It’s been a year since the Haute Ton Reader Society was formed. If you’re not familiar, that is the facebook reader group I am in with six other Regency authors. You should check us out, we’re a lot of fun. :)
Part of our recent anniversary celebration was to try and stump the readers based on a writing sample. We all agreed on an image and wrote a few sentences based on it, and the readers had to guess which author wrote what. We limited ourselves to 3-4 sentences each, but once I got going I couldn’t stop!
What can I say, it’s a writer thing. 🤷🏻♀️
I really like how it turned out. As of now, it’s not part of anything, but who knows what’ll happen in the future. Sadly, it’s too long to be part of the Weekend Writing Warriors, so I can’t submit it for that, but I thought I’d give you guys a little taste of…something.
Enjoy!
Homecoming
Things looked different this time; the trees loomed larger in the fading light of the afternoon, giving the impression that the woods were closing in.
An illusion, that.
No matter how dark these woods were, they would always be familiar and welcoming. That thought comforted him in a way he never thought possible.
Approaching the gate he stopped his horse and dismounted. Carefully stepping around the ferns, he made his way to the tree and ran his gloved hands over the bark, searching.
Gone.
Even this tree had erased him from history. Head tilted back, eyes closed he just stood for a moment, breathing in the rich scent of rotting foliage. He opened his eyes, then narrowed them, before barking out a quick laugh. They remained, a bit higher up than he would have imagined, but still there—the initials he had so painstakingly carved into the bark as a child, proving to one and all this land was his. His lips quirked in a wry smile, what a spoiled boy he’d been!
The smile faded. Life had a way of changing a man, sometimes not for the better.
Time heals all wounds. His grandmother’s oft repeated words echoed in his mind as he absently traced the backs of his fingers down the side of his face, the smooth leather a cool contrast as it dragged against the puckered scar. He shook his head and walked back to his horse. Nothing could heal his broken soul, but if anything could come close, it would be this place.
His horse, ever the impatient traveller, gave him a firm nudge between the shoulder blades. He stepped back onto the lane, and continuing on foot, led his horse the final stretch through the woods. Stopping while still in the shade at the edge of the tree line, he climbed back into the saddle and sat there for a long moment as he looked back the way they’d come. It was so dark and foreboding.
The horse shook its head, the motion bringing him back to the moment.
“We’re not going anywhere, my friend,” he said patting the animal on the neck. “We’re back for good.” Turning them both away from the dark, he continued out into the light. “We’re home.”
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