(no subject)
Okay, I realize that today's posting is a bit late, but after a nine-hour day at work, I got home just in time for a visit from my sister and her family which lasted long enough to make me drop off to sleep as soon as they left. Of course, part of that is my complete lack of sleep, the night before. :P
Anyhow, here's tonight's little scene:
* * *
La woke in her moldy bed and rubbed her eyes. It was still deep night and the other youths she shared the tent with were still fast asleep, the smell of liquor and passion still clinging to them. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and again the feeling that it was all so wrong washed over her.
"It is wrong." she heard a voice say. There at the foot of her bed was a huge shaggy dog, panting heavily in the heat.
"You," she started, but then stopped, "I've forgotten your name."
"I don't have one," she heard it say, though it's mouth did not move, "I am simply dog."
"Oh, well that would explain it, then." From the far corner of the tent, she heard little Mirrik whimpering in his sleep. She slipped across to him, hoping to prevent him waking his mother, and took the toddler up in her arms. He rubbed his eyes with his little fists, his blond curls matted to his face by the grime and dirt of Beggar's Quarter, and told La, "I dreamt I was a king again."
As he said it, that feeling of wrongness washed over La, stronger now. She had been dreaming, herself, only just now. Memories of silken sheets and lavendar incense filled her mind. "Princess Lavendar" someone had been calling her. She brushed the hair from Mirrik's face, smiling down at him. "I'm sure you made a good king."
But rather than smile, the boy seemed sad, his eyes beginning to well with tears. "But I wasn't," he said, "I sent my people to war over something stupid, and lots of people died. My country's been torn apart and my people are enslaved." At that, he buried his face in La's scarred breast and wept openly.
Fearing that he would wake the others, she held him close and stood, walking through the tattered flap of the tent. For a moment, as she walked through it, she had the sensation of passing through fine curtains of linen, and half expected to walk out onto a balcony high above the city in the summer night. Instead, she walked out into The Beggar's Quarter, the lowest point in the city, and in life. The everpresent smell of dung slapped her face, and made her eyes sting. The tents and hovels of the Quarter were dark and quiet tonight. She looked over the tents and knew the place at once, but somehow, it didn't feel familiar. Again, she somehow knew that this wasn't her home.
"This is no one's home," came dog's voice again. He stepped out of the tent behind her, surveying the land. "No one belongs here."
* * *
*yawns* I'm sorry, but that's all I can do, right now. I'm just to tired to think. I'll work on this more, tomorrow. I promise, it is going somewhere.
Anyhow, here's tonight's little scene:
* * *
La woke in her moldy bed and rubbed her eyes. It was still deep night and the other youths she shared the tent with were still fast asleep, the smell of liquor and passion still clinging to them. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and again the feeling that it was all so wrong washed over her.
"It is wrong." she heard a voice say. There at the foot of her bed was a huge shaggy dog, panting heavily in the heat.
"You," she started, but then stopped, "I've forgotten your name."
"I don't have one," she heard it say, though it's mouth did not move, "I am simply dog."
"Oh, well that would explain it, then." From the far corner of the tent, she heard little Mirrik whimpering in his sleep. She slipped across to him, hoping to prevent him waking his mother, and took the toddler up in her arms. He rubbed his eyes with his little fists, his blond curls matted to his face by the grime and dirt of Beggar's Quarter, and told La, "I dreamt I was a king again."
As he said it, that feeling of wrongness washed over La, stronger now. She had been dreaming, herself, only just now. Memories of silken sheets and lavendar incense filled her mind. "Princess Lavendar" someone had been calling her. She brushed the hair from Mirrik's face, smiling down at him. "I'm sure you made a good king."
But rather than smile, the boy seemed sad, his eyes beginning to well with tears. "But I wasn't," he said, "I sent my people to war over something stupid, and lots of people died. My country's been torn apart and my people are enslaved." At that, he buried his face in La's scarred breast and wept openly.
Fearing that he would wake the others, she held him close and stood, walking through the tattered flap of the tent. For a moment, as she walked through it, she had the sensation of passing through fine curtains of linen, and half expected to walk out onto a balcony high above the city in the summer night. Instead, she walked out into The Beggar's Quarter, the lowest point in the city, and in life. The everpresent smell of dung slapped her face, and made her eyes sting. The tents and hovels of the Quarter were dark and quiet tonight. She looked over the tents and knew the place at once, but somehow, it didn't feel familiar. Again, she somehow knew that this wasn't her home.
"This is no one's home," came dog's voice again. He stepped out of the tent behind her, surveying the land. "No one belongs here."
* * *
*yawns* I'm sorry, but that's all I can do, right now. I'm just to tired to think. I'll work on this more, tomorrow. I promise, it is going somewhere.