Moon Descriptive Writing

The night was cold. Not cold enough to send the squirrels fleeing for their burrows; but cold enough that a cloak, or coat, was needed to move from place to place. The moon was a shining silver orb hanging overhead. The stars shone like pearls, blinking in and out of existence in the darkened sky above. The icy northern wind blew around aimlessly, like a drunken sailor stumbling from the tavern. The breeze ruffled the dark-green leaves of the ancient, gnarled trees, creating a sound similar to the soft pitter-patter of rain. It was quiet. A single tawny owl flew above, the only a sign of life in the vast witching hour. The majestic bird let out a low hoot before swooping down and settling to roost in a wizened oak tree growing …show more content…
The path ahead was brilliantly lit by the light of the nearly-full moon. But seeing the path ahead did not give the driver and guard who sat in front, an advantage or help them see the two gleaming stiletto blades that flashed through the trees until they felt the cool metal slicing through their throats. The reins went slack. The horses did not try to bolt, as the two bodies slumped over, lifeless and limp. The blood dripped lazily down their over clothes, reflecting darkly in the harsh moonlight. The carriage rolled to a halting stop. "What is going on Effric?" Henrietta asked her husband. "Why have we stopped? Have we reached The Crossing already?" A puzzled look crossed over the Lord's face as he raised a hand and delicately knocked on the carriage's wooden wall, an attempt to signal the soldier that sat up front. The sharp, tangy, metallic scent of freshly spilled blood wafted in, through the open window. His eyes widened. Henrietta froze, her blood beginning to pump slightly faster. Effric grabbed the hilt of his sword and yanked it free of its decorated scabbard. The rose shaped pommel glinted dully in the waning …show more content…
"Vorell," he muttered, his tone weak, yet rich with venom and disgust. "What do you want?" The assassin's smile grew feline and glittered as if his teeth had been replaced with diamonds. "Recently, a certain...item fell into your possession; a weapon, to be more specific." Effric paled. His skin turned to be the color of the moon that shone above. His pupils were diluted in pure, unfiltered terror. Rheyce applied slightly more pressure to the blade, its point now digging into the lord's neck. A single droplet of warm blood fell, squeezing its way past the steel blade, making its way down Effric's upper chest, staining the white collar of his tunic red. "I… I… I don't, I don't understand…" He stammered, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven. "Let me clarify," Vorell stated, his voice laced with a hint of a growl. "You were given a weapon, from the time of the Fae; powerful enough to bring down an empire. Where is it?" The assassin's tone was as cold as the wind that blew through the trees. Effric shivered, causing more of his own blood to drip onto the white silk; his adversary, however, stood firm. Not shifting an inch, despite the cool autumn