38.6 - Kingdom of the Emerald Hills

The pretty milk maid's smile cracked Sutra's hardenedfrown from the inside out.Alice, Would I Lie To You?Sutra Bahuas“Maybe if they were given a chance to know what peacewas...witch...” the crowned assassin replied.She smiled cautiously before hauling the simple coloredclay pot of spilling water off to her home somewhere inthe gently rolling hills beyond the city walls.He considered following the trail of parched earth turnedto spotty mud.A gentle cool breeze stoked cyclic warmth under the tatteredcape he had pieced together from littered sackcloth.The sun and moisture seeped deep into the ripped fabric.His own flesh had taken a darker shade since the onset ofthe summer months.His heart beat in thankful harmony with the pulse ofmother.He could feel her presence, close behind and to the left.She smelled of bittersweet roses. Of a bouquet that hadlone withered away.The kind you find in an abandoned cemetery.“Actually sweet Sutra, I meant peace amongst theirown...” her fingers reached out seemingly caressing thedirty fabric the king had donned as a simple disguise.Stepping out of her reach, he focused on the rehearsedmilitary movements just outside the walls.“They will fight every wave bent on destroying this kingdom,just as they have done so with every passing moonbefore me.” A satisfied scowl made it's home on the shadedface.He found a moments solace under the giving shade of a A girlish giggle erupted from the cloaked figure.pear tree, not yet aged enough forVolumecutting fruits;38 Issue but6 | June 29 2007 |Reign 38whose limbs were weighed down with verdant foliage. “The offer still stands dark one...it's not too late youInhaling deeply he stared over the dusty wall precipice he know...” Her eyes read his aura with ease. He had learnededged upon. The walls here were as ancient as the surroundingmuch in the past six moons.plains. It was the land of fabled dragons. Newsletter Stories er of the Emerald Hillslong past.“Until then Sutra...may you find true solace...someday.”Echoes of the HillsHe focused on the war games in the main arenas. Menand women shielded in rusty armor marched in formationsand broke off into simulated combat.“He could feel her presence, closebehind and to the left. She smelledof bittersweet roses. Of a bouquetthat had lone withered away.”Sutra tilted his throbbing head to the right and smirked.He remained motionless, under the giving shade of a peartree, not yet aged enough for cutting fruits; but whoselimbs were weighed down with verdant folliage.They prepared for their never ending war.“Will they ever find the time to make peace...?” spoke agentle voice.Without hesitation, the brooding shade gripped the hilt ofa dagger. She had come to visit him again. Was this anothernightmare or intrusive vision, Sutra angrily puzzled.34