Andrew Jackson: A Fictional Narrative

Better Essays
Jackson kicked his mount to a trot and rode out, leading the black horse. He joined the high street and followed it to the outskirts of town, where it became the road to the plains leading to the great castle of Baymore and his father. The night was bitter cold, but no snow fell yet, and the full moon shone bright, casting sharp blue shadows on the light frost that coated everything. The horses’ hooves crunched the thin layer of ice that covered the dirt road, their hot breath blowing clouds of vapor. He rode on, sure he would find what he sought before long. Not far from town, he found the bravos handiwork. Anger churned in the cauldron of his chest, and he swore soft and low. Jackson dismounted, tied off his horse, and climbed over the low…show more content…
The man’s clothes lay scattered beneath it. They’d left his boots, despite their being well crafted. Most likely, they fit none of the men, but they’d taken whatever weapons, vest, or cloak he’d worn, and left his bloodied shirt and torn breeches. Both pieces had been finely made, with elaborate embroidery on the sleeves of the shirt. This man was no…show more content…
Right now, he needed to get this man as far from here as possible. Jackson glanced back at him. Half frozen, half beaten to death, he’d be in no shape to travel hard or far. Jackson looked down the road. Ten miles away, the low mountains began—rocky peaks covered in evergreens and scrubs. The road rose through them in a narrow pass, then dropped down to the plains. Thirty miles beyond it stood Baymore. No choice. He’d never make it safely to Baymore with the man in this condition. Once the others found him gone, they’d begin to search. Being caught on the open road was not a good plan. Jackson would have to hole up, wait for him to heal, then they could make their way to Baymore. His father would have to wait, he decided, as he returned to his new charge. This stranger, this savior, returned and helped Will to ease into his clothing and pull on his boots. His sword and father’s dagger were gone, taken by his tormentors, along with his crest ring, cloak, and purse. “Can you stand?” The man’s dark gaze searched his face, brows
Get Access