“If tied,” she said, “come by.”
“If not…?” he asked.
Her shake of head stilled any of the questions he had swirling inside his. It cooled his urge to argue. He knew it wouldn’t help. He knew it would only make what was already unlikely, impossible.
In the days that followed he found every reason to visit the gatepost. He wasn’t meant to come too close, but the nearby field offered cloves that his mare suddenly required, and there were numerous trips to town that merited taking exactly the dirt road that hugged parts of the property.
He drooped with every thread-less passing.
He couldn’t sleep.
He felt angry, worried, sick.
Till one day, as he rode by on an errand for a parcel, he saw it. A pink thread. Tied.
Her parents relenting.
They’d let him court her. Even though his father, in his drunkenness, had killed their son.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Na'ama Yehuda 
Wow What a lot of story told in a few words.. and mystery as well.
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Thank you, judy! A lot of possible story there indeed… I’m just happy that the wind of the father are not completely paid for by the son…
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That is so lovely. Yea, and you’ve packed it all in. Great. 🙂
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Thank you, Crispina! 🙂 I’m glad you liked. So MANY possible interpretations for this pink string tied onto a post …
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Including the most simple… that’s the only string they had to hand 🙂
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Yep, simple explanations are good, too! 🙂
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🙂
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🙂
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Ummm… that started off with a nice little bit and then wham!
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Yeah, well … life’s got ‘wham!’ 😉
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Uh huh… You said it
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🙂
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😊
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