So, naturally, I wrote three. . . one rather short.
"It'll be practice," he said.
So she found herself sitting on a hill, glowing as brightly as the autumn moon would, in two weeks. Below, the harvest went on. They could be gathering anything from pumpkins to wheat for all she could tell.
She wondered if they would be thankful. She mused on the history, and how these farmers had been settlers here in her grandparents', if not her parents', time. She pondered what sort of animals they were gathering feed for: horses, oxen, turkeys, chickens, geese, pigs.
"You'll have to cross the island in cart," said Jon. "If you took the journey by dirigible, they would demand a pass."
Princess Casilde sighed. "I suppose only in a mythical country, or a dream, could there be an easy way."
Jonnet, glad to be off the cart, stretched her legs and eyed the dock. The sky overhead, and the lake below, were as radiant with color, blue and pink and yellow, as if they were the heart of an opal. Even the weathered dock bore some of the color. The small boats were brightly painted in white and blue.
Karl bowed and handed her into the boat, and Queenie and Nina after, with Sven going to untie it as they sat down. It shifted off, over the lake, moving as smoothly as a dream.
"It will pass the island," said Nina, idly.
"Oh, yes," said Queenie. "This isn't some mythic country where you can go easily to where you want."
The castle hove into sight ahead. It gleamed golden in the mists, atop a lush green hill -- surrounded by lush green hills. A stream flowed into a lake before it, with a great stone arch of a bridge. And a number of rocks in the stream.
Jonnet's mouth pursed. A little more ease would not be taken amiss.