It's safely beyond his birthday--although, to be honest, Luther probably doesn't remember any more when his birthday is--and he's out in the cool October air, herding his little flock of goats, adopted from Sasha's trouble with wishes. They're a good flock, four nannies, but a nubby-horned male, too ( Read more... )

Luther is actually in the Mansion this time--usually doesn't venture there, too far from his earth, from whatever secret place he lives (growing into a tree by now, or one of the old boulders that are covered with root and seem to be growing out of the ground, pushing up like a seed ( Read more... )

A rock. A tree. A Luther.

Cutting and shaping something with a small knife from a piece of wood, and maybe thinking a little of his daughter, his youngest, the one who married the miller's boy. But ready to listen, always that.

"Florian."

Because he's got to find out about Zara some time, demmit.

The listening man sits in the sun, warm to touch the way a stone is because it sits under the sky. If you have something to say, he's here.

Zara.

Luther is sitting by himself in some place outside the Mansion--he was always happier with the earth, near the earth. He is involved in his usual practise of being a weathered old rock, but this time he has a small knife and a lump of wood, which is slowly becoming something.

ORThe same place, but quieter, perhaps more serious--he's not here to ( Read more... )

*folds his hands quietly*

Rina, excuse me for that last note I sent you. I didn't know, at the time, that I was coming back.

Florian--hello.

*the quiet, steady half-ness of a smile that didn't need to be completed to be there*

Good girl.

( A brief (or perhaps not) wordless moment with Rina )

He's not a lad now, and it's not fitting to call him one, but he's a good man. He's different now.

( Luther's Log with Theo, bringing on said revelation: )