Clack clack

The sound of the horse’s hooves galloping against the white, gritty sand made Peter very calm. He leaned back on his horse, closing his eyes as the misty, salty wind blew on his scruffy hair and dirty face. He reached out and picked up a daisy as his horse galloped by. He’d never felt more free. He loved the seashore and all of the serene chirps of the cardinals and the chickadees. His horse, Thunder, jumped over a few rocks until stopping abruptly.

“What’s wrong, Thunder?” Peter asked his horse.

Thunder seemed a bit spooked. Peter comforted him with a pat on the head.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here…”

Peter was at the edge of the seashore about to gallop into the woods. Many people went into there and never came out. The sun never shone through the trees, and legend says monsters live in there. No wonder why Thunder was spooked. As Peter sat up, gripping the reins, he looked back at the woods with curiosity. No one had gone in there for 30 years. Many people have nicknamed it Morrow Forest. He pat his horse, extremely glad he didn’t get spooked enough to buck him off. Peter has been bucked off many horses in the past. One made him break his wrist. It still hurts a slight bit to this day. Peter clacked the reins, making Thunder take off even faster.

“It’s almost sundown… mother will be so mad…” Peter huffed.

Peter’s mother, Isabella, was very strict at house rules. Peter never got to explore that much. He was always cooped up in the barn with the animals or pulling out all of the radishes. He loved adventure, and felt he was where he meant to be when he was out by himself in nature, where there were no other man-made buildings around him. He eventually got home, to be greeted by his father, Matthew.

“Peter! You are late! Didn’t your mother tell you that you need to be home before sundown?” Matthew yelled at him.

“Yes father. Sorry father.” Peter replied.

“Tomorrow you have to milk the cows. Since you are late, I’m making you collect mushrooms for next week’s stew.”

Peter walked inside, slumping his shoulders. His father always thought he was such a pain. Peter missed the old version of his father. Ever since his father went to find the stray chicken, Delilah, he came back… different. Peter never brought up that question again, since when he asked about a month ago, Matthew lashed out at him. Peter never tried to make his father mad again, and he always tried to be the best son. Peter sat down at the spruce, shiny, elegant table. He fluffed up the red pillow behind him on his chair, sitting back comfortably. He saw the croissants on the table, fresh and hot. He licked his lips, about to reach for one until his younger sister, Elizabeth, grabbed his wrist.

“You know mother said you can’t eat yet.” she said.

Elizabeth was two years younger than Peter, but they were both best friends. They always did everything together, and stuck together through thick and thin. Elizabeth acted like two years older than Peter, and she always mentioned it too. She was stubborn but adventurous. She wasn’t your regular damsel. She dreamed of adventure like Peter. They both hated how their lives were so boring and ordinary.

“But they look so good, Elizabeth!” Peter huffed at her.

“You know how Mother is. She’ll make you pick the eggplants.”

Peter hated eggplants. He hated the smell of them and how they looked. He oftentimes called them The Devil’s Meal. When Peter did something wrong, (which he often never did) his parents made him go pick the eggplants or do an extremely hard task.

“Fine…” Peter replied.

The maids, Alice and Lucia, brought in the rest of the dinner. Piping hot turkey with glazed vegetables, peas, and fresh bread.

“Mmm!” Peter said, tucking in his napkin into his shirt. Their mother and father sat down at the table, while the maids put down the silverware and candles.

“Thank you Mother!” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, this looks delicious, Isabella.” Matthew said to Isabella, with a smile.

Isabella looked at all of them with a frown.

“Why can’t all of you make dinner? Do you know how much pain I have to go through to make dinner every night?” Isabella grouchily said.

Their mother did this every night. She was never happy, but they were used to it. Their mother had a temper that they never messed with. The last time someone got her temper was one of the maids last year. No one ever saw Anna, their maid, again.

Elizabeth dug into her chicken, not thinking of anything else. Elizabeth had no manners whatsoever and their parents hated it. She never listened though, and she never got in trouble. Their mother was biased since they were both girls. Their father only seemed to pay attention to Peter, which Peter hated.

“Anything else I can get you, milady?” Alice asked Isabella.

“No, Alice. Go tidy up their rooms and get them into bed after dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.” Alice replied, and scurried upstairs with the cold bedsheets, blankets, and pillows.

The Ashton’s finished their dinner, and Peter and Elizabeth walked slowly upstairs into their rooms. The maids tucked them into their beds, while Peter couldn’t get the idea of adventure out of his mind.

He rolled over to see if Elizabeth was awake. Her eyes were wide open.

“…Elizabeth?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes?” she replied.

“Don’t you just hate being cooped up in the house all the time, or cooped up in the fields? It’s so boring here… I want adventure.” He told her.

“I know, but Mother and Father will scold us.” She said.

“Come on! Didn’t grandfather used to be an adventurer?” Peter said.

“I think so. But Father might have just made it up.” Elizabeth said.

“Wasn’t his name uh…” Peter thought for a few seconds. “Wasn’t it John?”

“Yes. I believe so.” Elizabeth told him.

“Well then lets walk in our grandfather’s footsteps!” Peter angrily huffed back at her.

“Alright, fine. Let’s go. I’ll get the horses ready.” She said.

“Yes! Thank you, sister.” Peter replied.

Elizabeth creeped out the door as Peter was grabbing all of the supplies they would need to run off. Peter grabbed all the supplies and met Elizabeth outside in the pouring rain.

“You ready?” she asked.

Peter nodded and poured all the supplies into the saddlebags on the horses. Peter helped Elizabeth get on her horse, Millie. Elizabeth looked at Peter with a mix of excitement and worriedness. Peter comforted her with a small hug.

Peter went up to his horse, Thunder, and got comfy in the saddle, adjusting it a bit.

“Let’s go.” Peter said.


ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ! ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ɪᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʟᴘꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ! ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ! ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴛᴡᴏ! ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴛᴜɴᴇᴅ!!