08-17-2008, 11:53 PM
Twenty three...
Moonlight spills like a searchlight over the trees, tangling in their boughs. It pierces the leaves and seems to frighten the shadows into timid, static entities, left wanting by the wind and pooling jaggedly among the roots and fields. Twenty four. The scar showing open night sky heals as quickly as it split, and the light is concealed. The shadows are free to move again, crawling like the memories of animals around me. Twenty five. I am alone here tonight. The view across the vineyards is vast and beautiful in the desultory moonlight...
Grayson's internal dialogue faded as he hung, the sinews in his long arms bulging. He paused, then lifted his weight for the dastardly twenty-sixth pull-up. The low hanging pine branch bent with the strain, groaning, slivers of bark loosening under his fingers and drifting like shed skin to the ground below. The fatigued muscles shivered with pain but he forced his muzzle over the wide branch regardless. This time, though, he could not hold himself. Gray fell the remaining five feet. The aptly-named optime remained prone on the damp ground, his chest moving with each breath. This was embarrassing. Twenty five was a stupid number. Clearly, he still had a ways to go until a complete recovery could be assumed.
I think I'm starting to hate this place.
Moonlight spills like a searchlight over the trees, tangling in their boughs. It pierces the leaves and seems to frighten the shadows into timid, static entities, left wanting by the wind and pooling jaggedly among the roots and fields. Twenty four. The scar showing open night sky heals as quickly as it split, and the light is concealed. The shadows are free to move again, crawling like the memories of animals around me. Twenty five. I am alone here tonight. The view across the vineyards is vast and beautiful in the desultory moonlight...
Grayson's internal dialogue faded as he hung, the sinews in his long arms bulging. He paused, then lifted his weight for the dastardly twenty-sixth pull-up. The low hanging pine branch bent with the strain, groaning, slivers of bark loosening under his fingers and drifting like shed skin to the ground below. The fatigued muscles shivered with pain but he forced his muzzle over the wide branch regardless. This time, though, he could not hold himself. Gray fell the remaining five feet. The aptly-named optime remained prone on the damp ground, his chest moving with each breath. This was embarrassing. Twenty five was a stupid number. Clearly, he still had a ways to go until a complete recovery could be assumed.
I think I'm starting to hate this place.