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asked
Virginia McKevitt:
If you could travel to any fictional book world, where would you go and what would you do there?
Virginia McKevitt
I would have to visit the Kingdom of Patwain, the fictional place where my story is shared with our world. To see what I envision as an actual place and visit the people I have created would be an experience I would never forget. Here is a glimpse into that world:
The sun began to crawl over the mountains pushing the shadows aside like old rags. They were riding through farm land that almost reminded Kristina of home. She was glad she was a country girl. She would be comfortable here.
Tegrin turned the stallion down a winding drive. Apple trees lined both sides of the road. Their bent and twisted branches were full of apples that would be left to rot. The grass was high in the fields and grew over the drive in several places. No one has been here in a while, she thought.
The drive opened into a garden that still had roses fighting for their rightful place among the weeds and overgrown shrubs. A small house with a brightly painted terra cotta roof seemed oddly out of place here.
Tegrin patted Maketi on the neck and reached for her arm. “We will stay here until the next night fall. We can rest and there is food.”
“Where are we?”
She let herself be lowered to the ground. Tegrin’s jaw tightened. He dropped to the ground and slapped Maketi on the rump. “Stay close my friend.”
Tegrin lifted the heavy iron bar that held the door shut and pushed against the door. “This was my father’s house before he died. He would come here to rest and heal. His sanctuary.”
Kristina stepped through the doorway. She was surprised with the room that greeted her. No walls. Just a big open space. A huge fireplace covered one wall. Pots and pans hung from hooks on one side while split logs filled a large iron rack on the other. A table and chairs sat under the front window overlooking the garden. Four overstuffed chairs separated the living space from the sleeping area.
The bed was beautiful. Made from thick saplings twisted like braids and knotted together over the center of the bed. Kristina had never seen anything like it before.
She smiled. “Your dad had style.”
“What does that mean?”
She had to think for a minute. “It makes you feel at home.”
Tegrin looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. He lived in luxury compared to the simple farm house of his father.
It makes you feel like home. Is that why I still come here? The Palace is my home, he thought. This is just a memory.
The sun began to crawl over the mountains pushing the shadows aside like old rags. They were riding through farm land that almost reminded Kristina of home. She was glad she was a country girl. She would be comfortable here.
Tegrin turned the stallion down a winding drive. Apple trees lined both sides of the road. Their bent and twisted branches were full of apples that would be left to rot. The grass was high in the fields and grew over the drive in several places. No one has been here in a while, she thought.
The drive opened into a garden that still had roses fighting for their rightful place among the weeds and overgrown shrubs. A small house with a brightly painted terra cotta roof seemed oddly out of place here.
Tegrin patted Maketi on the neck and reached for her arm. “We will stay here until the next night fall. We can rest and there is food.”
“Where are we?”
She let herself be lowered to the ground. Tegrin’s jaw tightened. He dropped to the ground and slapped Maketi on the rump. “Stay close my friend.”
Tegrin lifted the heavy iron bar that held the door shut and pushed against the door. “This was my father’s house before he died. He would come here to rest and heal. His sanctuary.”
Kristina stepped through the doorway. She was surprised with the room that greeted her. No walls. Just a big open space. A huge fireplace covered one wall. Pots and pans hung from hooks on one side while split logs filled a large iron rack on the other. A table and chairs sat under the front window overlooking the garden. Four overstuffed chairs separated the living space from the sleeping area.
The bed was beautiful. Made from thick saplings twisted like braids and knotted together over the center of the bed. Kristina had never seen anything like it before.
She smiled. “Your dad had style.”
“What does that mean?”
She had to think for a minute. “It makes you feel at home.”
Tegrin looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. He lived in luxury compared to the simple farm house of his father.
It makes you feel like home. Is that why I still come here? The Palace is my home, he thought. This is just a memory.
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