Butch Femme Planet - Randomly Posting Stuff Cause You Feel Like It

____SO, been a while since I really rambled...last week (she) says to me... "write me a fairytale story" ... Of course...how could I refuse?...I can't say as that I've ever written a "fairytale story" - but, I've given it my best shot here... :) ;)

SO, for (her) ...

The Princess, The Cowboy and a Horse. A Fairytale.

Rambler looked up at the tower, shielding his eyes from the glaring noonday sun. Rambler was not thinking, for Rambler was not a thinking man. He was…processing. Atop the tower, was a small, dark man, waving his fist furiously at Rambler, shouting incomprehensibly. Rambler was calm. He had no reason to be, for the love of his life was somewhere behind the furious dark man, and her fate was in the dark man’s hands. Fortunately, Rambler didn’t think much about that, for as we know, Rambler is not a thinking man.

The man atop the tower shouted down at the large, quiet man down below, to no avail, though this did not stop him from doing so, and quite vehemently. Behind him, chained to the parapet wall, was Rambler’s love. Talon. A princess in her own right, born into royalty, Talon had all the perks of a royal, but the heart of quiet girl. Given the opportunity, she would have spent her days in the fields with wild horses, picking flowers, than deal with the everyday doldrums of the royal house. Hence her current predicament. Had she been in the throne room with her father to hear the day’s judgments and hearings, instead of in a far off field chasing butterflies, the dark man would not have caught her so. But ifs and wishes do not release chains, nor do they quiet the dark man, who had been shouting at and taunting her lover for quite a long time now, with no signs of stopping. She moved her small wrists inside the chained shackles once again, and sighed.

Rambler peered up again, replacing the dusty, worn cowboy hat upon his head after wiping the noonday sweat from his brow with an old, worn blue handkerchief. The dark man was still waving his fist furiously at him, his shouts being carried away in the wind. Rambler took no notice. Instead, he hunkered down, taking inventory. Upon his person, he wore his cowboy hat, an old worn, blue button down shirt and a pair of faded denim jeans, with all the indentions and creases that come natural with a cowboy lifestyle. Over the shirt he wore a leather vest, the inside pockets holding only two items. In the left hand pocket was his knife, given to him by his grandfather. The knife was not big, nor needed to be. It had a smooth, worn bone handle, and Rambler had used this knife to do everything a knife could do, and more. In the right hand pocket, next to his heart, he kept a picture of his love, worn at the edges from many viewings, the bottom right corner torn slightly from his thumb and forefinger. Of the few items on Rambler’s possession, the picture was by far the dearest owned, and most safely guarded. Peering up at the dark man atop the tower again, Rambler thought maybe this knife had at least one more job in it. Aside Rambler, laying in the dirt in a coil was his lasso. The lasso was a gift from his grandfather as well, and had magical properties. While only twenty feet or so in length, and fashioned from what appeared to be normal rope, the lasso possessed unbelievable strength, and could stretch to unfathomable distances. His horse he has sent off to safer grounds, knowing that all he had to do was call, and he would come, no matter how far away.

Talon looked around at her surroundings, shuffling her slippered feet against the stone, trying to gain a measure of comfort. The dark man had kidnapped her in the early morning, and fled to the tower by means of some dark magic. The beating sun overhead was her only venue for making some sense of time. Time was important, for she knew it was only a matter of it before Rambler would arrive. Of this she had no doubt. Rambler was a quiet man, gentle in nature, not a thinker, a big, quiet man, prone to getting results, with or without his hands or size coming into play. She had met him on one of her early morning strolls through the fields, having been petting his horse, unaware that the horse had an owner. She had been feeding the horse apples, fallen from a nearby grove, when suddenly she felt a presence behind her, and a very large shadow fell on the ground before her, overlapping hers in the dewy grass.

“His name is Fierce Grace” said the man with the big shadow, and as she turned, her eyes locked upon his, and her heart was sold at that very moment. Talon was not a shy woman, having spoken in public upon several occasions, and not easily at a loss for words. On this occasion, however, peering into the large man’s eyes, she found herself lost, her heart beat skipping fast and hard, and managed to only stutter “ It is a good name, I...if I might have the p-pleasure of yours, good sir?”

“I’m Rambler, said the big man, tipping his dusty cowboy hat, and bowing slightly, his green eyes never losing contact with hers. He whistled softly, and said “Good boy, Fierce Grace...no more apples, though, for I fear you have had your fill, though I can see you would stay with her, apples or no.”

Talon giggled softly, and curtsied.

“I must take my leave, for I am needed back at home...I have...duties...” she said.

“As must I”, said he, “But should you be looking for more horses to feed, know that Fierce Grace will be here in the morning, and I will not be far off”. He grinned, bowed again, leapt upon Fierce Grace, and rode away, tipping his hat as he went, his face alight with a smile that would not leave him for all his days he would know Talon. Since that morn, they had all three met in that very same field, she would feed Fierce Grace sweet apples, and Rambler would tell her stories of the cowboy trails. She would listen quietly, her eyes locked in his gaze, her hands sometimes in his. He told her of the gift of his lasso, and knife, and she told him of her father, the king, and her life in the castle. From this day on, they were inseparable, until the day the dark man took her.

Rambler would come. She knew this just as well as she knew anything. “Look up, Talon“, he had once said, pointing up to the midnight sky. They were laying together, on an old saddle blanket in the field, Fierce Grace not far off, dozing standing up in a cluster of flowers. “See the moon, how large, and far away it seems?” “Yes”, she said, putting her face next to his, feeling his scruff against her cheek, warming her body next to his. “Do you see it well, for it is full, how it fills the sky with its enormity? Know this, I would pull her down to you, if you so wished.” She smiled. He would not hesitate, or falter. She sighed again, watching the sun as it fell towards the night.

Rambler stayed hunkered down, waiting. Not thinking, (for as we know, Rambler was not a thinking man), but biding his time. Rambler had a plan, and needed only for the sun to take her leave, and the moon to show her face. Rambler was a simple man, carrying only what he had on his back, but that did not make his resources inconsiderable. That was one of the things that had drawn him to Talon, while being royalty, she cared not for physical things, needing and wanting only his love, which is the one thing he had in ready supply, and he gave that love to her freely. Rambler knew full well why the dark man wanted Talon, for she was pure of heart, as innocent as the flowers she loved so dearly. The dark man hungered for power, as was typical of his kind, and needed Talon for a magic ritual come the rising moon, offering her pure soul to the night in exchange for whatever nefarious powers he would gain from the dastardly ritual.

And so he hunkered, and waited, lasso at his side, knife in his left pocket, the worn picture of his love over his heart, his hat tipped down to shade him from the dropping sun.

The dark man glared at Talon, impatiently wringing his hands. She did not glare back, as it would serve no purpose. She did, however, smile slightly, knowing the dark man’s days were nearing an end. The dark man growled, and began digging through a large bag, bringing out various implements. She sat in the center of the tower, chained to a small block, and around this block he began to draw shapes, strange swirls and arcane symbols. Talon looked upon these things with disinterest, watching the night sky take shape, the wind cool now that that sun had set. Far, far up the moon was beginning to show her face, and no matter what nefarious plans had the dark man for her, and the moon, she could only gaze upon it with fondness, remembering many love filled nights beneath its light, sweet kisses and sweeter words, whispered into her ear. Nay, she did not fear the dark man, nor the moon. “Rambler”, she thought, “I love you, come soon, so that the moon remembers us as we remember it”.

Rambler watched as the moon rose, and rose to his feet as well. Readying himself, he reached inside his vest, touching the picture of his love, and then drew his bone handled knife from the other pocket. Placing the knife in his belt, Rambler gathered the coiled lasso from the ground, and called to Fierce Grace, whistling softly into the night winds, giving a call he knew only he would answer. Within seconds, Rambler heard his hoof beats as he approached, and felt his presence.

“Good boy”, said Rambler, as he reached out and stroked his jaw, patting his head with affection. “You ready to help Talon?” Fierce Grace snorted his approval, and whinnied softly. Rambler smiled, and peered up at the tower, and the moon behind it, judging the distance, his lasso ready in his hand, and his love ready in his heart. “Talon!” he called, his normally quiet voice booming into the darkness, “I come for you, my love, hold fast!” With these words, Rambler gathered the lasso in his hands, and began whipping it in circles, slowly at first, quickly becoming a golden blur as the lasso began to expand, its magical properties coming to life in Rambler’s hands.

On top of the tower, the dark man peered nervously over the parapet wall’s edge, having heard Rambler’s powerful voice calling to his love. Glancing quickly up to the moon, he began the ritual, chanting softly, dancing a slow, ancient dance around Talon, following the chain of strange symbols he had earlier inscribed around her. Talon merely flexed her wrists and ankles inside the shackles, and waited, knowing her lover would come as surely as the moon had risen over her.

The lasso whipping wildly in a fantastic blur around him, Rambler readied himself, and with a powerful yell, shouted “I come for you, dark man, for you have taken my love, know that I have told her I would pull down the very moon for her, and so I shall!” With these words, Rambler gave a mighty heave, the golden lasso unfolding, Rambler flung it, with all his considerable strength, augmented by his immeasurable love for his princess, towards the moon.

The dark man was in a frenzy, eyes rolling back in his head below the moonlight, deep in a magical trance, connected with dark forces. He could feel the power beginning to flow into him, could feel the moon sapping Talon’s soul. He cackled wildly, thinking himself invincible, the winds whipping around him as the magical forces reached a peak under the full moon. The princess moaned softly, weakening, but having not in fear, for she had heard her lover’s call, and knew that he was near. She closed her eyes, briefly, thinking “I love you, Rambler”, and smiled.

The dark man screamed, and Talon opened her eyes. The night was not as dark as it should have been, and was growing brighter with every moment. The dark man screamed again, his eyes locked on the sky, howling. She followed his eyes upwards, and gasped.

Rambler pulled. Hard. Rambler had pulled many things in his life. Plows, horses, oxen, carts. Rambler was a simple man, not much of a thinker, but his calloused hands knew a lifetime of work, and his broad shoulders were proof of his upbringing. Rambler pulled again, harder, looking up. His lasso stretched taut between himself and the moon, like a fishing line with an impossibly big catfish on one end. Rambler had thrown that lasso with all his love, and strength, and had lassoed the moon. He intended to pull it down upon the dark man, if need be, with Fierce Grace’s help. He had told Talon once, under this moon’s very light, that he would deliver the moon for her, if need be, and so he was. Tying the lasso’s end to Fierce Grace’s halter, he patted him lightly on the back and whispered in his ear, “Pull, for Talon’s sake, my friend”.

Fierce Grace pulled, his hooves digging into the ground, and Rambler wrapped his large, calloused hands around the lasso and heaved mightily on the magic rope, and while the earth did not begin to move for his love, the very moon, however, did. They both pulled, cowboy and horse, pulling for their love for the princess, and the night sky grew brighter as the moon descended upon the tower.

The dark man wailed, gnashing his teeth as he watched the moon falling upon him. He scurried to the edge of the tower, screaming in anger “Know that if the moon shall fall upon me, it shall fall upon your lover, she will die as surely as I!” He ran to the princess, loosing her from the shackles, his hands upon her throat, trying to hasten the process of the ritual. Having reached its apex, the dark man now only needed Talon to die, and he would be filled with a wicked, twisted power enabling him to live an unnaturally long life, and have unbelievable power. The dark man drug her to the wall of the tower, howling angrily, shouting down at Rambler “See her now, for this is the last time you shall!” The dark man cackled and wailed wickedly, looking down at Rambler. The princess fainted. (That’s what princesses are prone to doing, in fairy tales, at least this one.)

At that moment, Rambler looked up to the top of the tall tower, and pointed, straight at the moon, his bone handled knife in his right hand. The dark man followed Rambler’s finger, and turning into the glaring brightness, saw the entirety of the moon was almost upon him, and incredibly large weight, an immenseness that filled the sky, bearing down on him and his captive. As he turned, his eyes widening in fear and realization, Rambler called to his love, and threw the bone handled knife, shouting at Fierce Grace, “PULL, my friend, PULL for Talon’s sake!”

And so Fierce Grace pulled, with all his might, his hooves digging trenches into the hard ground, and as the bone handled knife flew through the night air towards its target, Rambler pulled for his love. And so the moon fell. The bone handled knife struck true, the dark man’s gaze upon the crushing moon bearing down on him, directly into his black heart. Rambler’s aim was always good, but this time he had true love guiding his hands, and could have thrown the knife as blindly as his love was for Talon. The dark man clutched his chest, screaming, as the enormity of the moon fell upon him.

Talon awoke. Looking up, she saw three things. She saw Fierce Grace, nuzzling her cheek, the scent of sweet apples on her breath. She saw Rambler, and realized she was in his arms, being held safe and warm. And she saw the moon, back high up in the night sky, where it belonged. “What happened, my love? I know that you brought me the moon, and that is all I remember!”

Rambler smiled, and whispered to her “I did indeed bring down the moon. I have slain the dark man with my bone handled knife, and the moon finished my work.”

Talon asked “Why did the moon not crush me as well, my love, and why is she back in in her nightly throne?”

Rambler smiled again, and said to her “I pulled down the moon, I did, me and Fierce Grace. But the moon, upon seeing your beauty, was envious, and feared me should you become harmed, and fled back to the sky where she belongs. The moon has much gravity, but the pull of our love knows no bounds. I love you, and the moon, and sun, and the very stars know of this, for my heart sings it daily, and my dreams proclaim it to the night.”

Fierce Grace whinnied. Rambler pulled Talon close. They watched the sky, for a while. Then, as the sun arose, the cowboy and the princess rode away, into the rising sun, as is what’s proper to do when a good fairy tale is at its end, as this one is.

(disclaimer) I think you have to use the phrase "happily ever after" in a fairytale - and it seems I forgot that ... so ... :) ;) - lol! :)

Edit: Then, as the sun arose, the cowboy and the princess rode away, happily ever after into the rising sun. The end. :) ;)