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dancing in the moonlight, any.
IP: 95.149.91.148
Posted on January 19, 2013 at 00:27:42 AM by amber



Amber rested the edges of the cardboard box against a tree, wishing she was in better shape. Not far to go now. Because of the difference between her old, lonely home in the converted barn in Sebauza Ruins and the new house in the Commune, Amber had decided to get rid of as many old things as possible and take only the essentials with her in a single trip. A cloth bag with a single strap over her shoulder formed a makeshift rucksack, and everything else was in the box in her arms. Twenty-three years of living and every possession, achievement and memory was either in the bag or the box, or had been whittled away to immaterial recollections. It was sad, in some ways, that those first twenty-three years of her life amounted to little meaning or value, but it was preferable to remember that she was young enough to begin again. Amber adjusted her grip on the box, pulled its weight fully back into her arms and set off again with fresh determination.

The tree was an olive: she must be close. Just as well. Her feet were getting tired from a full days’ tramping with the weight of her life on her shoulders and in her arms, and she was too warm under the layers of clothes which were easier to wear than carry. Every now and again, she passed a landmark which was identifiable from the map she’d sketched on the side of the box, and it reassured her that she was heading the right way. Amber had lived in the Commune before, long ago, but she did not possess the best sense of direction. Luckily, a series of dirt paths through the grove made navigation to the village quite easy, and she couldn’t help but smile when the well-worn track opened out into a clearing surrounded by motley wooden houses.

Although she knew it by heart now, Amber checked the name of her new residence as it was written on the box: Rosewood Hollow. Someone from the Senate had said that the house was available and had made arrangements for her to be able to move in with the local village leader. Rosewood Hollow. It sounded like a name from a storybook. The village looked like it was from a storybook, too: the houses were built around the natural landscape rather than simply destroying it, and the majority of them backed onto banks or used trees as parts of their walls. She passed a number of pretty-sounding homes – Woodside, Hillcrest, Ivy Cottage – before finally locating hers on a raised bank relatively close to a trickling brook. The cheerful name ‘Rosewood Hollow’, carved into a light wooden plaque, was semi-obscured by the ivy creeping down from the roof. Amber dumped her box and her bag onto the ground by the door and pulled the weeds away with her fingers, making a mental note to stop by the castle library some time and pick up a book on gardening. Aside from the overgrown creeper plants, the house seems to be in good condition from the outside.

Over the top of her long, navy blue dress, Amber had been wearing a thin cardigan, a leather jacket and a pullover – now, too warm, she decided to pull them off before going inside. The pullover came off without incident, but as she tugged the jacket off, the key to the front door flew out of one pocket and vanishes into the overgrown garden. Amber cursed under her breath and removed the cardigan too before squatting down on the ground and feeling around the soft earth with her hands.

a m b e r
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