Like the Tide, 1/?templemarkerJuly 1 2011, 20:08:56 UTC
The weather is changeable here.
Marcus, for all his years spent in the company of his soldiers and then his uncle, and of course with Esca, has never grown used to how quickly the sky might turn from blue skies and wispy clouds to the grey monotony of drizzled rain. He was raised with less variability, more heat than Britannia provides. Even after surviving all that was thrown at them in Caledonia, something in Marcus craves the sun and eschews the dark thrust of rainclouds every time they arrive unbidden.
Esca has no such inclination. He was born far north of here; only on their return from their adventure did he quietly point out the hills and hummocks of his childhood wanderings, before the Brigantes were subdued, before his family was lost. There the weather is even worse than here in the southern downs, though Marcus would never say so.
They have been plodding away at the small kale field near their small cottage for most of the day. It's late summer, and Marcus is already looking forward to the stewpot being full of the green stuff. In the meantime, they hunt for the pot often as not, trading for grain until their early efforts at expanding their growing take off. They've lost their tunics in the shadey summer day, sweat soaking through the fabric and making the cloth uncomfortable to work in. Esca was first, skimming out of his and tossing his belt atop it. With a small, defiant smile he drew off his shoes and threw them alongside his other clothes.
Marcus watched with one eyebrow raised, feeling the sweat draw further down his back. "You uncouth barbarian," he said wryly, Esca before him looking much as he did when Marcus first laid eyes upon him. He was older now, less desperately thin and without the flat look in his eyes. In the time since they returned and took their land from Marcus' pension, they had both looked awful and gaunt; Marcus would sneak an extra spoonful of their meal onto Esca's plate. With how quickly Marcus regained his own shape, he suspected Esca had been doing the same to him.
Marcus, for all his years spent in the company of his soldiers and then his uncle, and of course with Esca, has never grown used to how quickly the sky might turn from blue skies and wispy clouds to the grey monotony of drizzled rain. He was raised with less variability, more heat than Britannia provides. Even after surviving all that was thrown at them in Caledonia, something in Marcus craves the sun and eschews the dark thrust of rainclouds every time they arrive unbidden.
Esca has no such inclination. He was born far north of here; only on their return from their adventure did he quietly point out the hills and hummocks of his childhood wanderings, before the Brigantes were subdued, before his family was lost. There the weather is even worse than here in the southern downs, though Marcus would never say so.
They have been plodding away at the small kale field near their small cottage for most of the day. It's late summer, and Marcus is already looking forward to the stewpot being full of the green stuff. In the meantime, they hunt for the pot often as not, trading for grain until their early efforts at expanding their growing take off. They've lost their tunics in the shadey summer day, sweat soaking through the fabric and making the cloth uncomfortable to work in. Esca was first, skimming out of his and tossing his belt atop it. With a small, defiant smile he drew off his shoes and threw them alongside his other clothes.
Marcus watched with one eyebrow raised, feeling the sweat draw further down his back. "You uncouth barbarian," he said wryly, Esca before him looking much as he did when Marcus first laid eyes upon him. He was older now, less desperately thin and without the flat look in his eyes. In the time since they returned and took their land from Marcus' pension, they had both looked awful and gaunt; Marcus would sneak an extra spoonful of their meal onto Esca's plate. With how quickly Marcus regained his own shape, he suspected Esca had been doing the same to him.
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