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@crazywriter

Sorry it took me so long to get around to this. *fp* Life is nuts. 😛 Anyway! Same format:

***

In the morning, a gray fog had settled over the fort and the surrounding terrain, minimizing visibility, and giving the land an eery eerie look. Abner woke early, and patrolled the walls, straining his eyes for any sight of the enemy, but the stubborn fog (Love that wording) kept them blind.

Lieutenant North joined him, obviously groggy from just waking.

“See anything, sire?” Hhe asked.

Abner scanned again, and shook his head. “Nothing yet, Lieutenant, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

North nodded, and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his fur coat. “It’s dreadfully cold out here, sire. Doesn’t feel natural.”

Abner nodded, glancing at the sullen sky, while taking a deep breath. “Just keep a sharp eye, North. All we can do now is wait for Major Maguire.”

“Yes, sir!” North said, and went a bit further down the wall to try a different view.

Abner knew the fog would be too thick for the naked eye. Even a eye-glass would be of no use. If the enemy wanted to, they could attack, and Abner wouldn’t know it until he had a knife at his throat. (*shudder*)

He sighed, and decided to calm his nerves by checking on Breanon.

He walked down the stairs, and across the chilly courtyard, to the stables. He was greeted warmly by a  young, teenage boy (teenagers tend to be young, so we don’t need that word ;)), who led him to a stall where Breanon was happily chewing on freshly forked hay. Abner smiled, opened the gate, and slipped in, and stroked stroking Breanon’s long, brown nose. The horse nickered softly, and took a step toward Abner, his longtime friend.

Abner recalled when he first saw Breanon. He was thirteen at the time, and Breanon was a green-broke colt. It took much time, and many painful falls, but over the (? Not sure if you meant “the years” or just plain “years”) years, they grew close together, both trusting one another,. and nNow, Abner would ride no other horse. The majestic steed stood at just over sixteen hands, (sheesh, he’s a big boy) a unusually large warhorse. Rippling muscles covered histhe horse’s frame, his coloring a gentle brown, with a white star on his forehead.

Abner sighed, and leaned on against Breanon, closing his eyes, and running his hands through the horse’s mane. He longed for this nightmare to be over. To be back in Dallinor, where peace thrived, and war was a thing of legends. What he had found exciting as a boy was now a burden to him, especially as he knew the likely-hood <b>likelihood </b>of the looming massacre of the defenders of Ensteyr. (Ok, I LOVE this paragraph. The longing, the calm before the storm–*chef’s kiss* Great job!)

A long horn blast shook his thoughts,. (Short, punchy sentences tend to be better for action.) and bBoth man and beasthe and Breanon jumped, hearts picking up speed. There was some commotion at the gate, and, with a nervous shudder, Abner wondered if the enemy had finally began their attack.

He raced out of the stables, hand on his sword, and joined North on the walls again. Still hindered by the fog, at first all he saw was a large grey mass waiting outside the gate. Then, with a surge of relief, he recognized the standard of Arhon on a cavalry guidon. Major Maguire had arrived.

***

Great job!! I love the feel of this piece. Keep it up! *thumbs up* I’ll get to the next part next week. 🙂