The Cidercorns and the HindsCorinth would admit; life as a prince as often tedious and monotonous, sign this, study that, it was all he could do to not tear his hair out in boredom. However, by God's grace the young prince did often find solace. He found it in activities his father would think disgraceful, stealing from the castle to give to the poor and running through the shadows of the night. However, he also found it among his father's glen and the large herd of white hinds that roamed it's soft, mossy grottoes.
It was on one of these days as Corinth was waling into the forest that he spotted a peculiar sight; a young maiden with her arrow notched towards one of the hinds, bow pulled taught and ready to loose. This was odd in that they was a private forest and hunting the king's deer was a punishable offense; after all Corinth's father was particular to the silver fur of the breed. One must be desperate or foolish to be doing as the maid now did.
But his interest piqued, Corinth snuck his way behind the girl,
BrandyIf you were to travel to the tiny town of Bennet, Massachusetts and made the journey to the bay, you would inevitably see the ships. It would not be hard mind you, Bennet has only ever been known for the ships, a port town from it's conception the tiny, sleepy village loved the sailors as sailors love the sea.
As you'd walk along the shore listening to the cries of the gulls and the crash of the surf you'd spot a tiny beach front dive that would look almost too old to stand with a cheery sign marking it as Brandy's. If you wandered in, you’d find it filled to bursting with nautical keepsakes and the raucous laughter of the sailor patrons. After all, Brandy's is a sailor's bar and for as long as anyone can remember always has been.
It'd smell of home cooked seafood and comfort food, but always tinged with the faintest hint of the shore outside. And waltzing around the tables with trays of food in her hands you'd see Brandy herself, long dark curls pinned up as she joked among them
What She's NotPrincess Rosé was a woman who was not unfamiliar with her faults. In fact she made a habit of keeping the list of said faults on her desk so that every morning at precisely 8:56 she would sit down and attempt to improve on at least one of them that day. Rarely this ever went to plan, of course, but she did put in the effort and some part of her thought that counted for something.
She was not soft like snow, she was and always had been all sharp angles and bones. She was quick and to the point on almost everything, blunt in words if not always in tone. She was not her mother.
That thought had become a repeating mantra through her mind over the last three years. It whispered into her ears late at night and was back again when she started her new day. She could never be her mother.
Aithne had been everything a kingdom needed in a queen; warm, wise and protective. She'd been blessed with a form that equipped her to patrol the forests and keep their people from harm. Warmth pour from h
ClimbingIf there was one thing Laurel was exceptionally good at, it was running from her problems in a manor that looked like she was being productive. She could handle the problems of a kingdom and the pain of others, but her own thoughts and emotions she kept far from her for fear of breaking them. From a young age the only time she could get alone with them and force herself to confront them was when she climbed.
And so with a mind as stormy as the dark clouds on the horizon Laurel began her journey. It was a simple one, the path up the castle worn into her delicate skin like the sandstone she scaled, each foothold and rest spot wound in her very gills as much a part of her as the wind or the waves.
As her hands passed over stone she thought of her first climb all those years ago. She'd started from a higher vantage point, she could still feel the weight of her oxy-toad tied to the limbs of the great ironwood in the hanging gardens. She'd been angry and hurt that day, but the focus that cam