[Deaths] a pair of De'Aths
Title: fall evenings
'Verse/characters: Deaths; the brothers De'Ath
Prompt: goshawk: "the smell of rain"
Word Count: 304
Notes: post campaign.
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Edmund's always out in the weather, these days. He'd loved the sun more, back in the day, even the hot damning sun of haying season that beat men red and exhausted by late summer sunset.
He's gaining freckles back, slowly, and his tan. His skin still shows his veins through, like thin-scraped vellum, the blue never quite bright enough to look like a thread but constantly startling even so.
His hair's growing in lighter, closer to the shade that's lived in Eduard's memory more recently than he's seen it in person. Even Julian's hair, near as it is, isn't Edmund's, her braid darker at the root and paler at the ends because she's worn it longer than her father has.
And for that matter, he's seen more of Julian in the years of campaign to gain her father back than he had in the centuries previous. Even for a De'Ath, that girl is territorial, as much as any hunting cat or wolf-pack, if not more so.
And yet here his brother stands, in the near-dark of late fall evening, his head lifted to the breeze, putting Eduard rather more in mind of a hunting dog than he'd expected, when he went looking.
He passes the beer he'd meant to offer his brother ensconced in a chair in the library, catching up on the changes while he'd been stuck in three walls of stone and one of iron lattice, sips his own.
"Amazing how much you miss the smell of rain, when you aren't able to get at it," his brother says after a moment, beer-bottle hanging loose by its neck from his fingers.
Eduard blinks, lifts his own head and sniffs at the air. Yeah, that's the smell of oncoming rain. He wonders, out of long-ago habit, if the second haying is done, or if some poor farmers are going to have a much harder winter than they'd hoped.
'Verse/characters: Deaths; the brothers De'Ath
Prompt: goshawk: "the smell of rain"
Word Count: 304
Notes: post campaign.
---------
Edmund's always out in the weather, these days. He'd loved the sun more, back in the day, even the hot damning sun of haying season that beat men red and exhausted by late summer sunset.
He's gaining freckles back, slowly, and his tan. His skin still shows his veins through, like thin-scraped vellum, the blue never quite bright enough to look like a thread but constantly startling even so.
His hair's growing in lighter, closer to the shade that's lived in Eduard's memory more recently than he's seen it in person. Even Julian's hair, near as it is, isn't Edmund's, her braid darker at the root and paler at the ends because she's worn it longer than her father has.
And for that matter, he's seen more of Julian in the years of campaign to gain her father back than he had in the centuries previous. Even for a De'Ath, that girl is territorial, as much as any hunting cat or wolf-pack, if not more so.
And yet here his brother stands, in the near-dark of late fall evening, his head lifted to the breeze, putting Eduard rather more in mind of a hunting dog than he'd expected, when he went looking.
He passes the beer he'd meant to offer his brother ensconced in a chair in the library, catching up on the changes while he'd been stuck in three walls of stone and one of iron lattice, sips his own.
"Amazing how much you miss the smell of rain, when you aren't able to get at it," his brother says after a moment, beer-bottle hanging loose by its neck from his fingers.
Eduard blinks, lifts his own head and sniffs at the air. Yeah, that's the smell of oncoming rain. He wonders, out of long-ago habit, if the second haying is done, or if some poor farmers are going to have a much harder winter than they'd hoped.