10-10-2008, 07:24 PM
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Table by Tammi!
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The company and routine that Esper Hollow had brought into her life had sunken in with far more ease than Poe had expected. Which made her suspect that either her ultra-independence had been overlived, or possibly not quite as necessary as she had suspected during its birth. Then again, this land and its inhabitants did not offer the kind of company and routine that she would have found elsewhere--not when the company was a quirky, drunken, musical band of gypsies, and the routine involved bobbing around in her little boat and raiding the city of pretty and useful (read: alcoholic) things every couple of days. So maybe it was only an example of things panning out just as they must, for good and bad and the truth of all things between.
In short, Poe was very happy with her life, at least when she ignored the nagging tug in her chest each time she lay down to sleep. But such a thing was regularly avoided by avoiding sleep itself on nights such as these, when she strolled out beyond ear shot of most of the tents and homes, and settled down by the lake their territory consumed. A bottle of wine and an old fiddle she had looted the day prior, she sat in a soft rut between the roots of an old tree, and tinkered and tuned the violin as best as she could recall. It had been years since she had played regularly, only playing borrowed strings a couple of times in Europe since. But with closed eyes, the shadowy luperci fingered out memories of old tunes while grazing the bow across taught strings. Bit by bit, her memory and confidence ebbed back into her limbs, and she worked her way through the beginnings of the first song she had learned in that summer with the Andvari. The memories the tune brought with it dipped over her inner eyes, sinking naturally into the soil that surrounded her now. Lines matched up, somehow. Tastes and tones overlapped, and the song came easier as her mind let loose.
In short, Poe was very happy with her life, at least when she ignored the nagging tug in her chest each time she lay down to sleep. But such a thing was regularly avoided by avoiding sleep itself on nights such as these, when she strolled out beyond ear shot of most of the tents and homes, and settled down by the lake their territory consumed. A bottle of wine and an old fiddle she had looted the day prior, she sat in a soft rut between the roots of an old tree, and tinkered and tuned the violin as best as she could recall. It had been years since she had played regularly, only playing borrowed strings a couple of times in Europe since. But with closed eyes, the shadowy luperci fingered out memories of old tunes while grazing the bow across taught strings. Bit by bit, her memory and confidence ebbed back into her limbs, and she worked her way through the beginnings of the first song she had learned in that summer with the Andvari. The memories the tune brought with it dipped over her inner eyes, sinking naturally into the soil that surrounded her now. Lines matched up, somehow. Tastes and tones overlapped, and the song came easier as her mind let loose.
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