Things from the past that find you.
Clouds had hung low and grey over the island the last few days, threatening rain, occasionally coating the ground with it in soft warm showers. It's good weather for Bran and he'd taken advantage of it. Cof and Cafall seem to enjoy it as well, especially Cafall, who thinks it more like home when it's wet.
This morning he'd woken up before Alex and gone to look in on the lambs, who, he thinks, get bigger and fluffier every day that passes. Then there's coffee and breakfast and a venture out to Will's, but nobody's there--doing yoga on the beach, Bran suspects, and is about to head that way to find him when Cafall barks--once, sharply, purposeful--and turns to trot away.
Bran turns to follow him, southward along the creek. The rain has made a mist of it, rising off the water in faint smokey wisps, but Cafall marches onward through it with his ears perked. Bran catches sight of a shadow through it--his mind must be playing tricks on him, he thinks, for it had looked for a moment like the corner of a slate stone wall.
Cafall barks again, and darts ahead. "What is it?" Bran asks, hurrying after him. "Cafall? Beth ydy o?"
Another sharp bark, and Cafall pauses, tail high, before racing into the trees. When Bran catches up with him, he is standing very still, his tail wagging in front of a small house that Bran knows very well was not there before: a small cottage, stone-walled, slate-roofed, sturdy-looking, but with the glass broken in its two small windows.
"Duw," Bran breathes. "It cannot be." But it is, for he would know this building anywhere. He pushes open the heavy wooden door to look around inside at the dirty, cracked slate floor, the bits of broken wood and the litter of empty years that lay scattered everywhere. His stomach twists and drops, his mouth suddenly very dry, and he sinks down onto the floor to press the palms his hands flat against the broken stone. Eirias' hilt digs into his hip, his fingers seek it out and cling to it tightly.
Cof nuzzles a worried wet nose into his elbow, whining once before disappearing out the door and off into the damp air. Cafall lies down, resting his chin on Bran's knee and gazing up at him soulfully. Bran's fingers slip through his fur shakily. "Rwyt t'in gi da," he murmurs, "aye, good dog."
[Yes, there is a cottage that was not there before. It's quite small and looks a bit like this only rather more battered. Feel free to be walking by or be lured in by Cof, whatever. :)]
This morning he'd woken up before Alex and gone to look in on the lambs, who, he thinks, get bigger and fluffier every day that passes. Then there's coffee and breakfast and a venture out to Will's, but nobody's there--doing yoga on the beach, Bran suspects, and is about to head that way to find him when Cafall barks--once, sharply, purposeful--and turns to trot away.
Bran turns to follow him, southward along the creek. The rain has made a mist of it, rising off the water in faint smokey wisps, but Cafall marches onward through it with his ears perked. Bran catches sight of a shadow through it--his mind must be playing tricks on him, he thinks, for it had looked for a moment like the corner of a slate stone wall.
Cafall barks again, and darts ahead. "What is it?" Bran asks, hurrying after him. "Cafall? Beth ydy o?"
Another sharp bark, and Cafall pauses, tail high, before racing into the trees. When Bran catches up with him, he is standing very still, his tail wagging in front of a small house that Bran knows very well was not there before: a small cottage, stone-walled, slate-roofed, sturdy-looking, but with the glass broken in its two small windows.
"Duw," Bran breathes. "It cannot be." But it is, for he would know this building anywhere. He pushes open the heavy wooden door to look around inside at the dirty, cracked slate floor, the bits of broken wood and the litter of empty years that lay scattered everywhere. His stomach twists and drops, his mouth suddenly very dry, and he sinks down onto the floor to press the palms his hands flat against the broken stone. Eirias' hilt digs into his hip, his fingers seek it out and cling to it tightly.
Cof nuzzles a worried wet nose into his elbow, whining once before disappearing out the door and off into the damp air. Cafall lies down, resting his chin on Bran's knee and gazing up at him soulfully. Bran's fingers slip through his fur shakily. "Rwyt t'in gi da," he murmurs, "aye, good dog."
[Yes, there is a cottage that was not there before. It's quite small and looks a bit like this only rather more battered. Feel free to be walking by or be lured in by Cof, whatever. :)]
