build a home in the sand -- open
Gaheris has found a conveniently abandoned thatch house out in one of the pseudo-countryside areas in which he can set up an alcove with his drawing materials. He brings most of his things from his apartment--that is, the table and the mattress--and arranges them halfway decently, then orders his pencils and paints and papers into various shelves. The house is one of the old-fashioned kind, one room with a wood frame built into one wall to hold a mattress, and a fireplace built into the other. He folds his heavy coat up and uses it for a pillow.
He'll keep the apartment, though, he reasons--you never know when you'll have to go back into the world, and besides that he needs reasonably good access to beer and the occasional cigarette, not to mention replacements for the art supplies.
But for now he's got a new home that's tolerably like the old place where he used to live with Lynet and the child, and that's soothing, in a way. He's even spurred to a little more action than he can usually manage, and to-day, since it's bright and the weather's good, he's replacing the thatch of his roof. A considerable part of it is mouldy, and there's plenty of reeds and moss in the nearby fen, and Gaheris, out of place in his dirty jeans and grey t-shirt, clearly too thin now that the bulky coat isn't hiding his body, is tearing the old thatch out with hands that seem to know exactly what they're doing.
This is familiar. He can do this. It turns out that means the world.
He'll keep the apartment, though, he reasons--you never know when you'll have to go back into the world, and besides that he needs reasonably good access to beer and the occasional cigarette, not to mention replacements for the art supplies.
But for now he's got a new home that's tolerably like the old place where he used to live with Lynet and the child, and that's soothing, in a way. He's even spurred to a little more action than he can usually manage, and to-day, since it's bright and the weather's good, he's replacing the thatch of his roof. A considerable part of it is mouldy, and there's plenty of reeds and moss in the nearby fen, and Gaheris, out of place in his dirty jeans and grey t-shirt, clearly too thin now that the bulky coat isn't hiding his body, is tearing the old thatch out with hands that seem to know exactly what they're doing.
This is familiar. He can do this. It turns out that means the world.