Exercise 6: Post Here!

[Tamur]

Ironsword

Isobel half walked and half skipped as the priory faded behind her. It was a day full of the possibilities of life, a day to long remember; there would be no more disapproving looks or drunken lascivious priests Nice twist on the habit technique. She had finally cast off the ghost of her mother Digs into the past, intriguing and stood at the threshold of adulthood.

It had only been a half hour since she’d departed, but already her prayer from the night before seemed a distant memory. In a moment of fancy she repeated it to herself, so she would never forget it.

‘I have sinned father. But, in my heart, the sins were small; debts owed for my upbringing. I took without asking, but with great guilt. Those things, they were never destined to feed the poor, only to line the pockets of the fat, so I never hesitated. In payment, I offer my spirit father, to ever do your will. Do not doubt it; it is a strong and young heart, for it has already borne the weight of the priory’s loathing and has never flinched before the sister’s cane or the touch of the priest. And it is all the more strong because of it. It is now yours to guide as I seek forgiveness in a new life.’ Her whispered words were lost in the birdsong and the wind, but her smile beamed larger because of it. A prayer is a clever way to let the reader she what she thinks of herself.

The track started to narrow and she jumped playfully Ed. 1: Such a heavy prayer made me think she'd be more solemn. This is a surprise. Ed. 2: This didn't seem consistent... yes she is feeling massively relieved, but after the prayer's reference to forgiveness, playful is a difficult word to swallow. up onto the grass verge, kicking off her frayed shoes and placing them in the bag that contained her life. Her meagre possessions were mostly an assortment of simple clothes and combs, but there were some fabulous This word catches my eye. It makes me see her in a more materialistic way. It's not in keeping with her setting, so I'm intrigued. trinkets hidden amongst them, testament to her swift hands and keen eye for an opportunity Nice descriptive passage. She flexed her toes in the green blades and laughed with the simple joy of it. After many nights of sticky-fingered mischief Good phrase in the priory, wearing shoes would have betrayed her as fast as a howling dog in the courtyard, it was the reason she preferred to be barefoot; the feeling of safety and guile still resonated through her.

She walked on a little further, glancing briefly towards the great manor on the hill, but she couldn’t see anyone out today. A buzzing dragonfly dragged her eyes away and across its flight; beyond she could see the workshop.

The gate opened silently and she stealthily picked her way past all manner of stacked debris and ruined flowerpots, before knocking softly upon the door. There was no answer so she knocked again, this time though putting more effort into it. The swirling dust of the yard ruined her carefully pinned hair and blew dark ringlets into her eyes. Her patience was wearing as thin as the bag straps that cut into her shoulders. Ed. 2: These images are good, but disjointed here. It was approaching ten o’clock; she was certain of that and certain also that the nuns would never have let her sleep in so long. Ed. 1: Too man jumbled images. I'd just cut it out. She sighed to herself hoping that he was there, otherwise her sojourn from the priory would be short lived. The thought steeled her determination and she picked up a lump of stone from the threshold and thumped at the door Ed. 1: Good, shows determination Ed. 2: Great character-building action. This is a good moment for her. with all her might, Full stop? her long awaited freedom would not be denied so easily. With each strike she grew more desperate and with a final great crash the stone crumbled in her hands and reduced her to pitiful sobbing.

She sat resignedly with her back to the door and wept with all her heart. In the past she’d shed many crocodile tears This comes out of the blue, very modern and had quickly learnt that it was a swift and easy way to gain sympathy and attention. Later, when the nuns had tired of her capricious ways, she discovered how a feigned sob would still bring the priest running eager to do her bidding, even more so following her recent ascent into womanhood. However, the sorrow she felt now was as unaccustomed as it was unwelcome; she had never once seen the manor girls cry, Full stop? they never had a care in the world.

It took several minutes for Isobel to gather her wits and straighten her hair as she sat like a pauper on the step; her brown rags trailed into the dirt and all she lacked was a cup that well-to-do gents could toss coins into. She leant her head back against the oak door and looked up to the morning sky, not wanting to begin her trudge back to her old life. I asked myself here, why does she have to go back? Can't she wait, or find some other way to escape? I'm sure this would be answered later, just wanted to note it.

Suddenly a loud creak sounded by her ear and she was falling This is a great moment, after the disappointment of nothing happening, the world gave way underneath her and there was nothing she could do but be swallowed by it. The cloudless sky was replaced by a low wooden ceiling and her nostrils were filled with the strong, intoxicating smell of liquor. With a tumble she collapsed into the workshop and her new life. Looking down at her with a face like thunder was the potter. Great description

Ed. 1: You really do have a talent for snappy endings. Is this the potter from the other assignment?

Ed. 2: Nicely done. You do wonderful work using all the different techniques in the lesson, but it's especially good because I don't notice them distinctly on a casual read. Well blended.