06-12-2011, 08:25 PM
At some point during the night, Arye had found it difficult to sleep. Her eyes had wandered restlessly over the long nighttime shadows that crept across the wall until her fingers had found the grainy sawdust on the ground. It was typical to find it spread here and there, since Pripyat had been working on repairing the ranch where his family had once lived. Arye herself had been to the site of the ranch and tried to help where she could, gathering supplies and straightening bits of timber as needed.
She loved to spend time with the smoke colored boy. When sleep hid from her restless, golden eyes, she let her finger dip into the sawdust on the floor and she traced nonsensical patterns, her minding turning to the time that the two of them had spent together. True to his word, Pripyat had been imparting his knowledge of the written word to the cream colored girl. They had gone to Hill of Graves to sound out the names on the ancient headstones.
At some point during the night, Arye had let her fingers wander to form the figures of letters that she had learned. She cut a bold, straight line in the sawdust before tracing a long, graceful finger more hesitantly to form a half circle. P. Arye felt confident that she had learned that letter correctly. She continued on to attempt to phonetically spell Pripyat's name, never certain if she was certain as she combined some of the letters she had learned. P-R- - she was often unsure of how to finish his name after that point.
Arye awoke with a start at Pripyat's familiar call. She had been drowsing over her practiced tracings. She smoothed her hand over some of her attempts to spell his name clumsily as she greeted him with an unguarded smile. "Good morning," she greeted him, as she stretched her shoulders and righted herself.
She loved to spend time with the smoke colored boy. When sleep hid from her restless, golden eyes, she let her finger dip into the sawdust on the floor and she traced nonsensical patterns, her minding turning to the time that the two of them had spent together. True to his word, Pripyat had been imparting his knowledge of the written word to the cream colored girl. They had gone to Hill of Graves to sound out the names on the ancient headstones.
At some point during the night, Arye had let her fingers wander to form the figures of letters that she had learned. She cut a bold, straight line in the sawdust before tracing a long, graceful finger more hesitantly to form a half circle. P. Arye felt confident that she had learned that letter correctly. She continued on to attempt to phonetically spell Pripyat's name, never certain if she was certain as she combined some of the letters she had learned. P-R- - she was often unsure of how to finish his name after that point.
Arye awoke with a start at Pripyat's familiar call. She had been drowsing over her practiced tracings. She smoothed her hand over some of her attempts to spell his name clumsily as she greeted him with an unguarded smile. "Good morning," she greeted him, as she stretched her shoulders and righted herself.