Post by Kit on Mar 29, 2011 14:17:57 GMT 10
Title: In the clear air [1]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 257
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Crane abides by his promise to help Lark keep Rosethorn's workroom alive. A companion to my L/R 'Delay' pieces.
“Make sure you let them settle deep into the soil, otherwise there won’t be any room.”
Crane was bent next to her before a small tray of seedlings and a deep, wooden box full of earth. “Pass me the marjoram,” he told her, voice a little blurred from effort and the strong midday sun, which filtered down strained lacquer dark through the slats and layers of Rosethorn’s workroom, but lost none of its heat. “Let the roots fall through your hands.”
Lark did so, feeling the unfamiliar grit and weight of earth in her hands. Dirt was it deep in the lines of her skin and beneath her nails, and she smiled as Crane took it from her, a little dazzled. “If you were this way to your students,” she said, “You’d have more of them.”
“Ah. But who says I want more students?”
Lark laughed. “Rosie used to tell me that. She managed very well.”
Crane shrugged. “She had you.”
“Has.” Lark flushed. “Crane. We’ve been talking about her as if she’s—”
“—as if she is very far away from us,” murmured the Air Dedicate, his hands light and confident as he settled the small, dark green tangle of leaves and roots into the new soil. “That is all.”
He did not pull away as Lark let her head rest, utterly brief, against his shoulder. He might have imagined the weight.
“You would know if she was...” Crane cleared his throat. “Farther than further away. And so would I.”
QC: by Cassandra
Rating: PG
Word Count: 257
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Crane abides by his promise to help Lark keep Rosethorn's workroom alive. A companion to my L/R 'Delay' pieces.
“Make sure you let them settle deep into the soil, otherwise there won’t be any room.”
Crane was bent next to her before a small tray of seedlings and a deep, wooden box full of earth. “Pass me the marjoram,” he told her, voice a little blurred from effort and the strong midday sun, which filtered down strained lacquer dark through the slats and layers of Rosethorn’s workroom, but lost none of its heat. “Let the roots fall through your hands.”
Lark did so, feeling the unfamiliar grit and weight of earth in her hands. Dirt was it deep in the lines of her skin and beneath her nails, and she smiled as Crane took it from her, a little dazzled. “If you were this way to your students,” she said, “You’d have more of them.”
“Ah. But who says I want more students?”
Lark laughed. “Rosie used to tell me that. She managed very well.”
Crane shrugged. “She had you.”
“Has.” Lark flushed. “Crane. We’ve been talking about her as if she’s—”
“—as if she is very far away from us,” murmured the Air Dedicate, his hands light and confident as he settled the small, dark green tangle of leaves and roots into the new soil. “That is all.”
He did not pull away as Lark let her head rest, utterly brief, against his shoulder. He might have imagined the weight.
“You would know if she was...” Crane cleared his throat. “Farther than further away. And so would I.”
QC: by Cassandra