HOME | DD

Description
"Prologue"

Music: Herman van Veen - Maarten Maarten

July 9th, 2016

The wind that rushed through the valley was cold, too cold for a day in early July. Even though it was supposed to be summer, clouds covered the sky and threatened the lands with rain and dullness. But it didn’t rain; nothing to clean the dust and dirt from the meadows and forest grounds.

Anne had checked her phone earlier: one message from Will, who apologised for not being able to come to the stud this weekend, one from Summer, a simple ‘thank you’ for her birthday wishes, and one from Rahel. That one only read ‘(:’. Andrew had left for a little hike with Dova earlier, and so it was surprisingly lonely for a Saturday.
She was sitting on an old plastic chair. The cosy spot under the weeping willow next to the Waving Tree’s main building had always been a favourite; but since the stud had lost most of its life, it was not nearly as well-frequented anymore. They had brought the chairs back into the house one day; the logs they’d used as seats had long served as fuel for a merry fire in the living room. Only two chairs had remained, almost hidden by the tree’s hanging branches.

Sitting here, Anne felt weirdly reminded of the days that had passed. Laughter was hanging in the air, like the tree had caught all those feelings of happiness and joy in its arms and refused to let them go. Anne wondered when exactly that had happened, at which point the stud had died like that… she couldn’t remember. The last two years were one single black cloud – looking back, she only saw what she lacked in strength and spirits. It felt like a burden, like a years-long struggle; there was nothing but the memory of people leaving, taking nothing and everything with them.
Nana had been the first. Contact had ceased, though not stopped entirely; one of the few things Anne knew was that the girl hadn’t sat on a horse since she’d moved to Berlin, which was a terrible waste of talent. Rahel had long moved to Munich. Anne knew she wasn’t entirely happy with her study – Biology didn’t quite promise a rosy future, and so she was considering to drop out.
Fall had returned to Germany last year and was now going to school in town; but he was lazy and only turned up when he felt like it, which wasn’t very often.
And the list was going on and on.

Anne was like a ghost, a mere shell of her former self. She had no idea how this sadness had managed to force its way into her heart – deep enough that she’d long stopped to fight against it. She felt bereft of energy and strength. These days she even struggled to get out of bed – the simplest chores had become obstacles that she couldn’t overcome so easily anymore.
The woman sighed. Leaning into the chair, she put her head back and looked into the tree above her. The willow’s branches were like raindrops, stopped in motion – still and numb, they pointed to something far in the sky. Once in a while, a slight breeze moved the rods: everything came to life, wafted in solemn unison, then, once more, everything was still.
Anne leaned back until her legs were stretched and her arms long and motionless on the armrests.

Crack! Suddenly, the chair gave in and the woman tumbled to the ground.
Anne blinked; lifting her head, she saw that one of the legs had broken, making the piece of furniture useless.
And Anne laughed. Such an old chair! Standing outside, regardless of the weather… no surprise it had conked out. Breath, Anne, breath! - And all of a sudden, tears were in her eyes and sobs choked her. A wailing, desperate sound broke free from her lungs, unleashing all of that hopelessness, that stifling sadness that she was so fed up with, but couldn’t escape.
Still sprawled over the broken chair, she cried; the tree raining down on her face.

And like that, she was found by Andrew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Navigation

NEXT

Storyline folder: "HOME"
WTS Timeline | Character Index

Waving Tree Stud on Pinterest: The Location | Aesthetics
Waving Tree Stud Playlist on Spotify

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ASDGFKHDS I'M SO EXCITED! I know I once said "ho ho, the day when I finally have a study place, I will post the first new story of WTS! ho ho!" Well, I found the letter at half past 7 when I came home on Thursday, and so you'll get the story two days later. 8D

ANYWAY --- WTS IS BACK! To the handful of people that have told me throughout the last 2,5 years (!) that they're still interested in that dear little place: Thank you so much, you really keep me going! This is for you. ♥ WTS is, like, my second life. I have never really stopped thinking about it, planning stories and characters and all that... I hope you're as excited as I am for this ride! I don't know how fast I'll be with them, as I still have so many other projects.... but I'll try.
Also, I still need to do some hardcore planning. xD now that my dream has become reality, I need to gather all these ideas and transform it into a bigger and better soap opera than the Waving Tree ever was! There will be many new horses, riders, kids and grown-ups, stories en masse. #yay !

Art, written art, WTS and its characters (c) by me, no ref used
DIN A5 Sketchbook sketch, coloured with PS

Description
"Prologue"

Music: Herman van Veen - Maarten Maarten

July 9th, 2016

The wind that rushed through the valley was cold, too cold for a day in early July. Even though it was supposed to be summer, clouds covered the sky and threatened the lands with rain and dullness. But it didn’t rain; nothing to clean the dust and dirt from the meadows and forest grounds.

Anne had checked her phone earlier: one message from Will, who apologised for not being able to come to the stud this weekend, one from Summer, a simple ‘thank you’ for her birthday wishes, and one from Rahel. That one only read ‘(:’. Andrew had left for a little hike with Dova earlier, and so it was surprisingly lonely for a Saturday.
She was sitting on an old plastic chair. The cosy spot under the weeping willow next to the Waving Tree’s main building had always been a favourite; but since the stud had lost most of its life, it was not nearly as well-frequented anymore. They had brought the chairs back into the house one day; the logs they’d used as seats had long served as fuel for a merry fire in the living room. Only two chairs had remained, almost hidden by the tree’s hanging branches.

Sitting here, Anne felt weirdly reminded of the days that had passed. Laughter was hanging in the air, like the tree had caught all those feelings of happiness and joy in its arms and refused to let them go. Anne wondered when exactly that had happened, at which point the stud had died like that… she couldn’t remember. The last two years were one single black cloud – looking back, she only saw what she lacked in strength and spirits. It felt like a burden, like a years-long struggle; there was nothing but the memory of people leaving, taking nothing and everything with them.
Nana had been the first. Contact had ceased, though not stopped entirely; one of the few things Anne knew was that the girl hadn’t sat on a horse since she’d moved to Berlin, which was a terrible waste of talent. Rahel had long moved to Munich. Anne knew she wasn’t entirely happy with her study – Biology didn’t quite promise a rosy future, and so she was considering to drop out.
Fall had returned to Germany last year and was now going to school in town; but he was lazy and only turned up when he felt like it, which wasn’t very often.
And the list was going on and on.

Anne was like a ghost, a mere shell of her former self. She had no idea how this sadness had managed to force its way into her heart – deep enough that she’d long stopped to fight against it. She felt bereft of energy and strength. These days she even struggled to get out of bed – the simplest chores had become obstacles that she couldn’t overcome so easily anymore.
The woman sighed. Leaning into the chair, she put her head back and looked into the tree above her. The willow’s branches were like raindrops, stopped in motion – still and numb, they pointed to something far in the sky. Once in a while, a slight breeze moved the rods: everything came to life, wafted in solemn unison, then, once more, everything was still.
Anne leaned back until her legs were stretched and her arms long and motionless on the armrests.

Crack! Suddenly, the chair gave in and the woman tumbled to the ground.
Anne blinked; lifting her head, she saw that one of the legs had broken, making the piece of furniture useless.
And Anne laughed. Such an old chair! Standing outside, regardless of the weather… no surprise it had conked out. Breath, Anne, breath! - And all of a sudden, tears were in her eyes and sobs choked her. A wailing, desperate sound broke free from her lungs, unleashing all of that hopelessness, that stifling sadness that she was so fed up with, but couldn’t escape.
Still sprawled over the broken chair, she cried; the tree raining down on her face.

And like that, she was found by Andrew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Navigation

NEXT

Storyline folder: "HOME"
WTS Timeline | Character Index

Waving Tree Stud on Pinterest: The Location | Aesthetics
Waving Tree Stud Playlist on Spotify

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ASDGFKHDS I'M SO EXCITED! I know I once said "ho ho, the day when I finally have a study place, I will post the first new story of WTS! ho ho!" Well, I found the letter at half past 7 when I came home on Thursday, and so you'll get the story two days later. 8D

ANYWAY --- WTS IS BACK! To the handful of people that have told me throughout the last 2,5 years (!) that they're still interested in that dear little place: Thank you so much, you really keep me going! This is for you. ♥ WTS is, like, my second life. I have never really stopped thinking about it, planning stories and characters and all that... I hope you're as excited as I am for this ride! I don't know how fast I'll be with them, as I still have so many other projects.... but I'll try.
Also, I still need to do some hardcore planning. xD now that my dream has become reality, I need to gather all these ideas and transform it into a bigger and better soap opera than the Waving Tree ever was! There will be many new horses, riders, kids and grown-ups, stories en masse. #yay !

Art, written art, WTS and its characters (c) by me, no ref used
DIN A5 Sketchbook sketch, coloured with PS