03-29-2010, 06:05 AM
ooc: red vine hollow, all welcome 
word count: 529
ic: The midday sun shined brightly in the sky; though it was still a somewhat weak light, it was getting stronger day by day as spring drew nearer. The golden light glittered on a sea of red which seemed to cover the entire area; scarlet leaves swayed in an almost-warm breeze, an ocean of blood rippling gently over the trees and earth. The current swelled in a large wave of crimson; if one looked closely enough, one could see a bit of wood peeking out: a corner of a door frame here, the glitter of a broken window there. Before this swelling of the red sea stood a tall, willowy figure, snowy white saddled with umber and charcoal. Cocoa eyes gazed upon the blanketed structure with awe at its beauty. One ivory hand rested on a forked walking stick, the other hanging limply at her side, resting against a leather hip bag.
The collie mix had never seen anything such as this. She realized that it was just a cottage covered in vines, that the growth had spun wildly out of control and covered the surrounding area like kudzu. It was still breathtakingly beautiful, and she had paused for a full ten minutes just taking in the sight. Shaking herself slightly, she pawed softly toward one of the carpeted doors. She pulled it open, pulling some of the foliage away as she did, and peered inside. It was dim, but it took only a moment for her eyes to adjust, and she stepped over the threshold. Within was dusty old furniture, shelves against a wall holding battered books, and a table covered with some interesting knick knacks. She approached the table first, picking up a particularly interesting box-like object, and began to toy with it. It had a little crank on one side which she began to turn, figuring out no other way to open the lid. After a few turns, the lid sprang open with no warning, a puppet jumping from the confines of the box and into her face. She shrieked and dropped the thing as though it were hot coals. She rested a hand on her chest and chuckled nervously to herself as it thudded harmlessly to the dusty floor.
Leaving the table and what were probably more mildly dangerous doodads, Cerridwyn wandered over to the shelves that held the books. She had met a couple of wolves looking at these things; apparently, they told stories. She just could not figure out how this was done. She picked up a thin volume and wiped the dust off of it. There were designs on the front, but they made no sense to her; almost like pictures but they didn't depict anything. She opened the book and studied a page; just little black figures. How did people make stories out of these things? Maybe she was looking at it wrong. She leaned her stang against the wall and turned the book so that the pages fell from top to bottom, holding it in both hands and staring hard at the paper, as though maybe the figures would come together and form an image for her that might be comprehensible.
word count: 529
ic: The midday sun shined brightly in the sky; though it was still a somewhat weak light, it was getting stronger day by day as spring drew nearer. The golden light glittered on a sea of red which seemed to cover the entire area; scarlet leaves swayed in an almost-warm breeze, an ocean of blood rippling gently over the trees and earth. The current swelled in a large wave of crimson; if one looked closely enough, one could see a bit of wood peeking out: a corner of a door frame here, the glitter of a broken window there. Before this swelling of the red sea stood a tall, willowy figure, snowy white saddled with umber and charcoal. Cocoa eyes gazed upon the blanketed structure with awe at its beauty. One ivory hand rested on a forked walking stick, the other hanging limply at her side, resting against a leather hip bag.
The collie mix had never seen anything such as this. She realized that it was just a cottage covered in vines, that the growth had spun wildly out of control and covered the surrounding area like kudzu. It was still breathtakingly beautiful, and she had paused for a full ten minutes just taking in the sight. Shaking herself slightly, she pawed softly toward one of the carpeted doors. She pulled it open, pulling some of the foliage away as she did, and peered inside. It was dim, but it took only a moment for her eyes to adjust, and she stepped over the threshold. Within was dusty old furniture, shelves against a wall holding battered books, and a table covered with some interesting knick knacks. She approached the table first, picking up a particularly interesting box-like object, and began to toy with it. It had a little crank on one side which she began to turn, figuring out no other way to open the lid. After a few turns, the lid sprang open with no warning, a puppet jumping from the confines of the box and into her face. She shrieked and dropped the thing as though it were hot coals. She rested a hand on her chest and chuckled nervously to herself as it thudded harmlessly to the dusty floor.
Leaving the table and what were probably more mildly dangerous doodads, Cerridwyn wandered over to the shelves that held the books. She had met a couple of wolves looking at these things; apparently, they told stories. She just could not figure out how this was done. She picked up a thin volume and wiped the dust off of it. There were designs on the front, but they made no sense to her; almost like pictures but they didn't depict anything. She opened the book and studied a page; just little black figures. How did people make stories out of these things? Maybe she was looking at it wrong. She leaned her stang against the wall and turned the book so that the pages fell from top to bottom, holding it in both hands and staring hard at the paper, as though maybe the figures would come together and form an image for her that might be comprehensible.