Amber

(This was supposed to be before Gertrude's post, I am a slow typer)

I stared out the window at the beautiful forest scene passing by our cozy little carriage. Our ride seemed to glide on a cut line through a seemingly impenetrable wooded expanse. The two horses pulling the stage coach enriched the air with the sound of trampling gravel. The fresh pine soaked the senses with a fresh, yet bitter smell.

Gertrude sat in her seat with her nose crinkled. “I hate the smell of horses.”She said to herself. She turned to me. “How is your head, Amber?”

“Feeling much better.” I responded.

“Do you remember anything about… what happened recently?” Gertrude asked. A look of concern came over her face.

I sighed. “No… nothing recently.” I looked down at my lap. “Things are still fuzzy.”

I loathed the uncertainty of not having any recollection of my past. I had a strange feeling that my name wasn’t really Amber. Although, Gertrude was so kind to me I was getting a hard impression that everything she was telling me wasn’t entirely truthful. She had told me that I had been found by Lord and Lady Dinli while they were on route to a town that I had no remembrance of.

There were other things; small tendencies that I have that I cannot fully understand. Earlier today while we had stopped for a brief lunch, I noticed that I had calluses on my back and waste. I also found it unusual that a farm maid, such as Gertrude professes me to be, should have so many scars on the various parts of my body. I must have raised rose bushes with scythes for thorns to answer for some of my longer smarts.

The worst of the tendencies, or should I say the most frightening of the tendencies, must be whenever I see that long steel sword that hangs from the belt of our transporter. I can never loosen up whenever I am in sight of his weapon. It isn’t that I am scared of it or him, but rather I have a great desire to obtain the weapon. It is similar to the urge a cat must feel when a mouse runs across a room. My eyes are focused on the sword while my ears absorb every word of everyone’s conversation along with the various sounds that stand out amidst the forest ambience.

“Pardon ladies,” our driver called through the front facing window, “I don’t want to startle you bunch, but we got a coach that’s been following us a while now. And might I add that whoever it might be is acting awfully strange.”

Gertrude slowly eased her head outside the stage coach’s side window. “I don’t believe it.”

“Who is it?” I asked

“Stop the carriage. I think he is a friend.” Gertrude commanded.

After hearing her reaction, I looked out the side window. About one-hundred yards behind us, a small stage coach was rapidly approaching with a young man hanging out the coach’s left side window, flailing his arms about, screaming, “HEY BONITA, WILLIAM!! ITS ME… WAIT!!!”

Bonita… I thought the young man must have had us confused with another group, but Gertrude seems to know him as well.