[Wild Roses] Trickwood Unification
Title: yet another icy morning
'Verse/characters: Trickwood Unification; Donel, Ruadhan
Prompt: 77D "testament"
Word Count: 909
Notes: Based on a comment I tossed zero_pixel_coun's way after she gave me "a morning when all the drinking water is frozen solid" for a spark. This and the previous one are sort of mirrors to one another.
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Ruadhan was cursing intently somewhere nearby, loud enough that Donel went from a sound sleep to completely awake in the course of a heartbeat or two. Lying curled on his side with his back to the door in a complex tangle of blankets--bad and worse--he listened for another moment, trying not to tense too visibly. Ruadhan angry enough to be cursing that loud wasn't very good at noticing details like whether the person he was cursing at was visibly breathing or not.
Ruadhan's voice was actually outside, Donel realised suddenly, and took an involuntary breath.
He hadn't been looking forward to catching a boot with his ribs, he had to admit, even if he'd had no reason to think he'd done anything recently to deserve it. Biting off a groan as he rolled over, he sat up, squinting at the wall, and his brother beyond it.
Evidently he'd gotten cold sometime in the night, had curled up tighter in his cocoon of blankets, and hadn't moved since.
Ruadhan was still cursing, and Donel sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and started untangling himself. Damage control rarely waited for convenient hours--just past dawn was better than some of the hours he'd had to trail his little brother's wake with words and an occasional punch for emphasis.
His back popped in six places just getting upright, and he'd swear he heard his toes crack a few times as he got his boots on.
Ruadhan spat another phrase outside.
Something exploded. Shrapnel pattered gently on the tent wall.
Donel paused, staring at the wall, then finished getting his gear on before he went to investigate; considering how cold the inside of his tent was, outside was probably much, much colder.
He grabbed an extra scarf, just in case, before lifting the first layer of insulation. Even if Ruadhan didn't need it as a scarf it would probably serve as a gag--
His little brother was standing in the middle of a sunburst of jagged ice pieces and the shattered remains of a stoneware water-jug, his face claiming bemusement was warring with annoyance which was warring with low-grade anger.
Donel stared, letting the outer layer of his tent close behind him, then wandered over for a better look.
It was mostly ice that had hit the side of his tent, bouncing and rescattering and ruining the full lines of the sunburst pattern, though Ruadhan's legs had obviously interfered with that, too.
"Most people use fire for that sort of thing," he told his brother by way of greeting, then threw the bunched-up scarf at Ruadhan's head to distract him.
Ruadhan scowled, ignoring the scarf as it tumbled down his coat onto his boots. "I didn't think it had frozen solid--just needed a little help. And those pots like to shatter if we stick 'em in the coals."
"Shattered anyway," Donel pointed out, picking his way over the shards to look at the center of the burst. The frozen ground had melted briefly before freezing again, the epicenter now sheened with transparent ice over the earth.
He shook his head in mock-censure, privately mildly impressed that Ruadhan had managed that with nothing more than words and intent, even if it had blown up on him.
Ruadhan glanced at him, then, meeting Donel's eyes, spread a grin across his face like a fire on the horizon before looking at the biggest shards and half-singing a phrase under his breath.
Donel prevented himself from throwing up a shield when things started flying at his knees. He refused to give Ruadhan the satisfaction--he'd hit back if he needed to--and then he realised what was happened and couldn't help his jaw dropping.
The jar was rebuilding itself, shard to shard and dust between them, the glaze glowing red-hot as it burned across the surface.
When the searing light finally faded, he saw the jar had lost whatever patterning had festooned its curves before. It was now inscribed with raised silver lines, somewhere between a spider's web and a sunburst in visual impact, bright against the mottled blue of the original glaze.
Donel somehow didn't doubt that it would survive a fire without shattering again.
Ruadhan leaned down, picked up the newly built pottery in a gloved hand, then grinned at Donel, bright white winter challenge. "You were saying?"
Donel snorted at him. "Nothing, brother mine. Shall I fetch your ice chips?"
Ruadhan gave a magnimous gesture with his free hand. "If you'd be so kind."
Donel leaned down himself, picking up one of the bigger shards of ice with his own glove, then tugged the other glove off with his teeth to trace a pattern onto the flattest spot of the ice.
"Your pardon," he said, leaning into Ruadhan's personal space to drop the ice into the jar, smiling in a way he knew gave no reassurance.
Ruadhan's winter-white smile didn't waver, even as the other pieces of the iceburst began chasing the first into the jar.
Like to like, just a trick, but one Ruadhan hadn't seen before, like Donel hadn't seen the repairing trick before. Winter was a good time to learn new tricks, or make up new ones to deal with things the weather was throwing at your head. Or whatever your brother was throwing at your head, waiting for a reaction.
They'd fight before the winter was over, unless one of them left.
It wasn't going to be Donel.
'Verse/characters: Trickwood Unification; Donel, Ruadhan
Prompt: 77D "testament"
Word Count: 909
Notes: Based on a comment I tossed zero_pixel_coun's way after she gave me "a morning when all the drinking water is frozen solid" for a spark. This and the previous one are sort of mirrors to one another.
---------
Ruadhan was cursing intently somewhere nearby, loud enough that Donel went from a sound sleep to completely awake in the course of a heartbeat or two. Lying curled on his side with his back to the door in a complex tangle of blankets--bad and worse--he listened for another moment, trying not to tense too visibly. Ruadhan angry enough to be cursing that loud wasn't very good at noticing details like whether the person he was cursing at was visibly breathing or not.
Ruadhan's voice was actually outside, Donel realised suddenly, and took an involuntary breath.
He hadn't been looking forward to catching a boot with his ribs, he had to admit, even if he'd had no reason to think he'd done anything recently to deserve it. Biting off a groan as he rolled over, he sat up, squinting at the wall, and his brother beyond it.
Evidently he'd gotten cold sometime in the night, had curled up tighter in his cocoon of blankets, and hadn't moved since.
Ruadhan was still cursing, and Donel sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and started untangling himself. Damage control rarely waited for convenient hours--just past dawn was better than some of the hours he'd had to trail his little brother's wake with words and an occasional punch for emphasis.
His back popped in six places just getting upright, and he'd swear he heard his toes crack a few times as he got his boots on.
Ruadhan spat another phrase outside.
Something exploded. Shrapnel pattered gently on the tent wall.
Donel paused, staring at the wall, then finished getting his gear on before he went to investigate; considering how cold the inside of his tent was, outside was probably much, much colder.
He grabbed an extra scarf, just in case, before lifting the first layer of insulation. Even if Ruadhan didn't need it as a scarf it would probably serve as a gag--
His little brother was standing in the middle of a sunburst of jagged ice pieces and the shattered remains of a stoneware water-jug, his face claiming bemusement was warring with annoyance which was warring with low-grade anger.
Donel stared, letting the outer layer of his tent close behind him, then wandered over for a better look.
It was mostly ice that had hit the side of his tent, bouncing and rescattering and ruining the full lines of the sunburst pattern, though Ruadhan's legs had obviously interfered with that, too.
"Most people use fire for that sort of thing," he told his brother by way of greeting, then threw the bunched-up scarf at Ruadhan's head to distract him.
Ruadhan scowled, ignoring the scarf as it tumbled down his coat onto his boots. "I didn't think it had frozen solid--just needed a little help. And those pots like to shatter if we stick 'em in the coals."
"Shattered anyway," Donel pointed out, picking his way over the shards to look at the center of the burst. The frozen ground had melted briefly before freezing again, the epicenter now sheened with transparent ice over the earth.
He shook his head in mock-censure, privately mildly impressed that Ruadhan had managed that with nothing more than words and intent, even if it had blown up on him.
Ruadhan glanced at him, then, meeting Donel's eyes, spread a grin across his face like a fire on the horizon before looking at the biggest shards and half-singing a phrase under his breath.
Donel prevented himself from throwing up a shield when things started flying at his knees. He refused to give Ruadhan the satisfaction--he'd hit back if he needed to--and then he realised what was happened and couldn't help his jaw dropping.
The jar was rebuilding itself, shard to shard and dust between them, the glaze glowing red-hot as it burned across the surface.
When the searing light finally faded, he saw the jar had lost whatever patterning had festooned its curves before. It was now inscribed with raised silver lines, somewhere between a spider's web and a sunburst in visual impact, bright against the mottled blue of the original glaze.
Donel somehow didn't doubt that it would survive a fire without shattering again.
Ruadhan leaned down, picked up the newly built pottery in a gloved hand, then grinned at Donel, bright white winter challenge. "You were saying?"
Donel snorted at him. "Nothing, brother mine. Shall I fetch your ice chips?"
Ruadhan gave a magnimous gesture with his free hand. "If you'd be so kind."
Donel leaned down himself, picking up one of the bigger shards of ice with his own glove, then tugged the other glove off with his teeth to trace a pattern onto the flattest spot of the ice.
"Your pardon," he said, leaning into Ruadhan's personal space to drop the ice into the jar, smiling in a way he knew gave no reassurance.
Ruadhan's winter-white smile didn't waver, even as the other pieces of the iceburst began chasing the first into the jar.
Like to like, just a trick, but one Ruadhan hadn't seen before, like Donel hadn't seen the repairing trick before. Winter was a good time to learn new tricks, or make up new ones to deal with things the weather was throwing at your head. Or whatever your brother was throwing at your head, waiting for a reaction.
They'd fight before the winter was over, unless one of them left.
It wasn't going to be Donel.