(no subject)
Lukia pt 2
Eric Athelstein sat contentedly by the roaring fire. Winters up here in the mountains were seldom mild and this was no exception. However the harvest had been good, there was plenty in store and he had lately feasted on mountain goat, caught on a recent patrol. Chance of invasion was slim in the present deep snow but regulations are regulations and the men needed to be constantly vigilant.
His eyes wandered to his wife sitting sewing in the chair opposite and to the daughter who had never been able to master the art but still studiously tried.
She was taller than her older brother and would probably grow to be taller than all four of her siblings. Her slim long fingers tangled in the silks like spiders in a web and the steel grey eyes burned with the intensity of her concentration. How could hands so adept with a blade be so inept with a needle? He decided to free her from her torment. There was one feminine skill at which she excelled.
“Lukia my sweet. Indulge your old father with a song.”
Her relief almost palpable she disentangled herself and went to stand behind her father. The long arms relaxed at her sides, lowering the angular shoulders and expanding the less than feminine chest.
Her full lips parted and from her mouth poured forth such sweetly melancholy notes, rising and falling with intricate rippling scales. Dipping in mellow round full alto and effortlessly rising to spine tingling crisp high soprano. Divine sounds worthy of the gods, known to evoke intense joy in the dourest countenance and aches in the hardest of hearts, filled the room and echoed along the corridors. The only two places where the gawky child felt at ease - lost in the solitude of a song or consumed by the zeal of battle.
Eric Athelstein sat contentedly by the roaring fire. Winters up here in the mountains were seldom mild and this was no exception. However the harvest had been good, there was plenty in store and he had lately feasted on mountain goat, caught on a recent patrol. Chance of invasion was slim in the present deep snow but regulations are regulations and the men needed to be constantly vigilant.
His eyes wandered to his wife sitting sewing in the chair opposite and to the daughter who had never been able to master the art but still studiously tried.
She was taller than her older brother and would probably grow to be taller than all four of her siblings. Her slim long fingers tangled in the silks like spiders in a web and the steel grey eyes burned with the intensity of her concentration. How could hands so adept with a blade be so inept with a needle? He decided to free her from her torment. There was one feminine skill at which she excelled.
“Lukia my sweet. Indulge your old father with a song.”
Her relief almost palpable she disentangled herself and went to stand behind her father. The long arms relaxed at her sides, lowering the angular shoulders and expanding the less than feminine chest.
Her full lips parted and from her mouth poured forth such sweetly melancholy notes, rising and falling with intricate rippling scales. Dipping in mellow round full alto and effortlessly rising to spine tingling crisp high soprano. Divine sounds worthy of the gods, known to evoke intense joy in the dourest countenance and aches in the hardest of hearts, filled the room and echoed along the corridors. The only two places where the gawky child felt at ease - lost in the solitude of a song or consumed by the zeal of battle.