The Peasant’s Quest to Glory
The forbidden valley; long it stands forlorn and deserted nestling about the evergreen conifers in the deepest of the forested glades that surrounded the mysterious village of Winegrove. To the villagers, its glory was only feared; for the path that lead to it was treacherous and those who had roamed spoke of an eerie call that rang from the cliffs. Folks say the place is haunted and while many an audacious adventurer had taken the path, the valley none had entered.
In an icy room of a dilapidated home, when the gloomy shadows of dusk lay over Winegrove, the silhouette of a child’s face flickers upon the timbered walls in the dim candlelight as he stands by his mother’s bedside. Her breath heaves, and beads of sweat break from her skin in rhythm with a hoarse and violent cough. “Go my son! I know you are strong. Do not fear for me,” croaks the mother’s feeble voice between coughs
“, There is no hope if you stay here. Please for both my sake and yours.”
“Mother! It all happened so fast. I still cannot comprehend father’s exact words but it seemed that he wanted me to go to the forbidden valley. He says there are herbs that flourish the riverbanks that could cure you. I do not know what they look like though, and I do not know how to get to the forbidden valley”
“I know the son I had borne, has never lost his mind and he is no liar. Surely if your father told you to venture to the forbidden valley, he would lead you, so go! Farewell my Owen.”
Obedient to his mother’s word, the boy grabs his cloak and a pocketknife then walks distraught out of the run down shack’s only bedroom. Tears spring to his eyes as he opens the door, bolts it and steps out upon the grassy plains of Winegrove. Owen places a hand on a cold tombstone. “Father, how will I get to the forbidden valley” sighs he.
Voices rushed into young Owen’s head, and for a moment below the waxing moonlight he stood enthralled. His eyes gazed towards the stars as if to pierce their fires and his mouth gaped open. The spiritual energy was overpowering and he was paralyzed with fear as thus it spake “My son, mount Starlight and he shall lead you.”
When the lad recovered from the bedazzling experience, he unbolted the stable door. There was Starlight, wide-awake with his head high urging his master to mount his back. When Owen had mounted Starlight, Starlight flew from the stable swift as an Eagle, and the astonished lad grasped his reins tighter than ever. Never so fast had Starlight ran, as he was an old broken down horse and all this poor family of villagers could afford.
Starlight ran and ran, soon Owen found himself miles away from home, the wood had grown thick, and the midnight shrill of the nocturnal animals was frightening. The poor child was cold, lonely, and hungry. Starlight finally halted by a serene lake that shimmered by moonlight in the darkness and nearby light glowed from a cabin. “I hope they are nice” whispered Owen to his horse. Owen dismounted and knocked on the door of the cabin. A kindly old woman opened the door “Hello young lad. What is a boy like you doing out at this time in this treacherous jungle? It is dangerous and cold! Come inside!” She cried at the sight of his dirt-embellished face.
Owen stroked Starlight’s ear, “Stay here and rest,” he commanded.
The woman kindly welcomed Owen into her house feeling the deepest sympathy for him. He was a typical peasant boy, thin but well built from grueling work for his age, and covered in dull rags that barely guarded his body from the harsh winds of winter. After a bowl of hot soup, a wonderful sleep, and a breakfast more satisfying than any he had ever eaten, Owen thanked the woman and vowed to repay her then set off upon his journey again.
“Shoooooooo…Creeeee. Oooooo .. Oooooo.” rang the eerie call adventurers spoke of emanating from the cliffs and the quest was more grueling than ever now, as Starlight boldly writhed against the merciless terrain. Through iced rugged grounds and over steep hills the aged horse trotted. All the while young Owen, with nothing but his pocketknife dodged the ravenous perils of dogs and vultures that sprang upon them and dismounted to cut away the entwining thorny vines that blocked their path. Sweat broke from every limb of his exhausted body, and he was stained in crimson, from the lifeblood, both his own and of his perils.
In the distance, a man in a dark silky cloak was riding a fine horse, strong and zestful growing a sleek black coat. “Run!” Owen yelled to Starlight, cracking his whip in the air “Let us seek hospitality from him.” In no time Starlight caught up to the man in the dark cloak and ran beside his horse. “Good Sir, I have been travelling for miles,” plead Owen
“Would you care to spare me some food? I have no money but in return I swear to work for you once I have completed my journey.”
The two horses came to a halt, and the man smiled “Where are we journeying young man?” he asked.
“To the forbidden valley. Legend to the people of Winegrove, a long and treacherous path.”
The man paused to think, and a smirk grew on his face, “Winegrove! Pah! Indeed, you people are foolish! You simpletons live such harsh lives, herding the sheep from sunset to sunrise! No wonder you do not realize, there is a far easier path to the Valley. Come, I’ll show you, it’ll take us only minutes!”
Owen thought for a moment; “I don’t trust him” he whispered to his horse.
“An easier way indeed!” Owen cried angrily “Well I prefer to earn my rewards the honest way, through my blood and sweat and that is how my people have always earned their food! Never insult us again! FAREWELL!”
And with that Starlight fled off into the distance
The path was now kind and gracious; Starlight had no trouble flying across it like a furious falcon. Finally there it stood before young Owen, between two majestic mountains crowned in chaste fresh snowfall. Mighty waters rushed across a riverbed, flourishing with vibrant pond life in the likeness of tropical breeds nestled within a lush garden of dazzling flora, a mosaic of colorful wreaths. The lad stood in awe but there before him lay a spectacle more dazzling still. It was the aerial specter of his father and thus it spake “My son, this beautiful ravine was my sanctuary as a boy that I escaped to, when the toils of life became too much. I always wished for you to discover it. My business is done now and I can rest. Keep the path a family secret. Take what you need but never be greedy.” The spirit lead the boy to some eccentric flowers with gleaming vermilion petals then vanished. Owen, thinking of nothing but his mother would not stay to enjoy the gorgeous valley, instead he immediately picked as many of the mystical herbs as he could carry and rode off into the darkness.
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