Lesson 3 - Writing Exercise

This introduction is aimed at young to middle aged women who like to read romance with adventure.

Light, fluffy clouds skimmed across the pale blue sky whilst the summer sun bathed the land in a warm, golden hue. A gentle breeze stirred the grasses, releasing the sweet scent of meadow flowers to flow across the stable yard.

The old man approaching the stables, paused in the wide doorway as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His white robe seemed dazzling against the shady interior, skimming above the dirt packed floor as he walked through the entrance. His faded leather sandals made no sound as he walked along the main passageway.

The clean scents of the meadow flowers soon disappeared, overwhelmed by the sweet smell of straw and the pungent aromas of manure and horseflesh. His nose wrinkled in distaste as the odours enveloped him. He was not a man who liked horses, preferring to ride in a covered carriage rather than on the back of a horse. It was a battle for him to be inside the stable block. Only the message he had to deliver was keeping him there.

In the entrance to one of the stalls, a large stallion was being groomed. His midnight black coat reflected the glow of the sun, his powerful muscles creating ridges and valleys for the light to trace. The stallion chewed lazily on a mouthful of hay, his eyes half closed in contentment as the man swept the brush over the ebony hide. Muscles rippled beneath the man’s bronzed skin as he moved with effortless rhythm over the horse’s body.

A slight smile teased at the old man’s worn features as he saw that neither man nor beast had noted his approach. A sense of triumph swelled within him at the assumption the younger man, a warrior of great repute, had not noticed him, a much older scholar, entering the vast stable. Only a lazy flick of the horse’s ear gave any sign of a reaction to his presence.

“Really, Martog, you will have to do better than that to get close to me without my noticing.” The man’s voice was filled with amusement as he gave the stallion one last brush before running his hands over the silky coat. With a final pat on the stallion’s shoulder, he turned and faced Martog, a mocking smile on his rugged features.

Martog met the icy amber eyes and sighed to himself. He should have known that he would not be able to approach a warrior
such as Caillen of Navarre without Caillen being aware. “I did not want to disturb you in your work,” he replied, his cultured tones revealing his educated upbringing.

“Of course not,” Caillen agreed, although his eyes portrayed another message. The old man must have a compelling reason for him to enter a stable for it was well known he did not enjoy the company of horses.

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This version is aimed at young women who like to read romance with a dark, fantasy storyline featuring demons and sorcery.

The mysterious old man appeared to glide across the rutted path leading up to the town stables. His long, white robe, dazzling against the bright sunlight, skimmed over the hard packed floor without actually toughing the loose earth. He paused before the entrance, inhaling deeply of the heady scents of the meadow flowers blowing in the breeze. He allowed their gentle fragrance to fill his body, replenishing his energy levels after his long journey.

He looked through the entrance to the stable, a yawning black hole leading him to a world he was not comfortable in, even after all of these years. As he approached, his mouth twisted in disgrace as the scents of the summer meadow were replaced by the heavier, distasteful aromas of straw, manure and horseflesh. He was a scholar, not a horseman, and preferred to have nothing to do with horses when possible. He travelled everywhere in a covered carriage, with the windows closed so that he could not see, hear or smell the horses.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building, he allowed his other senses to tell him what was not immediately visible to him. The stable was silent, indicating that the occupants were either out working or were out in the large field that bordered the large stable. He was pleased for that knowledge for he did not want to be so close to the horses.

The air was heavy inside the stable, filled with a powerful energy that swirled around him, probing, investigating his presence. It was lethal, violent yet contained within restraints of steel until it was near impossible for it to break free. He could only hope his presence would not weaken those restraints to the extent they were bad for his health.

At the end of the stable a tall, muscular man moved with rhythmic grace as he groomed a powerful looking stallion. The black hide gleamed like silk in the pale sunlight, its muscles creating ridges and crevices for the light to play over. The man’s tanned skin, crisscrossed with a web of scars both old and new, rippled over muscles hewn in the arenas of hell. Yet, despite the man’s obvious strength, his touch was gentle upon the stallion’s coat.

The old man glided across the solid, dirt floor towards the pair. His leather sandals made no noise upon the earth floor, his robe skimming over the surface. He was amazed that he had managed to get so near to the warrior without any acknowledgement of his presence. The only noticeable reaction had been the lazy flick of an ear as the horse chewed on his hay, his eyes half closed in contentment.

“Really, Martog, did you honestly think you would be able to get so far without our knowing you are here? I heard you approach before you entered the stable.” The warrior stroked the brush over the velvet coat before following it over with his hand, seeking out any imperfections in the black hide.

Martog jumped at the warrior’s words although he was not overly surprised. He should have known not to expect that he would be able to get so close without detection. He was a warrior skilled in all known fighting arts as well as a knowledge of the dark arts second to none. Detecting someone approaching him stealthily was child’s play to him.