My mouth tastes of ginger and mango.
In other news, I think I need
sparks!
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Edit: Since LJ no longer allows us to have comment titles at all, here's what's been done so far. :)
Wild Roses:
Cat's eyes, or something else, in the verge of a darkening forest. - early Trickwood Unification, Geoffrey, Hernén, several wolves
new and interesting ways to give yourself a headache - ( Read more... )
sparks!
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Edit: Since LJ no longer allows us to have comment titles at all, here's what's been done so far. :)
Wild Roses:
Cat's eyes, or something else, in the verge of a darkening forest. - early Trickwood Unification, Geoffrey, Hernén, several wolves
new and interesting ways to give yourself a headache - ( Read more... )
different perceptions on an event, clash and discussion
differing reactions to a sensation
a full breakfast spread, extending beyond expectations
mist close to the ground on a bright day
finding comfort in the cold
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He'd got up early. Less because he'd slept badly and more because he could hear someone scuffling around just far enough away to make him suspicious.
He'd expected breakfast to be leftovers from the meal before, cold bread and cold-sliced roast, water or smallbeer.
Breakfast, in Hernén's little wooden town, was an array vast enough to make him stare disbelieving. Tureens of porridge, ranging from pale blond rolled oats to something nearly black, a pyramid of blue-green eggs awaiting requests, hot bread, at least four kinds, including some sort of sweet bun and something that smelled pleasantly of wheat and salt, several fish--he'd have been impressed at the variety on the menu in one of the harbour restaurants. That it was just laid out in steaming, busy bounty was awe-inspiring.
He saw Usoa lurking over a kettle, and when she saw him approaching, she threw back her head and laughed. Grinned, all white teeth, as he got close enough to see she ( ... )
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I like the talk of the food, and the bafflement over the brothers. What's Usoa's context for the family? (Does she know they're Sabaey, does she know anything about the Sabaeys as a family other than Aifiric=king, if that, etc.)
I'd be willing to bet that Ruadhan winds up getting a warm breakfast when he's got access to it, after a while out if not fairly quickly after showing up.
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(The comment has been removed)
I don't think it's registered yet that they all have different mothers--she's trying to imagine some poor woman having that many manifestly-slightly-crazy kids and going wtf.
(For that matter, from her background fifty's a pretty good run, for age, and none of the four she's met so far look like kids, or like they're getting grey around the edges.)
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She woke alone. Cold. After a brief flare of panic, she realised that the temperature settings weren't at fault, that there was nothing wrong with the horse. Gulping air, she squirmed an arm free and unwrapped herself from the cocoon of blankets. Habit made her pin them neatly to the edges of the vertical bunk before she pulled on an insulated coat, and it was habit again that made her almost laugh at the way the coat fit her too well: it was hers, not borrowed.
She took the quilted tunic that had been lurking underneath her coat with her as she left the room. It made for awkward travel, occupied one of her arms so she had to pull herself around with only one hand on the rungs, but the gravity was light, and she'd had practice.
She didn't bother checking the fire. She knew where she'd be, if she couldn't sleep, and she'd learned a lot of habits from him ( ... )
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i could see that being a legitimate first thought, and ack.
i like all the added gestures and habit details born of "don't let the cold air get in!"
but mostly, aw. and <3
(and he is keeping ALL THE NAMES, thank you, and she doesn't even bat an eyelash at it. that makes me smile.)
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He'd got the idea from Togortok when he was too young to go out raiding. He doubted anyone realised, since Togortok had stopped wearing the jades in his hair by the time Khenbish was leading raids of his own.
But the idea of hiding things in his hair he'd got from Togortok nonetheless. Not cut-down pieces of seals, a five-clawed dragon's hand or a tiger's head peeking from beneath his cowl, no.
Beads. They looked decorative, and everyone knew he liked yellow and didn't like to clink when he moved, so nobody cared that they were strung on black string and arranged so they didn't touch one another.
So nobody realised that gold-on-black beads might be gold-printed circuit beads, that held maps, communication frequencies, names, even legends in their black depths.
He had no intention of letting old man Ligdan lay hands on his maps.
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Do we know anything about old man Ligdan?
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I believe Ligdan is this gentleman.
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They walked out the back door directly into the path of a cold, salt-scented wind coming up from the harbour. Julian leaned into it, felt her face chill instantly, her coat ripple around her. As she took a deep, pleased breath in, she hear a brief chattering start up behind her, before a tiny flare of power made her half-turn, look back.
The Morrigan had un-skeined a little, just enough that the wind was blowing unimpeded through her, and still had her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, clutching her wrap to herself.
Julian laughed. The Morrigan shook an admonishing finger at her, then straightened up, unwrapped her arms from her body. Reached up and checked her hair, which just made Julian laugh again, and the Morrigan tutted at her.
"I don't chase sailors for a reason," she said, rapidly re-twisting her fringe, tucking a curl behind her ear and another beneath a pearl-headed pin she pulled from the chignon at the back of her head ( ... )
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...doesn't the Morrigan wind up with a sailor for a while regardless? *amused*
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