(no subject)
It was Cuthbert's habit to continue tinkering with the treehouse after the building crew left. Usually, a helpful assortment of folks would show up in the late morning and work through the afternoon. Bert served as both worker and host; it seemed only appropriate given that it was the future site of his home, even if the walls weren't erected yet. He'd fetch food and drinks when needed (mostly fruit and water, because if Cuthbert was guilty of any oversight when choosing his locale, it was the distance from the Compound) and put his enthusiastic gift of gab to use while hammering and handing tools. Today hadn't been much different, except that when everyone dusted off their hands and packed up, Cuthbert looked up at the structure and actually saw it for what it would be in a few weeks.
Arms crossed high on his chest, he stood back and admired the work, the rough-cut planks arranged in a frame of sturdy lines, sun-dappled and inviting. Bert had fashioned a rope-harness to make some of the high-up two-handed tasks easier and he got in it now, pulling himself up to the level of the treehouse and climbing nimbly onto the deck. The boards felt good under his feet, and the surrounding green was dizzying. It was easy to see how the rest would come together. The eastern and southern walls would go up tomorrow, no doubt, and Bert had a mind to start working on the ropework that would fence off the deck. The spot he'd chosen, however, was no spot for work to be done; not when he could head out toward the Hamlet and possibly find some conversation. He gathered up a hank of slim rope about his shoulder, grabbed onto the harness without bothering slipping it about his waist, and stepped off the deck just as he gripped the pulley. Cuthbert had intended to lower himself carefully, but his timing was bad, and so his energetic whoop turned into a yell as the rope slid at breakneck speed through his closed palm. There was the sound of twigs breaking and a good-sized thud as he hit the ground. A score of birds took off in the trees above him and Cuthbert, not moving from the spot, started to laugh, and the sound carried as far as the waterfall, wild and infectious.
He lifted his head just slightly, enough to see that his cry had taken someone off the path, (which upgraded the situation from funny to hysterical in his opinion) and he put his head down again, carried away on another wave of belly-aching laughter.
Arms crossed high on his chest, he stood back and admired the work, the rough-cut planks arranged in a frame of sturdy lines, sun-dappled and inviting. Bert had fashioned a rope-harness to make some of the high-up two-handed tasks easier and he got in it now, pulling himself up to the level of the treehouse and climbing nimbly onto the deck. The boards felt good under his feet, and the surrounding green was dizzying. It was easy to see how the rest would come together. The eastern and southern walls would go up tomorrow, no doubt, and Bert had a mind to start working on the ropework that would fence off the deck. The spot he'd chosen, however, was no spot for work to be done; not when he could head out toward the Hamlet and possibly find some conversation. He gathered up a hank of slim rope about his shoulder, grabbed onto the harness without bothering slipping it about his waist, and stepped off the deck just as he gripped the pulley. Cuthbert had intended to lower himself carefully, but his timing was bad, and so his energetic whoop turned into a yell as the rope slid at breakneck speed through his closed palm. There was the sound of twigs breaking and a good-sized thud as he hit the ground. A score of birds took off in the trees above him and Cuthbert, not moving from the spot, started to laugh, and the sound carried as far as the waterfall, wild and infectious.
He lifted his head just slightly, enough to see that his cry had taken someone off the path, (which upgraded the situation from funny to hysterical in his opinion) and he put his head down again, carried away on another wave of belly-aching laughter.