(no subject)
He'd not stopped at the waterfall in well over a year.
He did not even look on it when he passed by on his daily patrols, even though the sight, now dappled in sunshine and leaves of brilliant green, was nothing like the scene of his nightmares.
Two frozen winters ago, Jack Simpson had stood atop the rough slice of rock from which the water tumbled down, holding Horatio's child in his arms with a mind to drop him onto the frozen flat of ice below. Looking now, Horatio tracked the water's path, following it backwards from the pool and up and up to the place where it disappeared. There'd been snow that day, but Horatio knew precisely where it was he'd been held, his eyes finding the dark shadow of the cave immediately.
He'd hated heights for as long as he could remember being aware of them. Even now, feet on solid ground and looking up to the place he'd been bound and gagged, Horatio felt queasy, but over the last several months he'd begun to think he was due a change. He was a reasonable man. He knew well enough that one did not simply sit and wait for things to come, and that if he wanted something, he'd better bloody well get to getting it.
And so it was that he found his feet set to the rocks at the basin of the pool. His long legs bent and carried him upward. And upward. He went very slow. The day Simpson stole Edward Horatio had all but flown to the top of the waterfall, but the path was wet and treacherous, and today Horatio took great care. He also took great care not to look down again. Studying where the rocks fit together, where they were slippery and where they were sure helped to steady his mind a bit. He did not even realise he was near to the top until he'd reached it.
Horatio pulled himself hand over hand onto the flat outcropping of rock and turned round, stomach lurching at the sight of all that empty space, and far below it, the pool. He drew his legs to him and sat, quiet and still for a long while, and accepted that perhaps he would have to wait after all, that catharsis would not come with one climb, but with many.
He sat until the sun climbed high overhead, too hot even through the churning mist, and decided that it was at last time to come down again.
This, too, quickly proved more easily said than done. Horatio stood up, took one look down the steep path of rock to the ground below, and swiftly sat down again.
"Buggar it," he muttered quietly. Perhaps he ought to have used some of the time he'd spent reflecting on puzzling out a way back down.
[ooc: been an age since he posted, old and new welcome! help a grumpy acrophobic sailor out]
He did not even look on it when he passed by on his daily patrols, even though the sight, now dappled in sunshine and leaves of brilliant green, was nothing like the scene of his nightmares.
Two frozen winters ago, Jack Simpson had stood atop the rough slice of rock from which the water tumbled down, holding Horatio's child in his arms with a mind to drop him onto the frozen flat of ice below. Looking now, Horatio tracked the water's path, following it backwards from the pool and up and up to the place where it disappeared. There'd been snow that day, but Horatio knew precisely where it was he'd been held, his eyes finding the dark shadow of the cave immediately.
He'd hated heights for as long as he could remember being aware of them. Even now, feet on solid ground and looking up to the place he'd been bound and gagged, Horatio felt queasy, but over the last several months he'd begun to think he was due a change. He was a reasonable man. He knew well enough that one did not simply sit and wait for things to come, and that if he wanted something, he'd better bloody well get to getting it.
And so it was that he found his feet set to the rocks at the basin of the pool. His long legs bent and carried him upward. And upward. He went very slow. The day Simpson stole Edward Horatio had all but flown to the top of the waterfall, but the path was wet and treacherous, and today Horatio took great care. He also took great care not to look down again. Studying where the rocks fit together, where they were slippery and where they were sure helped to steady his mind a bit. He did not even realise he was near to the top until he'd reached it.
Horatio pulled himself hand over hand onto the flat outcropping of rock and turned round, stomach lurching at the sight of all that empty space, and far below it, the pool. He drew his legs to him and sat, quiet and still for a long while, and accepted that perhaps he would have to wait after all, that catharsis would not come with one climb, but with many.
He sat until the sun climbed high overhead, too hot even through the churning mist, and decided that it was at last time to come down again.
This, too, quickly proved more easily said than done. Horatio stood up, took one look down the steep path of rock to the ground below, and swiftly sat down again.
"Buggar it," he muttered quietly. Perhaps he ought to have used some of the time he'd spent reflecting on puzzling out a way back down.
[ooc: been an age since he posted, old and new welcome! help a grumpy acrophobic sailor out]