Post by Kris11 on Sept 16, 2011 14:05:00 GMT 10
Title: Nothing Like Home
Rating: G
Word Count: 233
Card: Autumn
Bingo: Scarves, Orange, Duty, Gold, Orchard
Summary: Kalasin in her first months in Carthak is reminded of Tortall by almost everything.
It was nothing like home.
Kalasin shook her head and tried to enjoy her ride, but the thought returned to her. It was not like home.
Well, of course it wasn’t. This time of year, Tortall’s landscape would be vibrant with the reds, oranges and yellows of autumn’s colours. Instead, they rode through the heat of an orchard as stubbornly green in November as the heart of summer, the air almost hot enough to feel heavy and constricting.
She adjusted the scarf that covered her hair, trying to allow the motion to bring a little airflow without utterly shocking the conservatives that had joined the Royal party in their country ride. Looking around at her veiled attendants, she felt a bitter kinship. Her veil may have been gilded with gold, but the light fabric (like the heat, and the pomp, and and all this dratted green) reminded her where she was.
Who would have thought scarves and a steadiness in seasons could cause her more homesickness than the rest of her adjustment to Carthak put together? She knew her duty to Tortall. But did it have to be so gods damned hard?
“They aren’t the same as Tortall, of course, but our olive orchards are among the best in the world,” Kaddar said.
“Of course, my lord husband,” Kalasin replied and the silence stretched once again between them in the wake of her polite, appropriate and utterly empty response.
He was right about one thing. It was nothing like home.
Rating: G
Word Count: 233
Card: Autumn
Bingo: Scarves, Orange, Duty, Gold, Orchard
Summary: Kalasin in her first months in Carthak is reminded of Tortall by almost everything.
It was nothing like home.
Kalasin shook her head and tried to enjoy her ride, but the thought returned to her. It was not like home.
Well, of course it wasn’t. This time of year, Tortall’s landscape would be vibrant with the reds, oranges and yellows of autumn’s colours. Instead, they rode through the heat of an orchard as stubbornly green in November as the heart of summer, the air almost hot enough to feel heavy and constricting.
She adjusted the scarf that covered her hair, trying to allow the motion to bring a little airflow without utterly shocking the conservatives that had joined the Royal party in their country ride. Looking around at her veiled attendants, she felt a bitter kinship. Her veil may have been gilded with gold, but the light fabric (like the heat, and the pomp, and and all this dratted green) reminded her where she was.
Who would have thought scarves and a steadiness in seasons could cause her more homesickness than the rest of her adjustment to Carthak put together? She knew her duty to Tortall. But did it have to be so gods damned hard?
“They aren’t the same as Tortall, of course, but our olive orchards are among the best in the world,” Kaddar said.
“Of course, my lord husband,” Kalasin replied and the silence stretched once again between them in the wake of her polite, appropriate and utterly empty response.
He was right about one thing. It was nothing like home.