Tale of a maiden in distress The road waves had just started to burst. The next curve sets Tróia free from the Mediterranean bushes, revealing her surprised and surrounded by her maids. They’re still dressing her night vest for the gala event thrown in her behalf. Somewhat embarrassed, throws a «I'm not ready yet.». All of a sudden, as fast as I had her first glimpse, with the next curve she disappears, hidden by the returning bushes. I still remember Tróia in her youth, a simple and working class girl, filled with life. Born and raised in a fishermen environment, beloved by all. She was now all grown, betrayed by her own beauty. Has she realised it already or will she never do? She insists in launching her arms in shy and vague traces of sand, reluctant in separating herself from her childhood nurse, who sees her growing to be the attraction and reason for this upcoming celebration. But the Mountain holds to that hug, returning a mother-like warm affection saying: «That's ok. Everything is going to be all right.», she whispers. «You promise?» Tróia returns, failing to get her answer in the midst of Mountain's tears.
Escrever Escrever
Tale of a maiden in distress
The Ancient Mountain is scared from torching passions which defeated her soul, slowing consumed by flames; nevertheless she remains fearless as she points me the way out to Setubal's wonderful bay, her sister, stretching her gray and soft arms among the pine trees and oaks. One could even say these early clouds and drops of rain in late September, kind enough to let a few sun shines break through, are the result of Mountain's ailments. As for me, as supportive as a friend should be, I'll return if not tomorrow, the next day.
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