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writing_shadows2010-10-16 12:20 pm
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in writing_shadows2010-10-16 12:20 pm
Entry tags:
October thoughts
Half asleep in her sleeping bag, Rosie stirs. Outside she can smell woodsmoke, and the rich scent of roasting rabbit. The dogs bound about the campsite, their voices sharp and clear on the morning air, the labrador's excitable yap mingling with the wolfhound's deeper growl as they find something to investigate.
It's cool inside the tent, a breeze blowing in through the open door, canvas flapping slightly in the wind. Rosie closes her eyes for a moment, and inhales deeply. She can smell autumn as well, leaf mulch and the old year dying.
Does she mind the old year dying?
It has been a long and painful year. She isn't the girl she was this time last year, when Drago took her camping and she woke up in the mornings with the taste of cigarettes still on her lips. Right and wrong are less certain, and she's got scars that will never heal. She's done wrong, and half the lessons she learnt in her first year free all turned out to be paper thin.
Another scent drifts in into the tent and Rosie wriggles in delight. Coffee! She likes coffee, and just that small desire reminds her of her first encounter with Magdalena in the days of Tommy D.
Someone is calling to the dogs, whistling the wolfhound back to heel, scolding the excitable labrador. That's who is roasting rabbit and making coffee and maybe some endings are good, because that means that there's a homecoming in sight. It's been a longer journey than she had realized, Rosie sees now, from a frozen hall where a girl made of bone and blood cried on a frozen floor, where a girl made of silver and snow dreamed. And maybe everything that has happened was needed after all.
Warm now, even in the cool October air, Rosie scrambles out of her sleeping bag, hunting for clothes, grass stained from the night before. The year has a way to go yet, and there's a war in the way. A war, and a Queen with cold eyes, but she's not the same Queen really, is she? And there's got to be softness in there somewhere. A King who is heavy handed, but who did offer a kindness which deserves repayment and so what if there's death in that war? It's worth it, just to be able to hope for a homecoming.
Outside, the sun touches her face, and the earth is moist between her toes. All journeys begin with feeling the earth beneath your feet, and there's the promise of a thousand adventures there. But more than that, right now there's something else, a thousand times more precious.
There's a lot of things Rosie wishes she'd said later, because one should mark these moments, note every single first with a speech or a promise. Unfortunately, she's still sleepy and, actually, how much sleep did either of them get last night? So, instead, she just smiles, glass bright, through her still tangled hair.
"Good morning,"
It's cool inside the tent, a breeze blowing in through the open door, canvas flapping slightly in the wind. Rosie closes her eyes for a moment, and inhales deeply. She can smell autumn as well, leaf mulch and the old year dying.
Does she mind the old year dying?
It has been a long and painful year. She isn't the girl she was this time last year, when Drago took her camping and she woke up in the mornings with the taste of cigarettes still on her lips. Right and wrong are less certain, and she's got scars that will never heal. She's done wrong, and half the lessons she learnt in her first year free all turned out to be paper thin.
Another scent drifts in into the tent and Rosie wriggles in delight. Coffee! She likes coffee, and just that small desire reminds her of her first encounter with Magdalena in the days of Tommy D.
Someone is calling to the dogs, whistling the wolfhound back to heel, scolding the excitable labrador. That's who is roasting rabbit and making coffee and maybe some endings are good, because that means that there's a homecoming in sight. It's been a longer journey than she had realized, Rosie sees now, from a frozen hall where a girl made of bone and blood cried on a frozen floor, where a girl made of silver and snow dreamed. And maybe everything that has happened was needed after all.
Warm now, even in the cool October air, Rosie scrambles out of her sleeping bag, hunting for clothes, grass stained from the night before. The year has a way to go yet, and there's a war in the way. A war, and a Queen with cold eyes, but she's not the same Queen really, is she? And there's got to be softness in there somewhere. A King who is heavy handed, but who did offer a kindness which deserves repayment and so what if there's death in that war? It's worth it, just to be able to hope for a homecoming.
Outside, the sun touches her face, and the earth is moist between her toes. All journeys begin with feeling the earth beneath your feet, and there's the promise of a thousand adventures there. But more than that, right now there's something else, a thousand times more precious.
There's a lot of things Rosie wishes she'd said later, because one should mark these moments, note every single first with a speech or a promise. Unfortunately, she's still sleepy and, actually, how much sleep did either of them get last night? So, instead, she just smiles, glass bright, through her still tangled hair.
"Good morning,"