By S.E. Ward
Published by S.E. Ward
Copyright 2012 S.E. Ward
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“Nothing new is created under sun nor moon.”
“What about when it's cloudy?” Tycho might reply. “Or what happens on a night when there's no moon?”
“Those times as well, Tycho. Nothing new. Nothing.”
Tycho Admell, head of an estate at the age of twenty-two, looked out of an imperfect window, considering his father's words. The view from the window was a familiar one, populated by a varying cast of estate workers against a background that changed only with the passing seasons.
To the left were the principal vine fields, their lines playing with the gradients, and stretching away well beyond the point where his sight was impeded by a low ridge line. To the front, beyond the courtyard immediately below his window, a track emerged from the gate of the main house to join the principal road that traversed the estate. To the right, connected to the traversing road by another wide and straight track was a low hill on which the estate ruins were situated. Past the ruins, the ground descended to a shallow stream, the slope covered by the estate orchards.