(no subject)
Rosana/Stock, white
In one of their mad dashes through the brush he'd torn his shirt, a gaping hole. When they got back to camp Rosana made him take it off (though he protested), and patched it with a scrap torn from her shift (though he averted his eyes when she turned up her skirt). The patch stood out white as snow against the old, stained linen. There was poetry in that, Stock thought, but he never found the words for it.
Luther, Florian, maple
Once Florian spends a whole afternoon in the sweet-smelling workshop, learning the properties of oak, the patterns of maple, the virtues of cedar. Each has its strengths, Luther says, and its weaknesses; rather like people.
Zara/Florian, catch
"Catch me listening to you again," Zara mutters, when she has breath again; and Florian turns to her smiling, almost laughing, his eyes like molten silver. "But, my dear, it worked."
Percy, Arthur, new
No one is quite sure what to make of the new arrival, once they've rounded him up. Surely he doesn't belong here, in the heart of England's glory. But Arthur, who remembers another provincial boy with a heart full of goodwill, smiles his tired smile and makes him welcome.
Gareth, Agravain, constant
Agravain's complaints of the southern court were so constant and so bitter that Gareth concluded it must be a marvelous place indeed.
Cosette/Rosana, cart
Cosette clings to her father's arm as the farm cart goes clattering past, reeking of earth and the stout horses that draw it; but the woman calls out, "Hey! mam'selle--" and leans down precariously from her seat beside the driver, her dark hair braids flying loose. The flowers fall from her sunburned hands as though from heaven.
Courfeyrac, Zara, hand
Courfeyrac's hands are long and narrow and smooth, a scholar's hands, like Florian's; but his hair is rough russet like her own, and he rises to her bait and seizes her wrists and kisses her half in delight, half vengefully, and Zara thinks she might forgive him.
Feuilly, Mickle, sun
The woman on the corner is thin and sharp-faced, her clothes patched and her feet bare. Watching her, Feuilly feels the pang of a familiar anger, but then she turns toward him, the sun falling on her angular smile, and in his heart he finds instead a fierce and joyful love.
Zara/Bedivere, stark
She's stark and angular as his mountains, her hair dragon-red. She's never still unless she's sleeping, and never agrees till she's been argued to a standstill. Bedivere knows her like the solid foundation of his own heart.
Rina/Mordred
My lady, he calls her, all courtly, his black eyes sharp with laughter. Rina smiles, and gives him flowers to carry for her, and blushes when he kisses her hard red fingers; for both of them the game is bittersweet.
Linden, Quillam, down
"Put that down," Quillam fumes, but the boy with the farseeing eyes only smiles at him, guileless, through the window of the commandeered carriage, and keeps running.
Pyetr/Mary Watson, chance
The young man's voice is heavy with the sombre accents of Russian, but his eyes are light, are laughing, recklessly brave. "You don't by any chance know what I'm doing here?" he says, and Mary's heart goes out to him. "No," she says, "but I believe I know who can find out. Won't you come in?"
Artemis/Mabon, fall
"You are not my brother," the maiden said sternly, and Mabon smiled, bowing his head in assent.
"No, lady. I am Mabon ap Modron, and these are my woods."
Her eyes lit. "Very well. Then race me, son of Modron," and her sandaled feet left no print in the fallen leaves.
In one of their mad dashes through the brush he'd torn his shirt, a gaping hole. When they got back to camp Rosana made him take it off (though he protested), and patched it with a scrap torn from her shift (though he averted his eyes when she turned up her skirt). The patch stood out white as snow against the old, stained linen. There was poetry in that, Stock thought, but he never found the words for it.
Luther, Florian, maple
Once Florian spends a whole afternoon in the sweet-smelling workshop, learning the properties of oak, the patterns of maple, the virtues of cedar. Each has its strengths, Luther says, and its weaknesses; rather like people.
Zara/Florian, catch
"Catch me listening to you again," Zara mutters, when she has breath again; and Florian turns to her smiling, almost laughing, his eyes like molten silver. "But, my dear, it worked."
Percy, Arthur, new
No one is quite sure what to make of the new arrival, once they've rounded him up. Surely he doesn't belong here, in the heart of England's glory. But Arthur, who remembers another provincial boy with a heart full of goodwill, smiles his tired smile and makes him welcome.
Gareth, Agravain, constant
Agravain's complaints of the southern court were so constant and so bitter that Gareth concluded it must be a marvelous place indeed.
Cosette/Rosana, cart
Cosette clings to her father's arm as the farm cart goes clattering past, reeking of earth and the stout horses that draw it; but the woman calls out, "Hey! mam'selle--" and leans down precariously from her seat beside the driver, her dark hair braids flying loose. The flowers fall from her sunburned hands as though from heaven.
Courfeyrac, Zara, hand
Courfeyrac's hands are long and narrow and smooth, a scholar's hands, like Florian's; but his hair is rough russet like her own, and he rises to her bait and seizes her wrists and kisses her half in delight, half vengefully, and Zara thinks she might forgive him.
Feuilly, Mickle, sun
The woman on the corner is thin and sharp-faced, her clothes patched and her feet bare. Watching her, Feuilly feels the pang of a familiar anger, but then she turns toward him, the sun falling on her angular smile, and in his heart he finds instead a fierce and joyful love.
Zara/Bedivere, stark
She's stark and angular as his mountains, her hair dragon-red. She's never still unless she's sleeping, and never agrees till she's been argued to a standstill. Bedivere knows her like the solid foundation of his own heart.
Rina/Mordred
My lady, he calls her, all courtly, his black eyes sharp with laughter. Rina smiles, and gives him flowers to carry for her, and blushes when he kisses her hard red fingers; for both of them the game is bittersweet.
Linden, Quillam, down
"Put that down," Quillam fumes, but the boy with the farseeing eyes only smiles at him, guileless, through the window of the commandeered carriage, and keeps running.
Pyetr/Mary Watson, chance
The young man's voice is heavy with the sombre accents of Russian, but his eyes are light, are laughing, recklessly brave. "You don't by any chance know what I'm doing here?" he says, and Mary's heart goes out to him. "No," she says, "but I believe I know who can find out. Won't you come in?"
Artemis/Mabon, fall
"You are not my brother," the maiden said sternly, and Mabon smiled, bowing his head in assent.
"No, lady. I am Mabon ap Modron, and these are my woods."
Her eyes lit. "Very well. Then race me, son of Modron," and her sandaled feet left no print in the fallen leaves.