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| Topic Started: Apr 26 2015, 03:02 PM (356 Views) | |
| Altair | Apr 26 2015, 03:02 PM Post #1 |
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La terre a pose des chaines a tes ailes, pour te garder pres d'ell.
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"The sun shone high those few summer days Left us in a soft, wide-eyed haze, It shone like gold It shone like gold..." His voice barely rose above the disjointed cacophony of the hammer as it slammed the peg repeatedly through the small hole bored int the tile, the better to hold it in place on the roof. That, and the distant roar of hundreds of tons of water charging over the falls in a continuous rush, did a damned good job of drowning him out. He wasn't desperately trying to keep the rhythm of the song as he sang, his attention fixed solely on the work in front of him rather than trying to make something of the tune. Not to say he couldn't...he was a trouper after all, heart and soul, but there were more important things to do than spend the day singing and and wandering under the trees. Spring was here. "But just as the moon it shines straight So dawn goes down today, No gold can stay No gold can stay." He sat back on his haunches, fingers groping in his pocket for another peg, another tile, his eyes lazily roaming the small space that he might have called a yard. The house, if you wanted to call it that, had been abandoned when he found it. It had been more of a dilapidated shack, really, but with some work and a little love it had transformed, as if the broken rotted shell had been a long standing chrysalis, just waiting for the first touch of sun to call it back to life. Altair had never really seen himself as one who wanted to settle anywhere, and it was highly likely that he'd just up and leave again sometime, only to come back. It was in his nature, though he had to wonder if that was because he was raised that way, or because it would have always been in him, regardless of how things would have turned out. It would still be nice to think that there was somewhere to come back to after his grand misadventures though. The thought was rather warming, despite the snap in the air. All told it was a warm day for spring, though the wind was bitter and jealous as it gusted, tugging at his clothing for attention. If only he had so much time to waste on simply enjoying the day... "What if our hard work ends in despair? What if the road won't take me there? Oh, I wish, for once, we could stay gold." The hammering resumed with renewed vigor. The yard was small and had been marked out neatly at the back of the small building, though at least two of the walls were more or less missing, the fence nonexistent and the garden overgrown. The door was shattered planks strewn about in the grass, eaten full through by woodworm. The cart sitting alone though had most of the things he'd thought he would need to get by, the banked fire several careful feet away and the untethered dray cropping at the pasture around the thick roots of the trees gave him hope yet. For what was a man without hope? "What if to love and be loved's not enough? What if I fall and can't bear to get up? Oh, I wish, for once, we could stay gold We could stay gold..." The last peg went in, and he slid down the new slope of the roof to land on his feet, taking a moment to straighten his back and stretch the great wings huddled there. Gooseflesh rose over his bare shoulders as the wind chilled the fresh sweat bought on by sun and exertion. His shirt was not so much a shirt but a tabard, easier to wear over the appendages he'd become so used to, and belted firmly about his waist. He could deal with the chill for the sake of comfort of movement. Cloaks were useful to hide them, providing he didn't mind looking like a crookback, but they made any sort of swift movement or flying a pain in the jacksie. For a few moments he rested, fishing about in the back of the cart for a waterskin, then watching the shaggy paint horse nosing and stepping in placid, seeming unawareness. Only but for the twitching and twisting of the ears he might have thought the docile beast was ignoring him. Quite suddenly he paused, lifting his head and fixing large, dark eyes on the brush towards the river. The Angel strolled up beside him, draping one dark arm across the white-splashed withers and taking another swig from the skin in his hand, the tune still burbling at the back of his throat while he waited, golden hues traveling languidly over trees and ferns, an insouciant smile working its way onto his stubbled jaw. For all he knew it could have been bandits, though the Gods of old knew that he'd put the fear in them enough lately. He had little enough truck for banditry and highway robbery, not that he had much worth stealing right now, except food maybe, and this being spring there was plenty enough of that to be found. Most people had the decency not to outright shoot an unarmed man taking a rest though, but you never knew. With a little concentration his gaze clouded, elsewhere, and a bubble of blue, rippling like light on sea walls, enveloped both he and the gently snorting dray. Once, he might not have thought to do that, but experience had taught him well enough that not questioning the intent of others on the road more often than not would get you hurt or killed. His family had suffered to that firsthand. All the same he kept the nonchalant air, lest there was some hostility out there. Never let them think that he felt threatened again. "Ho stranger! Bán knows you're out there, so why don't you drop the sneaky games and let's have ourselves a little chinwag, hey?" |
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