original Writing - A Short tale

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A Short Tale

A few miles south of your usual city packed with loud, noisy, busy people lay a small village of friendly folk. It was Spring in the land and in that one rural village the orchards blossomed, birds sung and the sun did not want to stray from this peaceful green valley. Only one particular person could hear the sound of trickling water at that precise moment, a Master Will Briscoe. He lay peacefully against one of the white blossom trees. His tatty breeches and white shirt flickered around in the wind. His toe poking out of a hole in his sock felt light blossom brush against it tenderly touching the surface. He was drifting off into a deep sleep until “Ahoy there!” called a certain Tom Davis.

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He stood around 5 foot 5 inches tall with brown, curly hair tied up in a ponytail that was blowing in the breeze. His shirt was a perfect white and had a pendant poking out the top which looked to be a sharp tooth of some kind. His friend who had arrived with him was of the larger sort of size, so as to speak. He had what looked to have once been food down the front of his shirt. He had chubby cheeks, and wild black hair. His eyes were a friendly kind of brown and he wore odd ...

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