed Torin, “And this is the first time in ten years I have seen you! You can’t leave now!”
Kandar sighed. “If I had the choice, Tor, I would stay forever and go hunting with you. But I sense something astir and evil coming to Tarn and I think a little sail around the coast would do no harm.”
“A little sail? Are you out of your mind?! The journey to the other side of Tarn would take seven months at the very least! You told me so yourself! I won’t see you again for a long time!”
“Torin, that’s exactly why you are coming with me. I have something of great importance to tell you, and I want you to travel a bit.”
Torin sat down suddenly on a conveniently placed barrel of oats. “I am coming with you?”
“Yes, and before you go, you will get your sword.”

2009-02-15T04:47:00.000-08:00

A Quick Way to Learn a New Word...

2009-02-01T05:00:00.000-08:00

My dad went to Mozambique for an overnight on Friday. While he was driving along the Barberton-Mozambique road, he came across a lady who needed a ride. She had a big bag full of bananas that she was going to Malelane to sell. When my dad offered her a lift, she put the bag of bananas in the back of the bakkie, and climbed in beside them. After my dad had gone about a half-mile, the lady was having trouble keeping her elaborate hair-do in place, so dad stopped and motioned for her to sit in the front of the cab.
He drove on, left at the intersection, past the tollbooth, down the hill and on to Malelane. He stopped by the market, and let her out of the cab. She thanked him in Swati for the ride. Just before she closed the door she said, "Tsesse-banana!" Dad waved and drove off.
When Dad stopped at a gas station, he got out of the car and lo and behold there was the lady's big bag of bananas in the back of the bakkie. So my dad figures out that tsesse-banana must mean something along the lines of "Don't drive off until I have gotten my bag of bananas out of the back of the truck." And he had handed her a gospel tract on the Narrow Road and the Broad Road!!!
My dad figured he couldn't find this lady in the midst of 14 million South Africans, so he went on to Mozambique. There he kept thinking, I've just stolen this lady's bananas by accident, probably she was going to sell them at the market to buy some food, and I've just stolen her bananas!!! He went to a restaurant to get lunch and when he came back, he found his car was sitting next to a dumpster where three guys were digging for scraps of food. Dad decided to give them the bananas, and they were so thankful!!!
On his way home, Dad tried to find the lady but couldn't. He also figured that tsesse-banana was the quickest word he ever learned.

The Listeners by Walter de la Mere

2009-01-29T05:06:00.000-08:00

"Is anyone there?" said the Traveler,
Knocking on the moonlit door.
As his horse in the silence
Champed the grasses of the forest's ferny floor.
A bird flew out of the turret
Above the Traveler's head,
As he smote upon the door a second time
"Is anyone there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveler,
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then,
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight,
To that voice from the world of men.
Stood thronging like faint moonbeams upon the darkened stair
That leads down to the great hall
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveler's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness
Their stillness answering his cry
While his horse moved and cropped the dark turf,
Neath a starred and leafy sky;
For suddenly he smote the door even
Louder, and lifted his head.
"Tell them I came and no one answered!
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners
Though every word he spake
Echoed throughout the lonely house
From the one man left awake.
Aye, they heard his foot on the stirrup
The sound of iron on stone.
And how the silence surged back softly,
When the thundering hooves were gone.
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