writing meme reposts 7
From this post.
('hot dusty wind whispering fire to the dry grasses'; Wild Roses, Trickwood Unification, Donel)
There was something gently unnerving about being on the plains, after being under the trees so long, made more so by the lack of visible water. No rivers, no lakes, no tang of salt and dead weeds on the wind that spit dust in his eyes and gave no coolness in its passage.
Hernén forbade fires as soon as they emerged from the forest; whether it was that first wave of heat hitting him or something else he hadn't asked his much younger half-brother.
He could feel the wind curling, waiting for a spark.
---
('by being a sneaky son of a bitch'; Witches' Horses [Twelve Brigands], unknown)
"Oh, lightning saints. Nobody gets this far just by being a sneaky son of a bitch. Not even a man banking on the name Kaschei," a quick gesture with three fingers to ward off attention, just in case, "striking terror into the hearts of men so they fall down on the floor hiding their eyes. He's sneaky, yes. But he's got backing somewhere, and it's findable."
---
('Hot sun and sand in the teeth'; Mirages/Youngest Son, Fire-eyes)
He dreamed of deserts--a word that had little meaning when he was awake, the city cloaked every morning in mist and its buildings draped in green vines. But he dreamed, alone at night inside the mechanic's shop.
Sun beating down on his shoulders, relentless and burning, but familiar nonetheless, known and accepted for what it was and nothing more. The grit of sand in a thirsty mouth, scraping against his teeth, cutting at his gums so that when he spat at all he spat sparks, flecks of fire that turned sand to lightning glass.
He woke angry at something nameless, and never looked in a reflective surface 'til he calmed. Never sure if eyes blanked by fire were real, or something lingering from dreams of never-weres.
---
('Phoebe plus her children, socks'; Wild Roses, First Queen's Reign, Phoebe Arianhrod & Fintain)
"Mamán, I don't want to put on my socks." He wriggled his bare toes defiantly at her, and Phoebe could swear she heard Arianhrod roll her eyes.
"Socks keep prickles out of your feet," she replied equably, feeling around with invisible strings under his bed until she found the flung socks, and tugged them out, making them dance briefly. Her son crowed with delight, then crowed with outrage when his sister snagged him by his midsection and inverted him, presenting their mother with his feet.
"I'm hungry," she explained to her mother's amused eyebrows.
---
('yellow candles'; Cathedrals, Sanke)
The shipment had been fat beeswax pillars, pure gold and smelling of the honey they'd been scraped from. Their smell, lit, moved in waves around the room with the cross-drafts, and all three of them ended up stealing honey that week, spurred on by the smell.
---
('James, and the river'; Wild Roses, before the wars)
Five and a half thousand years of people wishing up breezes on this stretch of river and not a one to be seen in his sails today. Naturally.
Naturally, too, he was alone, and much as he'd like to deny it, he'd never have Giovanni's touch for air currents. Gio'd actually be able to call up a breeze just for them, while James trying the same thing would probably snarl traffic for the rest of the afternoon as sails tore under the force and unwary commuters capsized.
---
('. . . not being lost, knowing where you are, intellectually, but cast adrift under an onslaught of unfamiliarity'; Wild Roses, first war, Isael)
He knew where he was. The Bard--the Prince, his father, and that was still a strange thing to be thinking--had explained it, and he could even test it himself, now. Home was six weeks' walk that way, and more worlds than he really wanted to think about away from here.
The colours were wrong--either too bright or too subtle, and he had yet to find a cathedral at all, for all the fluency in the language of faith everyone around him shared.
('hot dusty wind whispering fire to the dry grasses'; Wild Roses, Trickwood Unification, Donel)
There was something gently unnerving about being on the plains, after being under the trees so long, made more so by the lack of visible water. No rivers, no lakes, no tang of salt and dead weeds on the wind that spit dust in his eyes and gave no coolness in its passage.
Hernén forbade fires as soon as they emerged from the forest; whether it was that first wave of heat hitting him or something else he hadn't asked his much younger half-brother.
He could feel the wind curling, waiting for a spark.
---
('by being a sneaky son of a bitch'; Witches' Horses [Twelve Brigands], unknown)
"Oh, lightning saints. Nobody gets this far just by being a sneaky son of a bitch. Not even a man banking on the name Kaschei," a quick gesture with three fingers to ward off attention, just in case, "striking terror into the hearts of men so they fall down on the floor hiding their eyes. He's sneaky, yes. But he's got backing somewhere, and it's findable."
---
('Hot sun and sand in the teeth'; Mirages/Youngest Son, Fire-eyes)
He dreamed of deserts--a word that had little meaning when he was awake, the city cloaked every morning in mist and its buildings draped in green vines. But he dreamed, alone at night inside the mechanic's shop.
Sun beating down on his shoulders, relentless and burning, but familiar nonetheless, known and accepted for what it was and nothing more. The grit of sand in a thirsty mouth, scraping against his teeth, cutting at his gums so that when he spat at all he spat sparks, flecks of fire that turned sand to lightning glass.
He woke angry at something nameless, and never looked in a reflective surface 'til he calmed. Never sure if eyes blanked by fire were real, or something lingering from dreams of never-weres.
---
('Phoebe plus her children, socks'; Wild Roses, First Queen's Reign, Phoebe Arianhrod & Fintain)
"Mamán, I don't want to put on my socks." He wriggled his bare toes defiantly at her, and Phoebe could swear she heard Arianhrod roll her eyes.
"Socks keep prickles out of your feet," she replied equably, feeling around with invisible strings under his bed until she found the flung socks, and tugged them out, making them dance briefly. Her son crowed with delight, then crowed with outrage when his sister snagged him by his midsection and inverted him, presenting their mother with his feet.
"I'm hungry," she explained to her mother's amused eyebrows.
---
('yellow candles'; Cathedrals, Sanke)
The shipment had been fat beeswax pillars, pure gold and smelling of the honey they'd been scraped from. Their smell, lit, moved in waves around the room with the cross-drafts, and all three of them ended up stealing honey that week, spurred on by the smell.
---
('James, and the river'; Wild Roses, before the wars)
Five and a half thousand years of people wishing up breezes on this stretch of river and not a one to be seen in his sails today. Naturally.
Naturally, too, he was alone, and much as he'd like to deny it, he'd never have Giovanni's touch for air currents. Gio'd actually be able to call up a breeze just for them, while James trying the same thing would probably snarl traffic for the rest of the afternoon as sails tore under the force and unwary commuters capsized.
---
('. . . not being lost, knowing where you are, intellectually, but cast adrift under an onslaught of unfamiliarity'; Wild Roses, first war, Isael)
He knew where he was. The Bard--the Prince, his father, and that was still a strange thing to be thinking--had explained it, and he could even test it himself, now. Home was six weeks' walk that way, and more worlds than he really wanted to think about away from here.
The colours were wrong--either too bright or too subtle, and he had yet to find a cathedral at all, for all the fluency in the language of faith everyone around him shared.