Post by wordy on Feb 11, 2013 9:17:54 GMT 10
Title: opal-hearted
Rating: G
Summary: Romance in a time of war.
He's too young to go to war. They don't speak about it—seem to have sworn some secret, mutual oath to leave such fears unspoken—but it preys on his mind as each day disappears behind them, his summer at Dunlath soon to be only a memory. Maura distracts him with long walks about the lake and visits to the mines, but he can read the tension in her face as plainly as his father can read people.
"Look at the colours in this one," says Maura, nudging the tip of her finger at the scattered pile of opals. Alan leans forward on his elbows to look, but can't seem to keep his focus on the swirling kaleidoscope of blues and greens. He closes his eyes and breathes, wishes that he could stay, that warlords had the sense to know when to give themselves up; when he opens them again, Maura is watching him, quiet.
She gives him an opal, and he carries it with him, in his belt purse, through long marches and brief, heart-stopping skirmishes. One night he finds it gone, probably lost under the hard steps of weary feet, but can't find it in himself to care. He thinks of her dark eyes, her freckles, the lonely forest surrounding her for miles. There are some things you can't hold in a cupped hand, no matter how you try.
Rating: G
Summary: Romance in a time of war.
He's too young to go to war. They don't speak about it—seem to have sworn some secret, mutual oath to leave such fears unspoken—but it preys on his mind as each day disappears behind them, his summer at Dunlath soon to be only a memory. Maura distracts him with long walks about the lake and visits to the mines, but he can read the tension in her face as plainly as his father can read people.
"Look at the colours in this one," says Maura, nudging the tip of her finger at the scattered pile of opals. Alan leans forward on his elbows to look, but can't seem to keep his focus on the swirling kaleidoscope of blues and greens. He closes his eyes and breathes, wishes that he could stay, that warlords had the sense to know when to give themselves up; when he opens them again, Maura is watching him, quiet.
She gives him an opal, and he carries it with him, in his belt purse, through long marches and brief, heart-stopping skirmishes. One night he finds it gone, probably lost under the hard steps of weary feet, but can't find it in himself to care. He thinks of her dark eyes, her freckles, the lonely forest surrounding her for miles. There are some things you can't hold in a cupped hand, no matter how you try.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!