(no subject)
People come and go. Things keep growing. It's the kind of constant he thinks he's always taken a kind of comfort in, even before Eostre, even in the Realm, where stunted life beat its own path through most places regardless of what was thrown at it or how much it was stepped on. There's a kind of fatalism in it, probably, a sense that it works that way because ultimately, people don't matter. But just now, on his knees in the garden with his hands in the rich soil, the girls playing with some combination of toy animals a few yards away, it doesn't feel fatalistic.
It just feels good.
He can feel the approach of winter, though it's still warm, and soon he guesses there might be snow again and a change in everything else. But for now the Island is still locked into its persistent tropical summer, warm and pleasant. He rocks back on his heels, casting a watchful eye over the girls as he palms sweat away from his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. No gloves. He never liked the feeling of something between his skin and what he's doing. A sense of short time pushes immediacy into all sorts of places.
He turns that watchful gaze over toward the house, only brief, like he doesn't want to be caught looking too closely. Kara needs space, he gets that well enough, and it's good at least that they can provide her with a place to take it for herself.
But he remembers pain. Pain like that leaves scars on the bone. So he won't hover. But he'll watch.
And in the meantime, things keep growing.
It just feels good.
He can feel the approach of winter, though it's still warm, and soon he guesses there might be snow again and a change in everything else. But for now the Island is still locked into its persistent tropical summer, warm and pleasant. He rocks back on his heels, casting a watchful eye over the girls as he palms sweat away from his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. No gloves. He never liked the feeling of something between his skin and what he's doing. A sense of short time pushes immediacy into all sorts of places.
He turns that watchful gaze over toward the house, only brief, like he doesn't want to be caught looking too closely. Kara needs space, he gets that well enough, and it's good at least that they can provide her with a place to take it for herself.
But he remembers pain. Pain like that leaves scars on the bone. So he won't hover. But he'll watch.
And in the meantime, things keep growing.