| Watchman |--Chapter Two added

Watchman
"Watchman, what of the night?"

Chapter One

Ophelia slowly crept out of her small house, making her way barefoot on the cold dirt of the musty road.
She was anxious; restless and couldn’t sleep. The King had declared war on a smaller nation leagues away, however, they could expect a battle horn to call any night.
“What of the night, watchman?” the girl called up to the watchman in the guard tower. She watched his shadow move, then point at the stars.
“Two o’ clock; nothing to worry ‘bout,” he shouted back.

Ophelia nodded, not sure if the watchman could see her, and started pacing.
If Penilous really means to go to war, what will Carowen think? She pondered silently.

Penilous being the large city in which she lived in. The kingdom was a harsh, cruel society; the court completely perverted and blind to fairness and just dealings. King Caprielle enjoyed making his peoples suffer under his demonic laws. Should he even call himself king, Ophelia thought sourly, frowning in half-light of her flickering candle.
Carowen was a smaller part of their country, and it was a good five days’ ride away were you riding the swiftest horse in the West. She had been there numerous times and it was a quiet place—simpler and healthier than the larger enemy. It was too ruled by a king, though he had a queen to correct him when needed. Therefore, Carowen had laws which applied to the peasant’s, the duke’s, the merchant’s means; it was not as bad at Penilous. Not that it is not terrible in its own way, she reflected mildly; the city had more crime rate than Penilous, but less death rates. And that alone made a dramatic difference.

Ophelia coming from a more northern city, she and her family were extremely prejudiced against the court’s system. Well, perhaps her family was prejudice; Ophelia knew what went on in the court, as her family just hated the city off of what they had heard. Although, that young lady stood alone with her imaginative ideas to rebel against the city, moving to Carowen, and making a difference in both cities, she still pursed the goals. Anyone else to talked to simply laughed and called her an ‘uneducated child’. A comment like that produced a narrow-eyed glare and a caustic remark from the disobedient girl.

And that was the problem with Ophelia’s mind set; once she had an idea in her head that was that and she’d do it no matter the circumstances nor punishments. The remarks she made, the things she did, and the places she put her nose into were all too dangerous for a person of her age; fourteen.
On top of her flaws, dare they say she had many, she was dirt poor—a mere peasant in the eyes of a duchess. That was not to be helped by their court, obviously. The court scoffed at the peasants and dined with the rich.

Sighing, she started back to the house, “I just need to stop thinking about it.”

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Index
Chapter 1 - page one, post one
Chapter 2 - page one, post five

Chapter two

“It is a terrible idea,” he remarked stubbornly. He being Peter, Ophelia’s closest friend. A week had pasted since king declared war and Ophelia had been formulating a plan in those six and half days.
“No it’s not! The plan is perfect,” she snapped back crossly.
“Do you realize how far away Penilous is?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then think, Ophelia, how would we get there?”
Peter had a point, Ophelia reflected. “Horses,” she continued, clearly unwilling to abandon her brilliant plot. “We can each have one and pack our things; the animals can carry anything we can’t. And, I have a bow. Dare I say I’ll have to use it...”
“Ophelia, how could you leave your family? They need you more than the government.”
No, Ophelia silently snapped, he’s not going to put my on a guilt trip!
“They don’t!” She crossed her arms in that prudent way and stared Peter down. It had always work before, however, he was used to it; so wouldn’t be surprised is her returned her icy gaze.
Predictably, Peter lowered his head so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes.
“They don’t. And I would expect you of all people to know that,” Ophelia turned her heel and stalked back to her small home. She’d knew her words would sting him, make him feel bad. It wasn’t that she enjoyed such arguments, simply because Peter did know exactly what she meant though he was acting as he didn’t.

Two and a half years ago Peter had a terrible fight with his father. The point of the matter was, his parent’s didn’t care for him, never listened to anything he said, and altogether treated him as the royal family treats peasants—the scum on the bottom of their mud covered leather boots. Completely and absolute trash in every single way possible was how they were treated. But to think a father of a child would act in the same manner; disgraceful. His father had shunned him and put him on the streets, and although his mother was not as haughty toward him, she still did nothing for the boy. Neither one of them had given him something to live off of, much less a few copper coins to buy a loaf of bread with.
Now Peter worked for a smith, besides the fact that he could barley lift a twenty-pound weight; smith’s products ate much heavier than that.
Ophelia sighed, recalling the sad story, then, wistfully thinking she should have said something much different. Now and then they’d have their arguments about childish things and he’s always supported her in the end, or vice versa, but she just couldn’t shake off the feeling that he wasn’t going to budge this time.

When she arrived at the house, she knocked thrice and opened the creaking door. “Mother?” Ophelia called, going straight to the door in the back of the house and peered out the back door.
“Yes Ophelia, what is it?” She looked up from the feeble garden and put a handful of weeds in a wooden bucket. She didn’t sound irritated, more like upset. But not at Ophelia.
“Shall I make bread?” Ophelia’s mother nodded, so she set to work to once. If one thing kept your mind off of troubles it was doing something useful, as her father has always told her.

Ophelia recalled telling Peter her family didn’t need her, and it was half-true, in her mind. She had two older sisters and they helped Mother more than she. Nothing had been the same since her father had died. She felt as if she wasn’t needed anymore; Father had always taken her along to the farm where her worked, and he helped him. She was paid a copper coin every day three days she worked there. Of course, that wasn’t much and she couldn’t do much…Her father had been paid three every day. And that was more than most farmers could afford. To her it seemed like she was getting the smaller end of the bargain, but it was work nevertheless.
Though she had quit working there the day King declared war. It reminded her of Father far too much.