Scenerio 1It was dawn in the clearing. Rain fell heavily in silvery sheets across the grassy ground, dripping down my face and painting small, damp spots on my clothing. In all directions, I could see the land gradually turn into the forest of pines and spruce that surrounded me. Their pointed needles protruded in all directions from their branches, the raindrops on them reflected the dim light seeping from the hidden sun. I knew that our camp was set up only a couple hundred yards into it, three tents, the color of the trees, the supplies hidden. It was deserted at the moment. Everyone from the resistance had gone into Tribeth to buy more food and get any repairs done on their weapons. I left Cyrid in charge, deciding not to go. I wasnt going to waste the rain.The morning was silent, except for the quiet pattering of the downpour. I was sitting in the thick grass, the blades long and tangled together. I stretched my arms down to touch the ground with my fingertips, brushing th
The Golden ShipI want to sail the western seas-A golden ship that rows with ease.Mightnt there be a strong, fair breezeTo fill the sails on carved pine trees?Mightnt my ship sail current fast-Sure the waves dont break the mast.And, today, full sail well cast!With food and drink twelve months will last!Mightnt my ship have violet sails-And a flag that droops when our hearts wail?And oughtnt the sharks stay from our tail?And our chins to the sunset if we fail!And sailing in our golden ark-We willingly journey into the dark.And on our map every adventure we markFrom fighting sea serpents to shooing a lark!For our enemies we may be bait-Or face an even greater fate.If our pride will lead us straight!Until that death, or victory, we wait.But when we finally fulfill our quest,Or when we have done our best-We turn our rudder to the west-The sailors return to their homes to rest-And return to the seas next year with zest!
TimeThe foe of allThe home of plightIs dreadful whenNot treated rightOn victims, trodEncase in grimeAnd trap uponThe bank of timeNo Time, you wearyRun becauseMad Time will grab youIn its clawsPlan out the day,The week, the yearTo escape the savageDread of FearThe times fast speedOr times slow crawlCan be helpful orThe fear of allA speedy rideOr slow pursueRough or simpleA fate you chose