Artistic Endeavors
Into that lightless place bled a tiny streak of color, weak and pale. Bit by bit it spread, seeping up into a sky streaked with a few wisps of cloud. Tenuous as it was, the light above began to illuminate the shape of the land below; gradually hills and plains gained definition, gathering color as children gather wildflowers, until the greenery was obscured by an abrupt blot of mauve.
"Matthew."
Prince of Stories, Dream of the Endless, Lord of the Sleeping Marches has been painting a landscape. His gaze now turns, disapproving, to where his raven had just perched on an open tube of paint.
"Sorry, boss. Guess I've been hittin' the worms a little hard lately. Guess I need a little time in the gym, huh?"
"Perhaps." Dream's gaze returns to his easel. He strokes his chin in thought, paying little heed to the smudge of paint he puts there; it's hardly the first, the most prominent a thick streak of forest green that cuts across the bridge of his nose. The waves lap quietly at the beach on which he stands as he considers his work.
"Aw, boss, that's harsh."
"Matthew."
Prince of Stories, Dream of the Endless, Lord of the Sleeping Marches has been painting a landscape. His gaze now turns, disapproving, to where his raven had just perched on an open tube of paint.
"Sorry, boss. Guess I've been hittin' the worms a little hard lately. Guess I need a little time in the gym, huh?"
"Perhaps." Dream's gaze returns to his easel. He strokes his chin in thought, paying little heed to the smudge of paint he puts there; it's hardly the first, the most prominent a thick streak of forest green that cuts across the bridge of his nose. The waves lap quietly at the beach on which he stands as he considers his work.
"Aw, boss, that's harsh."