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Rated: E · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #1447617
A story about a kind of honor, and a promise kept.
The wind started with some warm air meeting some cold air over some stretch of ocean far to the north, building up its power it rushed into the mountains, whistling through empty canyons it tried to find a way out to the lands beyond. Smashing its way over rocky and snow capped peaks, it crossed the mountain ranges and came crashing down their eastern slopes. Having found the flatlands it sought, it came screaming across the plains venting its pent up rage, releasing its fury it howled like thousands of lost souls bemoaning their fate.
In the midst of the fury came a lone figure, a man, bent against the wind and the blowing snow, knowing he could turn back, he increased his pace against the screaming wind. He had his mind made up, and the wind was powerless to change his resolve. A promise was waiting to be fulfilled, and the honor he held so dear would not let him stop. The man knew he would be absolved if he turned back, but a warriors honor could not be regained by absolution ... he would keep his promise if he died trying.
A young woman, not more than twenty one winters, sat watching the blinding blizzard rage out side her window. Sat and watched, because she knew the man was out there even now. Her father sat in a chair across the room and watched his daughter, as the hours dragged on he watched her grow more and more distraught.
The man was still bent against the wind and blowing snow, and though he could not see much, he knnew he had nearly reached his destination. Time seemed to slow, and each step seemed to take an eternity, twenty miles earlier he had begun to feel tired, now he was nearing total exhaustion. As the wind beat a tattoo in his ear he thought he could hear the marching drum, and hundreds of voices singing. Muttering under his breath he joined with his imaginary voices.
" The corp is marching two by two;
    Hoorah, hoorah;
  We'll all be dead, before we're through;
  Hoorah, hoorah".
The young lady was now thoroughly anxious, and could be sen pacing back and forth, to and fro, this way and that like a caged wolf. If one looked carefully they may have seen tears welling up in her eyes, looking like they might come cascading forth at any time. Her father still watched her, and he knew she was worried sick, and if truth be known he was getting a little worried himself. He knew the man his daughter expected was now nearly ten hours overdue.
Half dead from exposure, and over exertion, the man staggered up to the house in which the young woman was waiting, and knocked upon the door. Only half a moment passed before it was opened by a young man, " let me take your coat", he said as the man nearly fell out of his winter gear. " She's in the basement, sick with worry", he replied to the mans unspoken query.
Raising a finger to his lips the man, weary as he was, quickly strode to the stairs and ambled down them. The young woman's father saw the man as he walked into the room, he opened his mouth to greet the man, but was cut off.
" Sorry I'm late, but I broke down 'bout twenny miles back, seems the entire city's shut down on account o' the storm. But ahm here today as ah said ah would be".
© Copyright 2008 Cavenagh (princeniall at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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