Long time no see. . . I recently came up with a new plot and I just wanted to see if it would work. It's kind of, not really, based on a book. Kind of not really means it is but isn't. I hope you get it. I will not name the book because I changed the whole plot. It's a war book, American Revolution one. BUT, I changed it to Olden-ish-kind of-not really, time and instead of war, it is a everyday romance book. The plot might be overused but I like re-reading a plot-line again. Well then, I hope you enjoy, and review~

Warning : Even though it's based on a American Revolution, doesn't mean America is going to be in it. . . ahaa -heart-

Tino pressed his nose against the coarse linsey-woolsey of his sleeve. He breathed in deeply. It was the first time in almost a year that it hadn't stunk of horsehair, dirt, straw, and leftover grease from wiping dinner off his lips. He kept his face buried in the fabric. It smelled instead of lye soap, of clean, of the warm sun that had dried it.

Tino dropped his arm to look across the river, swollen and muddy from May rains. His mother had made him the shirt two years ago, right before they left Finland for the New World. Now it was barely long enough to protect his backside from the scratch of his breeches. It was well made, though, twenty tiny stitches to an inch in the seams. And it was clean. Silly, he knew, but somehow the feeling of clean gave Tino a sense of rebirth.

Standing atop a bluff overlooking the river, Tino saw an amethyst flower. Soft purple petals swaying softly in the wind, the sun making the color aglow, seemingly translucent. It was in fact, the same color of Tino's eyes – a veiled, barely there violet.

His father had hated the paleness of Tino's eyes. When irritated, he'd curse them as bewitched and lily-livered. Tino could judge the souls of strangers by the reactions to his eyes. Those with meanness inside smirked. Those afraid of devils looked away. Kindness smiled. His mother had said, "They're color of amethyst and mist mixed together, as the world could look upon beautiful jewels, my son. Those be your eyes – the promise of beauty."

She was like that, his mother. Her own eyes had been the brilliant hue of Saffron Crocus, abloom with springlike hope, always believing in possibilities. Even during their month-long voyage across the sea to the New World – while they and seventy other passengers clung to the below-deck posts of the merchant ship lurching through the storm after storm during the winter – she held fast to his father's promise of the faraway colonies being a place of dream to be had for the taking. She believed even as she lay dying of ship fever.

" 'Love hopes all things,' " she quoted Corinthians from the bible, the one book Tino's family possessed.