WC:3+
Trudging heavily with shame weighing on her shoulders and a darkly brooding shadow in her eyes, Caprica came to the village, in the hope that the place would inspire something within her, wind up the inner clockwork that had utterly stalled of late. Looking at the fenceposts she had dug in was like being a criminal, facing manual labour in jail, although not weeks before she had set to the task with gusto. The pictures in her mind of what the little village could look like with a bit of time, love and handicrafts had quite literally disappeared, replaced with pictures of the place rotting and sinking back into the mud-hole it had been threatening to sink into in the first place. It did look better than when she'd first seen it, of course. But now, what hope was left for the dainty little hamlet? The leader of the renovation mission was by all accounts currently enjoying his own catastrophe, and she was in a prison of inner guilt. If anybody else was working up here rather than stay cosily in the caverns, Caprica had not encountered them.
She was wearing a great swathe of purple cloth, poncho-fashion, and her hair was in a short high ponytail, but even colourful attire couldn't lift her spirits today. Indeed it dampened them further as she realised the tapering midsection of the poncho had been trailing in the mud. Knowing there was running water nearby, she stomped her way over to the river and started to rinse the cloth, hurrying before the clay-colour stained. Hearing voices downstream, she turned her head and saw the crouching figure of the Rakeeb and the exuberant circling satellite of a child. Looked like she was running rings round the sombre warrior. Caprica smiled, enchanted despite herself, and gave a little wave. She would not intrude without being invited. He looked happier than she would have expected, and this fact alone rebuked her for wallowing in her own insignificant distress.
Image courtesy of Ant Jackson@Flickr; Table by the Mentors!
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