Work On My Novel — A princess talking about her family

In this article, I will try to further introduce Princess Myrameda to my readers.

If you don’t know who is Meda — she is the heroine of the historical novel that I am working on now.

If you feel the need to catch up, have a read (30 seconds if you will 😊) to my previous blog article where I ‘fleshed out’ my heroine:

Here, the princess recounts a day out with her family, and the purpose of this recount is — for Meda to present to us her parents and her sisters.

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We – my parents, my sisters, and I – were in the mountains, traveling from Sarmi to Blidaru on one of the few days when Father wasn’t busy fighting or being a king. We didn’t know how long peace in the kingdom of Dacia would last, so we enjoyed every moment of it.

The forest had been washed by a storm the previous day, a storm that had left fallen trees in its wake and broken branches with leaves already wilted by the new day’s heat. The narrow path, almost invisible among the trees, was well known to our horses. Up in the green canopy, birds squabbled and whistled; ahead of us, foliage rustled as small animals scuttled away from our horses. The king’s stallion not yet three years old, was black as the night and had two white stars on his forehead. He was young and difficult, but my father’s strong hand easily kept him reined in.

I could only glance at my father timidly – as always, I was afraid that if I caught his eye, he would see into the depths of my soul. On that day, he seemed carefree but in the bright sunlight, I noticed white hairs had started to show in his thick beard.

From the clearing we rode into, we looked across the valley to the mountain where the citadel was, and that’s when it happened: a shadow glided across the sun. Dochia, my younger sister, screamed fearfully. The animal that was the shadow passed over our heads and disappeared in the forest ahead of us. We rode among the trees again, Dochia spurring her horse to ride close to Father and Andrada following suit.

We all saw the bird of prey, an eagle ready to attack. It easily glided again above the treetops for a few moments, then pulled its wings close to its body and dove straight down, as a spear aimed at the ground. It was huge – the biggest eagle I had ever seen – and its flight was odd: the bird of the mountains wouldn’t risk hunting among the trees. It stopped short of landing, however, and flew up again.

Decebal left the path, driving his horse towards the spot the eagle wanted to reach. Our curiosity also won over the fear we felt, and we followed our Father. As we slowly moved through the undergrowth, we found an eaglet in the branches of a tall shrub. We realised that the eagle had been fruitlessly trying to reach its young.

Andrada began to cry when she saw the eaglet’s legs and one of its wings bent in unnatural angles. She asked that we take it with us so we could nurse it back to health, but her tears didn’t persuade our Father. The eaglet appeared to be dead, and the king didn’t want to give her any false hopes. He made it clear that we had to return to the path and continue our trip to Blidaru. Andrada made a face at him as soon as his back was turned, but then she and Dochia spurred their horses into following his stallion. The alternative, Father said, was that he would send guards after us if we didn’t pick up the pace, and my sisters didn’t want that – they always got embarrassed whenever guards had to rescue them from the trouble they usually got themselves into.

My mother and I stayed close to the shrub, though, our eyes following the eagle that still made attempts at rescuing its baby.

Somehow, I knew that if I could just hold the eaglet, I could help it. I drew nearer to the shrub, but I was too short to reach the bird. My mother stood in her stirrups and wordlessly picked up the eaglet then placed it in my hands. It was heavier than I expected and was rapidly cooling even as I held it. Its head hung heavily and under the fluffy down, its skin was rough. I glanced up and saw the eagle make another attempt to dive down among the trees. For a moment, I caught its eye as it stared at me, and I felt pain.

My mother watched out for the king and my sisters, and eventually moved her horse to block the pathway and keep me hidden from sight.

Holding it gently in my hands, I lifted the baby bird to my lips. I blew softly over its beak, and then I touched the crown of its head with my lips. I caressed its broken wing and legs.

Almost instantly, the eaglet was revived and when it shook its wings out, they were all right. It started to struggle in my cupped hands, so I lifted my hands towards the sky – towards the waiting mothers. When the great shadow of the eagle descended upon the trees again, my mother stood up in her stirrups again and gave the little bird a nudge to get it flying. The eagle finally reached it, using its strong beak to securely grasp at the eaglet. Once more, the eagle ascended but this time, it carried its invaluable burden.

My mother and I watched it fly away, and then she smiled at me warmly.

She put her finger to her lips to signal silence and secrecy.

I nodded and said nothing.

Words were unnecessary between us. 

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