bob the goat
05-11-2005, 08:30 AM
I don’t really know where I was going, but I know I must go. I felt a thousand souls pulling me forward, wishing me to see their story. I make my way toward the wall, feeling the cool dusk breeze sliding along it as I approach. I slip silently through the small opening that serves as a doorway, and head to the stairs. Centuries of wear have sagged the once proud stone steps that lift me to the battlements at the top of the wall. The wind is breaking on the outside of the wall like waves on a pier, splashing the scent of the warm grass up to me. I gaze through an arrow slit at the hill leading up to this mid-evil perch and the clicking of cameras begins to fade. The din of the tourists milling around dissolves into nothingness. I can only hear the gentle rustle of the leaves as they advance up the hill, attacking my position in little waves and twists the way that dried leaves normally dance. I hear the grinding of the loose stones from the crumbling wall beneath my feet as I move along the wall toward the corner. Slowly the sun is snuggling into the horizon behind me, causing the shadows to creep up, marching with the leaves.
The present quickly fades into the past. I envision men clamoring up to support the archers in the tower. The archers are furiously defending the hill with a constant shower of iron death raining down on the horde that was quickly trampling over the innocent leaves that previously dominated the hillside. The relentless attackers scaling the wall only to be greeted by pike-men at the top of the ladders refuting any would be breech of the fortress. The pleasant odor of the warm grass was quickly replaced with the thick, acrid, foulness from the burning oil used to defend the gate. Smoke annoys my eyes, and obscures my vision of the enemy’s encampment on the opposing ridge.
The snap of a flash quickly brought me back to reality. This glimpse of the fray was exactly what I was looking for.
The present quickly fades into the past. I envision men clamoring up to support the archers in the tower. The archers are furiously defending the hill with a constant shower of iron death raining down on the horde that was quickly trampling over the innocent leaves that previously dominated the hillside. The relentless attackers scaling the wall only to be greeted by pike-men at the top of the ladders refuting any would be breech of the fortress. The pleasant odor of the warm grass was quickly replaced with the thick, acrid, foulness from the burning oil used to defend the gate. Smoke annoys my eyes, and obscures my vision of the enemy’s encampment on the opposing ridge.
The snap of a flash quickly brought me back to reality. This glimpse of the fray was exactly what I was looking for.