Stories > Mirabella's Stories > Steward's Trumpets

Steward's Trumpets

by Mirabella-(V)
July 3, 2011

As jagged as an eggshell, the broken dome rose before him. Below in the City, chisel rang on stone, but here no mason labored. Faramir knew not why he had returned here. This place held no secrets, only things that were better left hidden. He knew that his father was gone, beyond any hope of healing.

Yet his heart lifted when he saw the green vines, tender in their newness, that twined across the ruins. Fine tendrils grasped the stones and, among the heart-shaped leaves, white flowers turned toward the sun.

Morning glory, folk called them, and also steward’s trumpets.
The End