I had gone out walking, in desperate need of some solitude and time to myself, to keep my thoughts. After all that had happened in the past week, I found my head cluttered with worry and confusion, and hoped some time alone outside would help clear it
( ... )
One may wonder how it is I sit and wait for so long, in sheer silence. Years of maintaining the vigil of the Longest Night, silent and motionless in the most bitter cold has prepared me. Years of watching for the tell-tale signs of when to attack an opponent in battle and win. Years of complete, long-suffering patience.
It comes natural to me now, no different than breathing.
But now I see somewhat that makes my breath catch in my throat, that makes my fingers twitch against the branches I grasp for balance.
PhedreShe is unmistakable, even clad as she is in unfamiliar, foreign garb, lost in her thoughts as she so often is. And she is beautiful
( ... )
I jumped in surprise as the mango hit the ground not two inches from my feet, looking straight up and frowning when I saw there were no branches from which it might have fallen. "Imriel?" I called, scanning the trees above me with a hand shielding my face.
A glint of something shiny caught my eye, and from there my eyes traced the shape of a person crouched on a branch, the twin shine of silver from the other wrist, and the ghost of a sword hilt over the shoulder...
I simply stopped breathing. Pressing my knuckles to my lips, I took a step back, staring up at him with eyes as wide as they could go. It had been long, Elua, so long since I had laid eyes on him, and though I could barely make a whole picture of him for the leaves in the way, I could not take my eyes from the spot where he sat.
I could barely suppress a smile as she immediately blamed Imriel for the mischief; I wondered absently if that meant that Imri too was here, and how it came to pass that there were so many children here.
I peer down at Phedre through the thick leaves, only letting her out of my sight for a second to pull my cloak from the leaves and swing down nimbly from my perch. It has been a long time since I have moved from my spot, but this is a cause well worth coming to land for.
I come to rest on the ground in a crouch, cloak in a heap beside me.
I do not speak, merely look at her, a smile slowly breaking across my face. In truth, I do not speak because I am not sure that I trust my voice to be whole when I do.
Bill stepped out of the compound, his long hair still wet from his shower and hanging loose rather than bound in its usual ponytail. It was a bit more than halfway down his back at the present, and he knew he ought to see about finding someone who could trim hair.
A less observant person might not have seen the man sitting in the tree, but Bill was pretty bloody aware of his surroundings for the most part. He noticed the man looked rather well-armed, but couldn't quite make out what exactly he was carrying through the branches. A sword, definitely, and possibly daggers. Bill's own dagger still hung off his belt, but he made no move to go for it. Smiling broadly, as he usually did, he approached until he was close enough to talk to the man but far enough away so he didn't have to crane his neck to look up. Being as tall as he was, he was able to get close enough to not have to raise his voice much.
"How's the view from up there?" he asked cheerfully.
There is a voice, and it breaks my concentration. I glance down at the man, surprised and vaguely amused that he noticed me, as well hidden as I am today.
I slide my cloak from its spot in the branches and fasten it about my shoulders, then swing myself down from the tree, landing on the ground with a faint thwump.
"Fair enough," I say, marvelling again for the thousandth time that not a single soul here seems to speak D'Angeline, or any of the other more refined languages I've collected in years past.
I straighten my clothes, a bit disheveled from my time in the tree, and observe him carefully. Pleasant enough, though he is not who I seek yet here.
"I've always liked the view from up in a tree, personally," Bill replied amiably. "Gives you a fresh perspective." He held out a hand for the man to shake. "Bill Weasley. Have you been here long?"
"Well met, Messaire Weasley," I say, clasping his hand briefly before drawing my arms back to fold at ease across my chest. "Joscelin Verreuil." I give a small bow, as politeness dictates.
"I've been here a week and some days, not entirely long at all in comparison with that I have heard from others here." A week away from Phedre is like a lifetime; after all we have been through, it was an easy resolution to make to stay by her always now, so the separation was especially daunting now.
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It comes natural to me now, no different than breathing.
But now I see somewhat that makes my breath catch in my throat, that makes my fingers twitch against the branches I grasp for balance.
PhedreShe is unmistakable, even clad as she is in unfamiliar, foreign garb, lost in her thoughts as she so often is. And she is beautiful ( ... )
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A glint of something shiny caught my eye, and from there my eyes traced the shape of a person crouched on a branch, the twin shine of silver from the other wrist, and the ghost of a sword hilt over the shoulder...
I simply stopped breathing. Pressing my knuckles to my lips, I took a step back, staring up at him with eyes as wide as they could go. It had been long, Elua, so long since I had laid eyes on him, and though I could barely make a whole picture of him for the leaves in the way, I could not take my eyes from the spot where he sat.
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I peer down at Phedre through the thick leaves, only letting her out of my sight for a second to pull my cloak from the leaves and swing down nimbly from my perch. It has been a long time since I have moved from my spot, but this is a cause well worth coming to land for.
I come to rest on the ground in a crouch, cloak in a heap beside me.
I do not speak, merely look at her, a smile slowly breaking across my face. In truth, I do not speak because I am not sure that I trust my voice to be whole when I do.
Reply
A less observant person might not have seen the man sitting in the tree, but Bill was pretty bloody aware of his surroundings for the most part. He noticed the man looked rather well-armed, but couldn't quite make out what exactly he was carrying through the branches. A sword, definitely, and possibly daggers. Bill's own dagger still hung off his belt, but he made no move to go for it. Smiling broadly, as he usually did, he approached until he was close enough to talk to the man but far enough away so he didn't have to crane his neck to look up. Being as tall as he was, he was able to get close enough to not have to raise his voice much.
"How's the view from up there?" he asked cheerfully.
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I slide my cloak from its spot in the branches and fasten it about my shoulders, then swing myself down from the tree, landing on the ground with a faint thwump.
"Fair enough," I say, marvelling again for the thousandth time that not a single soul here seems to speak D'Angeline, or any of the other more refined languages I've collected in years past.
I straighten my clothes, a bit disheveled from my time in the tree, and observe him carefully. Pleasant enough, though he is not who I seek yet here.
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"I've been here a week and some days, not entirely long at all in comparison with that I have heard from others here." A week away from Phedre is like a lifetime; after all we have been through, it was an easy resolution to make to stay by her always now, so the separation was especially daunting now.
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