online short stories

online short stories

Amily slouched out of the hut. She heard the horn blast again � the hunt was away. She saw the men leap astride their shaggy horses, controlling them with hands laced through long manes. All except for Col. His horse, Branrin, was wheeling, refusing to let Col mount. Amily clenched her fists. There is a knack to mounting Branrin, she thought. Even Col should know that. At last he was up, face burning red with shame.

    

 The horses stamped and tossed their heads, their breath like smoke in the cold air. The dogs barked impatiently. Her father, as the leader of the hunt, led the throng through the high walled passage that linked the village with the outer gate. The watchman waved as they passed. Amily stared as the long line disappeared. She scowled.

     "Amily!" She heard a shout. It was her friend Olwig. "We're late taking the sheep down to the lower field. Will you come?"

     Amily could not decide. To refuse to look after the sheep would make her mother angrier. On the other hand, she wanted to follow the hunt. However, the hunt was gone. Even the Druid had gone back into his hut.

     "All right," she said sulkily. "Where are they?" Olwig pointed and Amily saw Olwig's tiny brother Pridoc chasing three of the sheep with a hazel switch. For a moment, he had them cornered, until they turned as one and each jumped straight back over his head. He was so surprised he sat down in the midden. Amily was forced to laugh.

     "Come," she said to Olwig. They were the experts. They set off to round up the flock.

     

This was a winter job. All the villagers' sheep stayed out in summer, but now the nights were darker and longer, and the sheep were easy prey. So each night the children took turns to drive them all in, and out again each morning to the fields for food. Today, the sheep were skittish and jumpy, perhaps sensing the excitement of the huntsmen and the dogs. It took all of Amily and Olwig's skill to calm and herd them through the narrow passage to the gate. As the final ram passed, Amily patted its thick, dense wool. In the spring, as the sheep started to moult, the wool hung off them in lank, brown strands. The children had to pluck the wool to be made into cloth � if they could catch the sheep first. Only the very fleet of foot could race the sheep and corner them. Amily remembered that she had cornered the most sheep, and plucked the largest bundle of wool. Her mother and father had been so proud of her.