I was far too tired to stay awake, but the tipping and jolting of the carriage combined with my fear prevented me getting any sleep. So, as the brougham made its way through the darkness, I curled up against the bulky pack of my belongings and closed my eyes, pretending to rest.
I tried to think about Havenwing. It was safe there. There I would be beyond the reach of the wild country and the creatures that inhabited it.
One day my friend came up to me and said I should write a book based on my tennis life. At first I thought, no way, my life is too complicated to write down on paper. After thinking about it for a few weeks I decided to give it a try. Here is my tennis life for you.
To read a book is travel swift
For though you sit, as in a trance,
The mind can journey far away
To Russia, England, Spain, and France.
The villains rush to make you pay
While you refuse to shift your stance.
Or you, yourself are in the fray,
Endeav'ring to halt the foe's advance.
Part Five: Where Rhys is Compared to a Riddle, and Brey Wishes for Answers
In the small dark village of Yakathaim
Near the edge of blackness vale
I spied a bronzen man who came
O’re the rocky mountain trail
His boots were cov’ed in gritty dust
His hands were worn and rough
His sword was red with years of rust
And His voice was thick and gruff
“Ho, thou long worn traveling-man,”
I hailed him on the road,
“Come hence, I’ll give thee a hand,
And rest awhile thy load.”
Chapter the Fifth
Just a bit more of castle-doings before Aria must leave, and we shall go on.
This was written after our trip to Yemen this summer... not very good, but I liked the way it turned out.
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Scattered qaat leaves beneath my foot,
Veiled women dressed in black.
People jabbering in Arabic around me.
Welcome to Yemen.
Open-doored Dibabs driving by,
Little boys kicking a ball in the street.
Stray cats sitting under the chicken coop.
Welcome to Yemen.