09-22-2008, 11:25 PM
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The sickness had lingered in his body, and it was still there. Little by little, and day by day, he got better. A cough lingered in his lungs, no doubt aided by the smoke he filled them with, but he was mobile. Most days Ahren spent his time working on the shack that he had told Laruku he would build. It was a solid structure now, with three rooms. That was done specifically because they could not share that common space anymore. Some nights, while he sat up in the starlight and studied the varying shades of darkness, he thought about killing him. Each night he prevailed over this impulse, though it lingered.
It was music that drew him from the forest, like a wild animal caught by some spell. He trailed back through the tree-line, smelling of smoke as if he had been born from some long forgotten god of fire, nude except for the ragged cargo shorts that hung from his hips and carried within them a multitude of odds and ends. One hand, attached to an arm scarred and ruined, pushed back a veil and admired the girl in the dress with the familiar smile of a lover, a brother, a bohemian who felt he had no right to speak of love dare he ruin the truth to that single solitary emotion. “What are you up to?”
The sickness had lingered in his body, and it was still there. Little by little, and day by day, he got better. A cough lingered in his lungs, no doubt aided by the smoke he filled them with, but he was mobile. Most days Ahren spent his time working on the shack that he had told Laruku he would build. It was a solid structure now, with three rooms. That was done specifically because they could not share that common space anymore. Some nights, while he sat up in the starlight and studied the varying shades of darkness, he thought about killing him. Each night he prevailed over this impulse, though it lingered.
It was music that drew him from the forest, like a wild animal caught by some spell. He trailed back through the tree-line, smelling of smoke as if he had been born from some long forgotten god of fire, nude except for the ragged cargo shorts that hung from his hips and carried within them a multitude of odds and ends. One hand, attached to an arm scarred and ruined, pushed back a veil and admired the girl in the dress with the familiar smile of a lover, a brother, a bohemian who felt he had no right to speak of love dare he ruin the truth to that single solitary emotion. “What are you up to?”