Prologue: An Introduction to Ash...
Ash streched his limbs toward the bright morning sun. It was a beautiful morning in the begining of the spring of 1769. He was ninety-five years old, he had seen quite a bit of history in his lifetime. He knew his life was drawing to a close, with each passing day he grew weaker and weaker. He had lived on the same plot of land for his entire life. Infact he was both the oldest and tallest living member of Salem Village.
He had been healthy and hardy, that is atleast until the past winter, it had been a severely cold winter. Ash felt as though he would wither and die everyday throughout that winter, just like everyone else he feared death. However now that spring had arrived he was quite cheery, he could hear the birds chittering in the sky above him. Ash greeted them with a friendly wave, he had always enjoyed listening to the birds singing throughout the morning hours. He liked to think of the birds, bugs, and all other wildlife native to the area as good friends of his, it made him feel a bit less alone in the world.
Ash had always withdrawn himself from people, he was shy and quiet, and they were often too loud for his tastes. He was basically a hermit, preferring to live on the outskirts of Salem Village, somewhere off of Ipswich Road. He hated to be crowded and it even made him uncomfortable when anymore than two or three people walked past his plot of land.
Being so old and close to death made him reminicent of his youth. When Ash was younger he was very close to a young girl named Dorothy Good, he often remembered her fondly. She would cover over very often to sit and chat with him. Dorothy always did the talking, and he used to hang on to each and every one of her words, after all she was the only one who ever bothered to talk to him. At the end of March in 1692 her visits ceased, she did not return until atleast one or two years later. When she did finally return she was never the same, she seemed burdened by the tradgedies that had befallen her family.
Dorothy still did all of the talking, which Ash never minded, he was actually quite thankful that she did, for he never knew quite what to say. He remembered all the way back to the day Dorothy was born, it was during the fall of 1688. At the time he was about fourteen or fifteen years old at the time, yet he remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.
Ash streched his limbs toward the bright morning sun. It was a beautiful morning in the begining of the spring of 1769. He was ninety-five years old, he had seen quite a bit of history in his lifetime. He knew his life was drawing to a close, with each passing day he grew weaker and weaker. He had lived on the same plot of land for his entire life. Infact he was both the oldest and tallest living member of Salem Village.
He had been healthy and hardy, that is atleast until the past winter, it had been a severely cold winter. Ash felt as though he would wither and die everyday throughout that winter, just like everyone else he feared death. However now that spring had arrived he was quite cheery, he could hear the birds chittering in the sky above him. Ash greeted them with a friendly wave, he had always enjoyed listening to the birds singing throughout the morning hours. He liked to think of the birds, bugs, and all other wildlife native to the area as good friends of his, it made him feel a bit less alone in the world.
Ash had always withdrawn himself from people, he was shy and quiet, and they were often too loud for his tastes. He was basically a hermit, preferring to live on the outskirts of Salem Village, somewhere off of Ipswich Road. He hated to be crowded and it even made him uncomfortable when anymore than two or three people walked past his plot of land.
Being so old and close to death made him reminicent of his youth. When Ash was younger he was very close to a young girl named Dorothy Good, he often remembered her fondly. She would cover over very often to sit and chat with him. Dorothy always did the talking, and he used to hang on to each and every one of her words, after all she was the only one who ever bothered to talk to him. At the end of March in 1692 her visits ceased, she did not return until atleast one or two years later. When she did finally return she was never the same, she seemed burdened by the tradgedies that had befallen her family.
Dorothy still did all of the talking, which Ash never minded, he was actually quite thankful that she did, for he never knew quite what to say. He remembered all the way back to the day Dorothy was born, it was during the fall of 1688. At the time he was about fourteen or fifteen years old at the time, yet he remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.
