tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post3332974922501902883..comments2023-07-06T07:33:06.262-04:00Comments on * Writers' Spark * Every story has to start somewhere *: Prompt: The Harp at the Watchtower on Top of the World Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-40998960470043759992013-06-03T00:09:15.422-04:002013-06-03T00:09:15.422-04:00I would love to read more of this story!I would love to read more of this story!Margaret S. McGrawhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18301618521427459626noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-59531480561058324292013-05-31T18:29:01.674-04:002013-05-31T18:29:01.674-04:00Prompt: The Harp at the Watchtower on Top of the W...Prompt: The Harp at the Watchtower on Top of the World<br /><br /> <br />There was music. Rholla first thought it was drifting in from the village at the base of the watchtower, but while it did appear to waft in the windows, it grew louder as she climbed. She resisted pausing on a landing that she hoped was at least halfway up. She was fairly certain the message she carried was not urgent, but anyone at the top could have seen her horse arrive and would know how long she took on the stairs. She had been a King's messenger for only three weeks now, and did not want to give the impression of lassitude already.<br /> <br />She reached a second landing on the spiral stairs -- maybe only one third left to go now? After a third landing, she finally found herself behind a worn wooden door with brass hinges. The music was coming from behind it: soft and melodic, it sounded like a waterfall might sound if it was made of bells. She removed the message tube from its holster in her belt and knocked quietly.<br /> <br />Too quietly: no way could someone hear that over the music. She knocked again, louder, but no one came. She pushed experimentally on the door. It swung in.<br /> <br />The music stopped. A soldier stood up from behind a harp, incongruous in his leathers and sword beside the shining instrument. The harp was as tall as he was, with gilded inset leaves swirling across its frame.<br /> <br />The soldier smiled. "Message?"<br /> <br />Rholla handed across the tube. "Your music is very nice."<br /> <br />"Lots of time to practice up--" He cut off abruptly. He stood stiff, face angled down so she could not read his expression. "Do you know what's in here?"<br /> <br />"Of course not," Rholla said. The messengers would never break the confidentiality of what they carried.<br /> <br />"Damn him leaving it to me," the soldier said. He looked up, his face showing a strange mixture of sadness, anger, and...humour?<br /><br /><br />Time writing: 25 minutesAnnenoreply@blogger.com