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Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:10 pm
The small camp sat nestled next to the cool clear waters of the river. Birds were twittering and swooping from tree to tree in the early morning mist. Fish splashed and played while squirrels chattered and called. Nature was all around this fine summer morning. Only a few days had passed since the May Ball in Manchester, and Grave had only just arrived at his new home. The old one attached to his mill had recently burned down, and he had no intentions on returning to it. Tales of the spirit that haunted the ruins filled the town. They did not know the half of it. Anyone venturing up there now was sure to get a Surprise.
His tent was merely a leanto, thrown together from some stout branches and a ream of sailcloth bought from a trader. It cut rather a dishevelled appearance, the material grubby against the pure chiseled bones of the wood. It was warm (since the weather was warming now too) and dry and clean. A fire crackled outside, far enough away from the tent so that it did not burn the material; near enough that from inside he could smell the roasting trout that hung above it.
Grave sat on the floor inside, watching the way the light played through the fog. His hands clutched a stick and a knife, and he whittled idly at it. His mind was running over the events of the past few months. A breath of wind brought a whiff of lavender from further up the bank and a smile ghosted across his features.
Who needed a house when the world could be your cradle, the earth your bed, and grass your pillow? He could lay out at nights and enjoy the moon and stars. Everything was perfect here.
Something was bound to change...
His tent was merely a leanto, thrown together from some stout branches and a ream of sailcloth bought from a trader. It cut rather a dishevelled appearance, the material grubby against the pure chiseled bones of the wood. It was warm (since the weather was warming now too) and dry and clean. A fire crackled outside, far enough away from the tent so that it did not burn the material; near enough that from inside he could smell the roasting trout that hung above it.
Grave sat on the floor inside, watching the way the light played through the fog. His hands clutched a stick and a knife, and he whittled idly at it. His mind was running over the events of the past few months. A breath of wind brought a whiff of lavender from further up the bank and a smile ghosted across his features.
Who needed a house when the world could be your cradle, the earth your bed, and grass your pillow? He could lay out at nights and enjoy the moon and stars. Everything was perfect here.
Something was bound to change...
Admin- Admin
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Join date : 2008-08-31 -
Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:10 pm
It was a bright and sunny evening. A blackbird was in fine voice high in the trees, and somewhere a squirrel was taking objection to his presence. The day had been hot, and the rapidly cooling air felt good upon his skin. As he washed his clothes in the river water, throwing them over a low hanging branch to dry, Grave remembered the other times he had bathed like this. Thoughts of the meadow in Birmingham passed through his mind. It seemed such a long time ago now. Months since he had sat down privately and enjoyed the company of a woman in talk and laughter.
Dunking his hair under the water, he washed the last of the dye he had used for the May Day ball from it. It came clean, shining whitely in the corners of his eyes. Ah, how he missed the old colour.
"You're a handsome lad..." A voice said faintly in his ear. "Find yourself a good woman and settle down. Forget about Agnes. She is beyond you."
He knew that this voice was echoing from the past. It's owner was long dead, spitted on the battlefield by an enemies sword in the night. Just as all of his friends were dead, or far away. He had chosen to stay behind and watch the county of Chester for the Wolves. Now he wished desperately he had gone to Cornwall, to fight with the others. His eyes picked out Anthem where the horse grazed at the edge of the clearing. He could mount up and be there in a week...
...but no. Once a course of action was begun it must be finished.
Once he had finished washing and playing in the river,he splashed up the bank and sat upon the grass to dry. His mind ran over his knowledge of Beeston, and alighted upon the pretty Mayor. Ah yes - she who had given him the rather fetching scar upon his lip; but the next time they had met just days ago they had danced. He remembered her words and smiled. He had frightened her at first, of that Grave was sure, but it seemed that they had grown to an understanding. He found her fascinating. The tousled russet of her hair, the soft breath of lavendar when she was close, the touch of her fingers upon his arm as they danced. The Frenchman hummed a tune under his voice.
Shivering now, he was just pulling on his shirt as a figure ran past. Hmmmm - it looked like one of the ladies who lived with Lela. He recalled the night in the tavern several months ago when Lela had invited him to come visiting. Smiling to himself, for he had become a lonely figure, Grave pulled on his finest boots and headed up to Firebird Manor.
Dunking his hair under the water, he washed the last of the dye he had used for the May Day ball from it. It came clean, shining whitely in the corners of his eyes. Ah, how he missed the old colour.
"You're a handsome lad..." A voice said faintly in his ear. "Find yourself a good woman and settle down. Forget about Agnes. She is beyond you."
He knew that this voice was echoing from the past. It's owner was long dead, spitted on the battlefield by an enemies sword in the night. Just as all of his friends were dead, or far away. He had chosen to stay behind and watch the county of Chester for the Wolves. Now he wished desperately he had gone to Cornwall, to fight with the others. His eyes picked out Anthem where the horse grazed at the edge of the clearing. He could mount up and be there in a week...
...but no. Once a course of action was begun it must be finished.
Once he had finished washing and playing in the river,he splashed up the bank and sat upon the grass to dry. His mind ran over his knowledge of Beeston, and alighted upon the pretty Mayor. Ah yes - she who had given him the rather fetching scar upon his lip; but the next time they had met just days ago they had danced. He remembered her words and smiled. He had frightened her at first, of that Grave was sure, but it seemed that they had grown to an understanding. He found her fascinating. The tousled russet of her hair, the soft breath of lavendar when she was close, the touch of her fingers upon his arm as they danced. The Frenchman hummed a tune under his voice.
Shivering now, he was just pulling on his shirt as a figure ran past. Hmmmm - it looked like one of the ladies who lived with Lela. He recalled the night in the tavern several months ago when Lela had invited him to come visiting. Smiling to himself, for he had become a lonely figure, Grave pulled on his finest boots and headed up to Firebird Manor.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:12 pm
Horse and rider melted perfectly with the black of the night, the feathery hooves moving soundlessly atop a bed of pine needles as Mac led Crusher through the maze of the forest. In the past year she has ridden through these woods nearly every day and knew them and the trails almost like the back of her hand. Crusher was at home as well, his ears pricked to the sounds of the night, an owl's hoot calling over the tops of the trees and somewhere a fox or deer rustled among the underbrush. She had scouted the area a couple of days past when she knew Sir Julien was in town and from the position of the large oak to her right, knew his camp was straight ahead.
Why was she doing this? Was she insane? Aye she must be! Her hands pulled slightly on the reins, drawing the large horse to a stop as she reached up with one hand to pull the hood of the cloak down over her forehead. The clouds shifted and suddenly the bright arch of moon filled the sky, a stray beam of light landing on the back of her hand and shimmering it caught her eye. She lifted her palm into the light, turning it over and intensely studying the curve of skin over bone. She'd always thought her hands were strong, certainly not dainty but as easily able to grip the reins of a spirited stallion as they were to swinging a heavy Scottish blade. Here in the light of the waning moon, however, she saw the glimmer of a lady's hands, the feminine length of long graceful fingers with four shallow valleys at the base of fingers.
Chuckling softly she buried her hands in the long black mane and cast a smile to the moon. "Thank you Mother Moon." She spoke softly, her voice a soft whisper on the breeze. "For reminding me to relax and feel like a woman."
Her heels touched Crusher's sides and they moved forward, the flicker of a fire appearing through the towering roof of trees. Aye she was being brave. Brave or foolish one, it would depend upon who you were asking. She couldn't deny the magnetic draw toward the dashing frenchman and herself. She'd tried. She was like a honeybee to the flower and the more she was away from him the more she needed his touch. But how could that be for they'd only been together what? two? three times? There was the day of brief touches and smiles during the tourney... and.... hmmmm, then the amazing dance on Beltaine and last but certainly not least the Beeston Celebration day where he had boldly stepped forwarded and kissed her until she was clinging to him breathlessly.
She suddenly broke through the daydream and yanked back on the reins, pulling the horse to a stop right before he stepped into the clearing. Her eyes scanned the area, stopping briefly on the tent and the fire and wondering where Sir Julien was.
Why was she doing this? Was she insane? Aye she must be! Her hands pulled slightly on the reins, drawing the large horse to a stop as she reached up with one hand to pull the hood of the cloak down over her forehead. The clouds shifted and suddenly the bright arch of moon filled the sky, a stray beam of light landing on the back of her hand and shimmering it caught her eye. She lifted her palm into the light, turning it over and intensely studying the curve of skin over bone. She'd always thought her hands were strong, certainly not dainty but as easily able to grip the reins of a spirited stallion as they were to swinging a heavy Scottish blade. Here in the light of the waning moon, however, she saw the glimmer of a lady's hands, the feminine length of long graceful fingers with four shallow valleys at the base of fingers.
Chuckling softly she buried her hands in the long black mane and cast a smile to the moon. "Thank you Mother Moon." She spoke softly, her voice a soft whisper on the breeze. "For reminding me to relax and feel like a woman."
Her heels touched Crusher's sides and they moved forward, the flicker of a fire appearing through the towering roof of trees. Aye she was being brave. Brave or foolish one, it would depend upon who you were asking. She couldn't deny the magnetic draw toward the dashing frenchman and herself. She'd tried. She was like a honeybee to the flower and the more she was away from him the more she needed his touch. But how could that be for they'd only been together what? two? three times? There was the day of brief touches and smiles during the tourney... and.... hmmmm, then the amazing dance on Beltaine and last but certainly not least the Beeston Celebration day where he had boldly stepped forwarded and kissed her until she was clinging to him breathlessly.
She suddenly broke through the daydream and yanked back on the reins, pulling the horse to a stop right before he stepped into the clearing. Her eyes scanned the area, stopping briefly on the tent and the fire and wondering where Sir Julien was.
MackenzieGael- Admin 2
- Posts : 110
Join date : 2008-08-31
Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:12 pm
The hilt felt heavy in his hand. Long and straight he could feel the power coursing through it. The rest of his attire was torn and patched, faded from repeated washing, looking two years out of date. "But Hrunting, ah Hrunting... you are so beautiful a sword."
As the whetstone ground along the blade, sharpening it, he caught a view of his own reflection. This was not normal for Grave. He bathed in the stream and had rarely owned a mirror in his life. The last time he recalled seeing himself and truly looking was in a palace in Venice. His fellows had been looting the place and he had raised a wine bottle to smash the delicate glass. His arm had stopped moving of its own accord and he had looked upon his features.
The contrast between then and now was marked. He had been a fresh faced boy, the only real scarring a long cut that ran from the corner of his eye across his cheek to the edge of his lip. A further faded one curved across his neck, pale white. Now those had been joined by a multitude of others. As he had grown older he had become slower at his skill. He had cuts galore, some faded to fine traced scars, others still deep and fresh. His hair, once a deep fawn brown, was now white against the ruddiness of his skin. His eyes had lightened from the colour of a summer sky to an ice blue.
He looked from blade to hand and then back again. And SHE was there. She who haunted his dreams, who had wrestled and deposed the Midnight Queen from his fantasies, whose lips he could taste constantly upon his own. She was reflected in the blade, her hand upon the reins of a large black horse.
His heart jumped. The reflection trembled. Was this some vision sent to torment him? Would she disappear if he moved the blade, vanishing into the shadows of the forest with a laugh? Was his Queen sending this vision to remind him of the happiness and warmth he would never feel again? Was she asking him to use the sword on the fair Mackenzie to prove his love for the One True Goddess?
Or was it just a reflection?
Lowering the blade onto an oilcloth, he stood slowly. His eyes closed. He turned on his heel and opened them again. His voice, ever sure, spoke the words. "Lady Fraser... Mackenzie Gael... Mac. Welcome! Come and join me. We have lots to discuss." His hand reached out to her, and his eyes caught hers.
As the whetstone ground along the blade, sharpening it, he caught a view of his own reflection. This was not normal for Grave. He bathed in the stream and had rarely owned a mirror in his life. The last time he recalled seeing himself and truly looking was in a palace in Venice. His fellows had been looting the place and he had raised a wine bottle to smash the delicate glass. His arm had stopped moving of its own accord and he had looked upon his features.
The contrast between then and now was marked. He had been a fresh faced boy, the only real scarring a long cut that ran from the corner of his eye across his cheek to the edge of his lip. A further faded one curved across his neck, pale white. Now those had been joined by a multitude of others. As he had grown older he had become slower at his skill. He had cuts galore, some faded to fine traced scars, others still deep and fresh. His hair, once a deep fawn brown, was now white against the ruddiness of his skin. His eyes had lightened from the colour of a summer sky to an ice blue.
He looked from blade to hand and then back again. And SHE was there. She who haunted his dreams, who had wrestled and deposed the Midnight Queen from his fantasies, whose lips he could taste constantly upon his own. She was reflected in the blade, her hand upon the reins of a large black horse.
His heart jumped. The reflection trembled. Was this some vision sent to torment him? Would she disappear if he moved the blade, vanishing into the shadows of the forest with a laugh? Was his Queen sending this vision to remind him of the happiness and warmth he would never feel again? Was she asking him to use the sword on the fair Mackenzie to prove his love for the One True Goddess?
Or was it just a reflection?
Lowering the blade onto an oilcloth, he stood slowly. His eyes closed. He turned on his heel and opened them again. His voice, ever sure, spoke the words. "Lady Fraser... Mackenzie Gael... Mac. Welcome! Come and join me. We have lots to discuss." His hand reached out to her, and his eyes caught hers.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:12 pm
His voice, loud and booming in the stillness of the forest made her jump. She could feel Crusher tense beneath her knees as well, his muscles tighten as his ears swiveled to ascertain the direction of the noise while she gripped the reins tight between sweaty palms. He stood from behind the tent, his body unfolding into a tall stance that made her heart thud fast against the confines of her chest. A soft smile lit her lips as her full name and then the nickname she'd never heard him mutter curved along his own mouth. Aye she'd lost it. Come to the man's camp un-chaperoned, all alone and he a notorious wolf. Not a criminal but a ranking wolf officer. Should she fear him? Probably. Did she fear him? Nay. Chuckling she pressed Crusher forward thinking back to her Granda who always said she was too brazen for a wee lassie and that it'd be the death of her. Oh but what would Granda say now?
Crusher stopped a mere foot from him, tossing his black head until the metal from the bit jingled softly and her fingers entwined in the long mane at the base of his neck. She studied the campsite, the tent, the beautiful sword laid delicately against a cloth and then his face as he gazed up at her. A warm butterfly flittered in her stomach and she felt her smile widen.
"Sir Julien Delval. Ye hae invited me to yer campsite, and while I daresay I'm verra late in comin', I find it a righ' bonnie place." The tension seemed to slip slightly from her hands and she loosened her grip on Crusher's mane to wipe the sweat from her palm down her thigh. "Now, I know ye intend to haver on w' me, but might ye spare a piece o' bannock or dram before we get doon ta business?" The smile reached her eyes this time, the greenish blue colors dancing brightly beneath the dark hood.
Crusher stopped a mere foot from him, tossing his black head until the metal from the bit jingled softly and her fingers entwined in the long mane at the base of his neck. She studied the campsite, the tent, the beautiful sword laid delicately against a cloth and then his face as he gazed up at her. A warm butterfly flittered in her stomach and she felt her smile widen.
"Sir Julien Delval. Ye hae invited me to yer campsite, and while I daresay I'm verra late in comin', I find it a righ' bonnie place." The tension seemed to slip slightly from her hands and she loosened her grip on Crusher's mane to wipe the sweat from her palm down her thigh. "Now, I know ye intend to haver on w' me, but might ye spare a piece o' bannock or dram before we get doon ta business?" The smile reached her eyes this time, the greenish blue colors dancing brightly beneath the dark hood.
MackenzieGael- Admin 2
- Posts : 110
Join date : 2008-08-31
Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:12 pm
Her accent was strange to his ears. Each time he heard it he found it charming, enchanting... and slightly bemusing. It took a moment for his brain, too recently closeted behind the doors of memory, to register and translate her words. For though a strong English speaker after his many months in this country his own internal voice was French and would always remain so. The French and the Scots had ever been strong allies, although that partnership had not yet been cemented. He wondered idly whether he could draw their peoples any closer himself. Certainly he hoped to be able to make a good impact upon this beautiful representative of the Scottish nation tonight. Maybe they could find some other way to speak.
As her hand rubbed down the length of her thigh his eyes flickered naturally to that movement. Ah, how long and strong that thigh looked beneath the material of her trews. She sat in the saddle like one naturally born to the horse, and he imagined her body was taught with the resplendent muscles of an equestrian. His mind idly caressed the thought of the tight stomach muscles, the wide flare of the hips, the powerful calves, and all of the other attributes of a honed athlete.
"I am glad you came, Mac. Although only a couple of days it seems like too long since we were together."
A short while later they were seated by the camp fire. He had furnished her with a bannock - stale and gravelly bread from the market the day before - and a dram - a rather poor vintage wine he had been keeping since his visit to Chester castle. They sat upon the ground, close enough that they could touch if they wanted. He did not allow himself the joy of that physical comfort. Not yet. He still remembered his first rash move towards her. His mind wandered back to that day. He had stepped in close for the kiss, determined to take what he could never win in the Tourney. The next thing he knew he was laying on the floor, a lump that would last for days developing on his lower lip. His tongue idly caressed the scar that survived even to this day several months later.
His eyes caught and held hers as they talked. "I must admit that I am surprised that you came at all, let alone unchaperoned. We Wolves have a... reputation that is all too undeserved. People see us as the ruiners of the fine and the good, wanting to draw the land into darkness. What we seek, what I seek, is clarity, justice, and a fair deal of the cards for all. When was it determined that because someone is a Lord, all that he says is right? I believe that the nobility have decided this for themselves. Certainly there are many fine members of the upper classes; there are also many dark hearted ones too who would seek to further themselves by treading on the shoulders of others. These nobles call themselves the great and the good - because they make the law and so are always above it. When the low born try to do the same they are treated - rightly - to harsh justice. From the nobles it is seen as permitted to perform such evil deeds, simply because of who they are. There should never be a stage where what someone does is less important than who someone is.
"Unfortunately..." He looked away, his ears picking up the sound of distant church bells ringing. "...There are few who agree with me, or would seek to do anything about it. The status quo is maintained because few will seek to fight it." The patch of mint that he had planted nearby was growing wild, and its scent carried across them as a soft breeze tickled the leaves on the trees.
As her hand rubbed down the length of her thigh his eyes flickered naturally to that movement. Ah, how long and strong that thigh looked beneath the material of her trews. She sat in the saddle like one naturally born to the horse, and he imagined her body was taught with the resplendent muscles of an equestrian. His mind idly caressed the thought of the tight stomach muscles, the wide flare of the hips, the powerful calves, and all of the other attributes of a honed athlete.
"I am glad you came, Mac. Although only a couple of days it seems like too long since we were together."
A short while later they were seated by the camp fire. He had furnished her with a bannock - stale and gravelly bread from the market the day before - and a dram - a rather poor vintage wine he had been keeping since his visit to Chester castle. They sat upon the ground, close enough that they could touch if they wanted. He did not allow himself the joy of that physical comfort. Not yet. He still remembered his first rash move towards her. His mind wandered back to that day. He had stepped in close for the kiss, determined to take what he could never win in the Tourney. The next thing he knew he was laying on the floor, a lump that would last for days developing on his lower lip. His tongue idly caressed the scar that survived even to this day several months later.
His eyes caught and held hers as they talked. "I must admit that I am surprised that you came at all, let alone unchaperoned. We Wolves have a... reputation that is all too undeserved. People see us as the ruiners of the fine and the good, wanting to draw the land into darkness. What we seek, what I seek, is clarity, justice, and a fair deal of the cards for all. When was it determined that because someone is a Lord, all that he says is right? I believe that the nobility have decided this for themselves. Certainly there are many fine members of the upper classes; there are also many dark hearted ones too who would seek to further themselves by treading on the shoulders of others. These nobles call themselves the great and the good - because they make the law and so are always above it. When the low born try to do the same they are treated - rightly - to harsh justice. From the nobles it is seen as permitted to perform such evil deeds, simply because of who they are. There should never be a stage where what someone does is less important than who someone is.
"Unfortunately..." He looked away, his ears picking up the sound of distant church bells ringing. "...There are few who agree with me, or would seek to do anything about it. The status quo is maintained because few will seek to fight it." The patch of mint that he had planted nearby was growing wild, and its scent carried across them as a soft breeze tickled the leaves on the trees.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:12 pm
Her eyes fluttered closed, if only briefly. His voice seemed to reach out to her like tendrils of smoke, twisting and cascading around her body until she was wrapped in a caccoon of French tipped warmth and security. Her skin tingled with the electricity that floated in the air and she quickly wondered if he were to touch her now, would a spark illuminate the space between them? Oh but if he would touch her, just briefly, she would surely melt.
Opening her eyes they locked with his and for a mere moment the world spun to a screeching halt. Nothing existed but the deep blue depths that gazed back at her. If she looked closely Mac was sure she could see her own visage reflected there. She took a deep breath, letting her diaphragm expand and fill to it's capacity with air before slowly releasing the hold. Get ahold of yourself Mackenzie! She coaxed herself, breaking their gaze and turning to swing a leg over Crusher's back. She didn't look at him while her fingers nimbly unbelted the cinch and drug the saddle from the tall horses back to a fallen log where she dropped it unceremoniously. She also, deliberately didn't look at him as she ran a hand down the black coat, starting at muzzle to hindquarters her fingers pressing into the soft coat before patting his rump and sending him to graze.
Suddenly void of a task Mac nervously stepped up to him, her feet planting only a foot from his as she reached up to push back the hood of her cloak. "Days, broken into hours, into minutes into seconds.... seem like eternity."
****
They sat by the fire, it's warmth sizzling and popping as bits of ash floated haphazardly into the darkening sky. The sun was setting to their left, it's red orange glow receding past the horizon while the darkness crept over the ground, absorbing every morsel of light like a starving whale. Mac tucked her legs under her, the cloak wrapped around her still to ward off the chill, and provide a barrier against the night while her fingers twisted a piece of the bread. She tried to hide the nervousness, to still her beating heart but her fingers just simply could not rest, nor did it seem, could her eyes, for they soaked up everything, stopping finally on him as he began to speak.
She felt her eyebrows furrow at his speech, his disdain and abhorrence toward nobility strummed a slight cord in her for had she not been born into that world? The one he so passionately disliked. But their ideas were similar, their goals and the end result of equality and individualism for everyone; from the prince regent down to the lowly poor who scrounged day in and day out to make a living. She'd seen first-hand those nobles whom had no regard for the rest of the world, who picked up and moved at their briefest whim and passed laws that suited themselves and those of similar rank with no thought to whom it might hurt. And aye, her father was Laird of Clan Fraser, essentially throwing her into the caste of nobility, but since coming to England she had become penniless, all save the jet black horse she rode in on, and everything from her bakery to the title she now held as Baroness of Bunbury she'd earned on her own, through sweat and dedication to preserving the rights and well being of those around her. But did he know all of this? Of course not. She didn't make it well known of her title nor her family. In fact, Mac suddenly realized, she had been rather quiet and mute regarding her life before Beeston with everyone. All her life she'd been the Laird's daughter... now... here... she was simply Mac. And she liked that.
"Sir Julien, ye speak so passionately and it pleases me ta see 'nother person entirely devoted to helping others. While I ken of these nobles ye speak of..." she paused softly, her eyes catching his as the words formed around her tongue and she quietly pondered what to say next. What would he say? "... and they are many and corrupt, not everyone with a title is selfish and power hungry. I've known a few good people who have worked very hard to provide for those in need and ensure that everyone has the same opportunities in life, despite their background and past." She paused, taking another deep breath.
"As fer coming here today, unchaperoned... is there really anything I should worry about?" Her eyes caught his then, studying them deeply. "Aye people speak harshly of yer kin but when the day is out and the sun has set, ye are merely a human being as the rest of us are. A living, breathing person desiring the same things as everyone else; happiness, friendship, companionship.... love." She let the last word trail off into the night, bottom lip caught between her teeth while she waited anxiously for him to say something... anything.
Opening her eyes they locked with his and for a mere moment the world spun to a screeching halt. Nothing existed but the deep blue depths that gazed back at her. If she looked closely Mac was sure she could see her own visage reflected there. She took a deep breath, letting her diaphragm expand and fill to it's capacity with air before slowly releasing the hold. Get ahold of yourself Mackenzie! She coaxed herself, breaking their gaze and turning to swing a leg over Crusher's back. She didn't look at him while her fingers nimbly unbelted the cinch and drug the saddle from the tall horses back to a fallen log where she dropped it unceremoniously. She also, deliberately didn't look at him as she ran a hand down the black coat, starting at muzzle to hindquarters her fingers pressing into the soft coat before patting his rump and sending him to graze.
Suddenly void of a task Mac nervously stepped up to him, her feet planting only a foot from his as she reached up to push back the hood of her cloak. "Days, broken into hours, into minutes into seconds.... seem like eternity."
****
They sat by the fire, it's warmth sizzling and popping as bits of ash floated haphazardly into the darkening sky. The sun was setting to their left, it's red orange glow receding past the horizon while the darkness crept over the ground, absorbing every morsel of light like a starving whale. Mac tucked her legs under her, the cloak wrapped around her still to ward off the chill, and provide a barrier against the night while her fingers twisted a piece of the bread. She tried to hide the nervousness, to still her beating heart but her fingers just simply could not rest, nor did it seem, could her eyes, for they soaked up everything, stopping finally on him as he began to speak.
She felt her eyebrows furrow at his speech, his disdain and abhorrence toward nobility strummed a slight cord in her for had she not been born into that world? The one he so passionately disliked. But their ideas were similar, their goals and the end result of equality and individualism for everyone; from the prince regent down to the lowly poor who scrounged day in and day out to make a living. She'd seen first-hand those nobles whom had no regard for the rest of the world, who picked up and moved at their briefest whim and passed laws that suited themselves and those of similar rank with no thought to whom it might hurt. And aye, her father was Laird of Clan Fraser, essentially throwing her into the caste of nobility, but since coming to England she had become penniless, all save the jet black horse she rode in on, and everything from her bakery to the title she now held as Baroness of Bunbury she'd earned on her own, through sweat and dedication to preserving the rights and well being of those around her. But did he know all of this? Of course not. She didn't make it well known of her title nor her family. In fact, Mac suddenly realized, she had been rather quiet and mute regarding her life before Beeston with everyone. All her life she'd been the Laird's daughter... now... here... she was simply Mac. And she liked that.
"Sir Julien, ye speak so passionately and it pleases me ta see 'nother person entirely devoted to helping others. While I ken of these nobles ye speak of..." she paused softly, her eyes catching his as the words formed around her tongue and she quietly pondered what to say next. What would he say? "... and they are many and corrupt, not everyone with a title is selfish and power hungry. I've known a few good people who have worked very hard to provide for those in need and ensure that everyone has the same opportunities in life, despite their background and past." She paused, taking another deep breath.
"As fer coming here today, unchaperoned... is there really anything I should worry about?" Her eyes caught his then, studying them deeply. "Aye people speak harshly of yer kin but when the day is out and the sun has set, ye are merely a human being as the rest of us are. A living, breathing person desiring the same things as everyone else; happiness, friendship, companionship.... love." She let the last word trail off into the night, bottom lip caught between her teeth while she waited anxiously for him to say something... anything.
MackenzieGael- Admin 2
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:13 pm
Love.
At that word he stopped. His eyes caught with hers, the rapidly darkening night doing nothing to prevent him meeting her blue with his own. "Yes, I desire all of those things. Happiness for me is here. Look around you. The river. The trees. The stars in the sky. The soft sounds of the night." His hands, ever moving, pointed to each of these. His fingers deftly tracing from one object to the next as he sought to hold them. "All of these make me happy. I desire nothing more than this.
"Well..." And he laughed, truly laughed. "Not much more. Friendship I find within my comrades and the people of this town. They are family to me, tied by far greater bonds than blood. Each friend has chosen me as I have chosen them. Friendship is settling awhile and sharing a mug of ale, or maybe something stronger." His lips quirked once more at the thought of her love of whiskey. "A true friend for me is measured by someone who will allow you to sleep upon their floor if you cannot make it home that night.
"And love... ahhhh love." He did reach out then, his hand resting atop hers where it rested on her knee. His fingers, scarred and strong, twined with hers briefly. "Love I have not had... not for a long while. There are so many types. The love of a good friend. The love of a mother for her sons and daughters. The love of a man for his king. Unrequited love." That last he held in his mind, turning it over like an interesting rock. He had experienced that so strongly that it still made him nauseous to think of it. Along with another type of love, one that he had experienced far more recently. "Forbidden love." His forefinger stroked along the back of hers. Even as they sat together Graves hands were constantly moving. His touch moved over the fingers of her hand, exploring, seeking, remembering, wanting to know each individual curve and recess. He admired the long strong muscle of her thumb, below the joint, curving back to where it met her wrist. He found the gap between thumb and forefinger and stroked it, his own digit running around the skin inside. He stopped each time at the juncture between the two, gently caressing the piece of skin there, the "lovers web" as he always thought of it, before moving back around once more.
He felt her coolness and realised that the night had grown chill. Standing, withdrawing his touch reluctantly, he found his pouch of flint. Striking quickly he lit an old rag soaked in alcohol and tossed it onto the pile of timbers nearby. It burned up quickly, flaring bright, the wood dry from the many days of sunshine. Soon, although time did not seem to pass normally with her around, it was warming them both. He washed his hands in the river and returned to where she sat. Now, rather than far away, he sat next to her. His leg gently rested against Macs, and he could feel once again the strength of her muscles. He picked up his tankard of wine and smiled. "I remember you telling me of the May fires of home. We also have a similar custom. Far less... civilised than the chaste dances of England. Though the woods and fields around Manchester belied how chaste they really are. I would imagine many a tailor found work repairing clothing the next day."
His sword was getting warm. Moving awkwardly he stretched out his leg and pushed the solid hilt of the hand and a half blade away from the flames that threatened to consume it. Settling back, more comfortable now, Grave smiled warmly at Mac. Gently he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
________________
At that word he stopped. His eyes caught with hers, the rapidly darkening night doing nothing to prevent him meeting her blue with his own. "Yes, I desire all of those things. Happiness for me is here. Look around you. The river. The trees. The stars in the sky. The soft sounds of the night." His hands, ever moving, pointed to each of these. His fingers deftly tracing from one object to the next as he sought to hold them. "All of these make me happy. I desire nothing more than this.
"Well..." And he laughed, truly laughed. "Not much more. Friendship I find within my comrades and the people of this town. They are family to me, tied by far greater bonds than blood. Each friend has chosen me as I have chosen them. Friendship is settling awhile and sharing a mug of ale, or maybe something stronger." His lips quirked once more at the thought of her love of whiskey. "A true friend for me is measured by someone who will allow you to sleep upon their floor if you cannot make it home that night.
"And love... ahhhh love." He did reach out then, his hand resting atop hers where it rested on her knee. His fingers, scarred and strong, twined with hers briefly. "Love I have not had... not for a long while. There are so many types. The love of a good friend. The love of a mother for her sons and daughters. The love of a man for his king. Unrequited love." That last he held in his mind, turning it over like an interesting rock. He had experienced that so strongly that it still made him nauseous to think of it. Along with another type of love, one that he had experienced far more recently. "Forbidden love." His forefinger stroked along the back of hers. Even as they sat together Graves hands were constantly moving. His touch moved over the fingers of her hand, exploring, seeking, remembering, wanting to know each individual curve and recess. He admired the long strong muscle of her thumb, below the joint, curving back to where it met her wrist. He found the gap between thumb and forefinger and stroked it, his own digit running around the skin inside. He stopped each time at the juncture between the two, gently caressing the piece of skin there, the "lovers web" as he always thought of it, before moving back around once more.
He felt her coolness and realised that the night had grown chill. Standing, withdrawing his touch reluctantly, he found his pouch of flint. Striking quickly he lit an old rag soaked in alcohol and tossed it onto the pile of timbers nearby. It burned up quickly, flaring bright, the wood dry from the many days of sunshine. Soon, although time did not seem to pass normally with her around, it was warming them both. He washed his hands in the river and returned to where she sat. Now, rather than far away, he sat next to her. His leg gently rested against Macs, and he could feel once again the strength of her muscles. He picked up his tankard of wine and smiled. "I remember you telling me of the May fires of home. We also have a similar custom. Far less... civilised than the chaste dances of England. Though the woods and fields around Manchester belied how chaste they really are. I would imagine many a tailor found work repairing clothing the next day."
His sword was getting warm. Moving awkwardly he stretched out his leg and pushed the solid hilt of the hand and a half blade away from the flames that threatened to consume it. Settling back, more comfortable now, Grave smiled warmly at Mac. Gently he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
________________
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:13 pm
Her hands clasp nervously in her lap while Mac quietly listened to him speak. His own hands seemed to take upon a life of their own, moving with his voice to accent nearly everything he spoke of. She smiled softly a sigh escaping her lips as he spoke of the land, the earth, and most of all nature. Her eyes followed where he pointed, taking in the soft gurgle of water over rock and the green canopy of trees that swayed in the soft breeze. My he was a man after her own heart.
She wasn't expecting his touch, but quickly gave in to it, her eyes seeking his piercing blue ones in the fading light. His fingers softly caressing her hand seemed to soothe her entire body, reaching down into the very depths of her soul and draw her out into the warmth of a liquid sun. Oh dear what am I doing? She thought briefly. I am entirely too comfortable with him. I should get up. I should move, pace, feed the fire. Oooooh but he was doing a wonderful job of kindling and stoking it himself, building up the flames but did he intend to watch it burn? When he dropped her hand and stood up she immediately felt lonely and searched for something to say, something to do, anything to wrap her hands around and make them useful. Picking up a dried leaf she began to shred it absently while her eyes watched his lithe form in the shadows.
Just when she began to regain her senses he sat next to her, closer than before, his thigh tingling against hers as his arm pulled her into the crook of his arm. This was very dangerous! Dangerous b/c she so wanted to give into this feeling washing over her, wanted to settle in beside him and talk the night away while watching the dance of flames in the bright fire. And this feeling... the tingling and warmth that blossomed through her body, was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She knew her body was tense and mentally tried to force herself to relax, but it wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. Her eyes landed on the tankard of wine and instinctively she wet her lips, but knew to give in to the drink tonight would not be a good idea. She'd gone down that path once and had been dutifully dropped and her feelings and pride crushed.
Glancing up at him, her eyes studying the shadows that skittered over his face. "Aye ' whit were th' customs ye speak o'? Were they specific to Beltain?"
She wasn't expecting his touch, but quickly gave in to it, her eyes seeking his piercing blue ones in the fading light. His fingers softly caressing her hand seemed to soothe her entire body, reaching down into the very depths of her soul and draw her out into the warmth of a liquid sun. Oh dear what am I doing? She thought briefly. I am entirely too comfortable with him. I should get up. I should move, pace, feed the fire. Oooooh but he was doing a wonderful job of kindling and stoking it himself, building up the flames but did he intend to watch it burn? When he dropped her hand and stood up she immediately felt lonely and searched for something to say, something to do, anything to wrap her hands around and make them useful. Picking up a dried leaf she began to shred it absently while her eyes watched his lithe form in the shadows.
Just when she began to regain her senses he sat next to her, closer than before, his thigh tingling against hers as his arm pulled her into the crook of his arm. This was very dangerous! Dangerous b/c she so wanted to give into this feeling washing over her, wanted to settle in beside him and talk the night away while watching the dance of flames in the bright fire. And this feeling... the tingling and warmth that blossomed through her body, was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She knew her body was tense and mentally tried to force herself to relax, but it wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. Her eyes landed on the tankard of wine and instinctively she wet her lips, but knew to give in to the drink tonight would not be a good idea. She'd gone down that path once and had been dutifully dropped and her feelings and pride crushed.
Glancing up at him, her eyes studying the shadows that skittered over his face. "Aye ' whit were th' customs ye speak o'? Were they specific to Beltain?"
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:13 pm
He could feel a laugh coming at her sudden question. It bubbled in his stomach, ran up his throat, and fought at his lips. This would not be a laugh of harsh cynicism, like he was so accustomed to favouring most people with; it would be a sound of joy. It came from his lips as a kind of low chuckle, mirth mixed with other deeper feelings.
It was a sound so unaccustomed from himself these past few years that it's explosion almost made him jump in the night, like a pheasant flying from low cover in the woods. It was as though there were three people around the camp fire tonight. Mackenzie Gael Fraser, Mayor Of Beeston and good soul. Icey Grave, Lord Of Midnight, darkness within. And Sir Julien Delval, footsoldier and guard to nobility.
Flickering his eyes into the sky he saw there were four. His Queen hung high above them. She was discernible only by her shadow tonight, and a long finger of light running down her side as though silver caressed her skin. Last night she had been glorious in her darkness, shrouded head to foot in her most velvety robes. A joy to behold. Now she was ungarbing herself once more to show the cold perfect white of her skin. His lips parted momentarily and he uttered two words. "My Queen..."
Sir Julien stopped him, reaching down inside to grab hold of his throat. He must not talk of the Queen now, the one who guided his hand and his path. For was she not the one who counselled passion in all things? Certainly her great dark eyes would be rejoicing at the site of the two of them tonight. For the spark of passion was alive between Grave and Mac, hanging in the space between their bodies. He longed to take that spark and bury it within her, fill her with its warmth and pure white light. For even though they touched along the length of their sides there was still a distance between them. And then he realised that appropriately, amazingly, Mackenzie had anticipated his reaction as well as prompting it. For she had asked the question that still hung heavily upon the air.
Mackenzie Gael wrote:
"Aye ' whit were th' customs ye speak o'? Were they specific to Beltain?"
"Some of them were and some... not." He moved his hand on her shoulder to stroke the tresses of her hair. "They involve a camp fire very like this one. Dancing. Singing. The drinking of fermented beverages. Joy. Warmth. Companionship. The young and free will all find new partners..." He laughed softly."And some of the married ones too. For nothing is forbidden on Beltaine. It is a night to celebrate the simple act of being human, to enjoy the base upon which we have constructed our complex society. Each person delves deep within themselves and others, dancing in the shadows and light thrown up by the camp fire. Time stands still for just that one summer night. The warm air soothes bare skin and makes the spirit within us bold. Rules are banished. Hands find other hands and we whirl and sing." He traced a finger down Mac's arm, amazed at how she was warming him inside more than the fire was.
The spirit of Beltaine filled him. Turning his face once more to hers he moved forward gently and found her lips with his own...
It was a sound so unaccustomed from himself these past few years that it's explosion almost made him jump in the night, like a pheasant flying from low cover in the woods. It was as though there were three people around the camp fire tonight. Mackenzie Gael Fraser, Mayor Of Beeston and good soul. Icey Grave, Lord Of Midnight, darkness within. And Sir Julien Delval, footsoldier and guard to nobility.
Flickering his eyes into the sky he saw there were four. His Queen hung high above them. She was discernible only by her shadow tonight, and a long finger of light running down her side as though silver caressed her skin. Last night she had been glorious in her darkness, shrouded head to foot in her most velvety robes. A joy to behold. Now she was ungarbing herself once more to show the cold perfect white of her skin. His lips parted momentarily and he uttered two words. "My Queen..."
Sir Julien stopped him, reaching down inside to grab hold of his throat. He must not talk of the Queen now, the one who guided his hand and his path. For was she not the one who counselled passion in all things? Certainly her great dark eyes would be rejoicing at the site of the two of them tonight. For the spark of passion was alive between Grave and Mac, hanging in the space between their bodies. He longed to take that spark and bury it within her, fill her with its warmth and pure white light. For even though they touched along the length of their sides there was still a distance between them. And then he realised that appropriately, amazingly, Mackenzie had anticipated his reaction as well as prompting it. For she had asked the question that still hung heavily upon the air.
Mackenzie Gael wrote:
"Aye ' whit were th' customs ye speak o'? Were they specific to Beltain?"
"Some of them were and some... not." He moved his hand on her shoulder to stroke the tresses of her hair. "They involve a camp fire very like this one. Dancing. Singing. The drinking of fermented beverages. Joy. Warmth. Companionship. The young and free will all find new partners..." He laughed softly."And some of the married ones too. For nothing is forbidden on Beltaine. It is a night to celebrate the simple act of being human, to enjoy the base upon which we have constructed our complex society. Each person delves deep within themselves and others, dancing in the shadows and light thrown up by the camp fire. Time stands still for just that one summer night. The warm air soothes bare skin and makes the spirit within us bold. Rules are banished. Hands find other hands and we whirl and sing." He traced a finger down Mac's arm, amazed at how she was warming him inside more than the fire was.
The spirit of Beltaine filled him. Turning his face once more to hers he moved forward gently and found her lips with his own...
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:13 pm
The vibration of his laugh shook her faintly where their bodies touched and though she was quite confused Mac merely raised an eyebrow and forced her lips to curl upward. Surely he did not tend to make fun of her, for the sound emitting from his chest was deep and happy, something that would come from only someone who knew true happiness. Was he truly happy? Oh that she could make him happy, but why was such a thing in her head. Blasted! Mac you've only known him.... okay...weeell.... not long enough to be thinking of a future. But she couldn't help it for that was the scenario her mind had nested upon.
She'd been thinking, lost in thought as was becoming the norm for this evening when he began to speak again. His voice, which rose and fell like a song with a sweet intoxicating hymn, seemed to urge her muscles to relax until she was pressed against him, her side molded to his. When his hand found her hair in the darkness and absently began to glide through the curls a sigh parted her lips and her eyes closed against the glimmer of flames. Without sight all her other senses seemed to soar into new heights; especially the touch of her bare skin or his finger ran lightly down the length of her arm.
"Oh..." Her eyes flickered open just as he leaned into her, his lips, firm and oh so utterly desirable touching and pressing along the the stretch of her own. She tasted him, the surprising bit of mint mixed with a flavor that was all his own. I shall call it Julien! She thought briefly before chuckling and allowing herself to melt against him. She found his hand in the darkness, the pads of her fingers lightly running along the back of hand before tracing up his arm and shoulder. The breeze kicked back up, blowing cold against her face and lending her a renewed sense of energy and awareness.
She'd been thinking, lost in thought as was becoming the norm for this evening when he began to speak again. His voice, which rose and fell like a song with a sweet intoxicating hymn, seemed to urge her muscles to relax until she was pressed against him, her side molded to his. When his hand found her hair in the darkness and absently began to glide through the curls a sigh parted her lips and her eyes closed against the glimmer of flames. Without sight all her other senses seemed to soar into new heights; especially the touch of her bare skin or his finger ran lightly down the length of her arm.
"Oh..." Her eyes flickered open just as he leaned into her, his lips, firm and oh so utterly desirable touching and pressing along the the stretch of her own. She tasted him, the surprising bit of mint mixed with a flavor that was all his own. I shall call it Julien! She thought briefly before chuckling and allowing herself to melt against him. She found his hand in the darkness, the pads of her fingers lightly running along the back of hand before tracing up his arm and shoulder. The breeze kicked back up, blowing cold against her face and lending her a renewed sense of energy and awareness.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:13 pm
Grave was still surprised when she responded to his kiss. No conquest this one, but a butterfly who stayed willingly after alighting on a leaf. He did not seek to possess her, for to do so would destroy that which he found so desirable. Or rather it was more likely that she would fly away and he would never see her again. As she kissed and touched him he felt a sudden sense of passion, burning down to the roots of his soul. He smiled into the kiss realising that the flames now snapped high into the night and would not be extinguished before dawn. And, oddly, mixed into such a heightened emotion came a sense of peace and contentment.
It was a sweet and long kiss, filled with the emotions of two people exploring the limits of each other for the first time. When their kiss ended he sat back, looking from her lips to her eyes, catching them with his own. He felt protective of her, wanting to warn her against all that is evil in the world. "Danger, Mac. You should run. If you stay... I should never leave your side."
He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking imploringly into her eyes. "But I would have you stay a goodly long while. My life is meagre but, filled with you, I would get to look daily on the finest treasure known to man and, if blessed... be allowed to love her."
_________________
It was a sweet and long kiss, filled with the emotions of two people exploring the limits of each other for the first time. When their kiss ended he sat back, looking from her lips to her eyes, catching them with his own. He felt protective of her, wanting to warn her against all that is evil in the world. "Danger, Mac. You should run. If you stay... I should never leave your side."
He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking imploringly into her eyes. "But I would have you stay a goodly long while. My life is meagre but, filled with you, I would get to look daily on the finest treasure known to man and, if blessed... be allowed to love her."
_________________
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:14 pm
Somewhere between walking into the clearing and now, Mac had made a decision, and it was one she hadn't even been aware of nor was it one she quite understood. Truthfully she wondered if she had even had a say for it seemed her body, the inner pulsating core that was her soul spoke vehemently and with all the power it could muster. It threatened to abandon her should she allow her mind to overrule and back out, and that just simply wouldn't do.
"Danger, Mac. You should run. If you stay... I should never leave your side."
Ahhhh so he felt it too. The powerful tug between their molten inner selves.
She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes studying his intently as her tongue carefully slid over her dry lips. They felt tender and sensitive, not much different than the rest of her body which practically hummed. Run? From Danger? She chuckled softly. He had a lot to learn, but jah-willing he would have plenty of time to do so...
"But I would have you stay a goodly long while. My life is meagre but, filled with you, I would get to look daily on the finest treasure known to man and, if blessed... be allowed to love her."
His words brought a blush to her cheeks and a wonderful sense of belonging and well.... so many new emotions flooded over her she couldn't put a name to them. Wouldn't even attempt or try. Instead she smiled softly, the happiness apparent in her eyes as she leaned forward to gently press her lips against his in a soft kiss, her fingers finding his hand, pulling it from her shoulder to entwine and squeeze softly.
"I've waited me entire life for ye... and I dinna think I even had a choice. Dinna ye feel it? It's as though we were cut from the same pattern, our inner selves entwined and twisted t'gether like two vines that have merged." Her thumb slid across the back of his hand, gently rubbing back and forth. "Julien, nothing would make me happier than if'n ye ne'er left my side."
_________________
"Danger, Mac. You should run. If you stay... I should never leave your side."
Ahhhh so he felt it too. The powerful tug between their molten inner selves.
She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes studying his intently as her tongue carefully slid over her dry lips. They felt tender and sensitive, not much different than the rest of her body which practically hummed. Run? From Danger? She chuckled softly. He had a lot to learn, but jah-willing he would have plenty of time to do so...
"But I would have you stay a goodly long while. My life is meagre but, filled with you, I would get to look daily on the finest treasure known to man and, if blessed... be allowed to love her."
His words brought a blush to her cheeks and a wonderful sense of belonging and well.... so many new emotions flooded over her she couldn't put a name to them. Wouldn't even attempt or try. Instead she smiled softly, the happiness apparent in her eyes as she leaned forward to gently press her lips against his in a soft kiss, her fingers finding his hand, pulling it from her shoulder to entwine and squeeze softly.
"I've waited me entire life for ye... and I dinna think I even had a choice. Dinna ye feel it? It's as though we were cut from the same pattern, our inner selves entwined and twisted t'gether like two vines that have merged." Her thumb slid across the back of his hand, gently rubbing back and forth. "Julien, nothing would make me happier than if'n ye ne'er left my side."
_________________
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:14 pm
Grave looked from the fire, to Hrunting, to the moon high above, to her eyes. The words she said were dangerous. How could one resolve the love for a woman with the love for his goddess? How could one choose between the love for a woman and the love for his brothers and sisters of the Wolves? "I... Will never leave your side, carissima. Even when we are apart my spirit shall watch over you. Although I promise to turn my back when you change clothes."
Grave held her close. He could feel her touch upon his, her strong hand running thumb and fingertips over his own. It was more than just simple skin to skin contact. Through that simple bond her could feel her emotions - her warmth, passion, desire and vulnerability. It was as though the shell she had built around herself as Mayor was stripped away, article by artile and she stood before him unclothed. He could see the vulnerable person that lurked below the surface of all of the strength, the soft fleshy parts hidden beneath that fabric. Her shell was thicker than an eggs, far thicker, but she seemed to be lowering it here tonight. Her words spoke of confidence but her body was telling him a far more rich and complex story - that he could love all the more.
He knew. That revelation shocked him and yet seemed perfectly natural. There are things that one should do in the course of love, and things that one should not. So said the scholars who walked the streets of Reims.
Her hand upon his was imploring, needing. He would put up a shell around the two of them tonight and they could hunch within it, safe from the world and its pressures. Moistening his lips - for they were dry of a sudden - he leant over and kissed her once more. He felt that imploring needing desiring vulnerable reticence once more and bathed in it, feeling it wash him clean. When that kiss was done he rested his head against hers. The wolf was howling at the door. He looked into her eyes. "If you would, my lady, allow me one moment. I will return."
Standing he ran to the river and, as though a man with fire consuming his clothing, leapt in. The cloth and fresh water enfolded him, reaching into his very soul. The cold blast of water awoke him, invigorating. He was not a natural swimmer but it was not so deep here that he had to worry. He did not splash. A simple jump in and then walk out, the water trickling down his back and into his boots. "I love you!" He shouted, loudly his tones light and joyful exploding from his throat until the shakes of laughter consumed him. This was not a nervous laughter, nor that harsh bark of the laugh of wit, but a full bodied joy. He opened his arms to the world once more, but was really only opening them to her. "I love you!" He shouted again.
The wolf, it's fur wetly sticking to its back, slunk away into the night. Grave bid it farewell and looked up the bank once more.
Grave held her close. He could feel her touch upon his, her strong hand running thumb and fingertips over his own. It was more than just simple skin to skin contact. Through that simple bond her could feel her emotions - her warmth, passion, desire and vulnerability. It was as though the shell she had built around herself as Mayor was stripped away, article by artile and she stood before him unclothed. He could see the vulnerable person that lurked below the surface of all of the strength, the soft fleshy parts hidden beneath that fabric. Her shell was thicker than an eggs, far thicker, but she seemed to be lowering it here tonight. Her words spoke of confidence but her body was telling him a far more rich and complex story - that he could love all the more.
He knew. That revelation shocked him and yet seemed perfectly natural. There are things that one should do in the course of love, and things that one should not. So said the scholars who walked the streets of Reims.
Her hand upon his was imploring, needing. He would put up a shell around the two of them tonight and they could hunch within it, safe from the world and its pressures. Moistening his lips - for they were dry of a sudden - he leant over and kissed her once more. He felt that imploring needing desiring vulnerable reticence once more and bathed in it, feeling it wash him clean. When that kiss was done he rested his head against hers. The wolf was howling at the door. He looked into her eyes. "If you would, my lady, allow me one moment. I will return."
Standing he ran to the river and, as though a man with fire consuming his clothing, leapt in. The cloth and fresh water enfolded him, reaching into his very soul. The cold blast of water awoke him, invigorating. He was not a natural swimmer but it was not so deep here that he had to worry. He did not splash. A simple jump in and then walk out, the water trickling down his back and into his boots. "I love you!" He shouted, loudly his tones light and joyful exploding from his throat until the shakes of laughter consumed him. This was not a nervous laughter, nor that harsh bark of the laugh of wit, but a full bodied joy. He opened his arms to the world once more, but was really only opening them to her. "I love you!" He shouted again.
The wolf, it's fur wetly sticking to its back, slunk away into the night. Grave bid it farewell and looked up the bank once more.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:14 pm
She chuckled softly at his gallantry and leaned into his chest, her face so close to his that the heat of his breath whispered over her lips, tantalizing and seductive. "Do ye promise tha' always m'lord? Err would ye sometimes peek?"
Mac felt the world shift when he drew her into his arms. In one long and deep breath the sky, moon and trees blended into one colorful backdrop and there was no longer anything beyond them. Just two people, alone, and finally succumbing to the electrifying draw that towed them together. Their touch, their bodies, their mind, their spirit all merged upon each other, twisting tentacles and vines into one another that she feared would never be returned or released. Ahh but she did not want to be released if it meant losing him. To feel his arms around her forever would be the only thing she asked for in life.
His lips found hers in the darkness and she pressed instinctively against him, needing the reassurance of his touch, the softness of his palm that drew circles upon her heart and bound them together. As their lips parted and he leaned briefly against her, Mac felt the motors of her mind whirl to life. What was she doing? Ahhhh she was living. But he's a wolf.... no he was her heart, her life, her future. He was everything she could ever ask for and then some.
If you would, my lady, allow me one moment. I will return."
His absence left her immediately barren and cold, as though she were stripped of all clothing and stood naked in the night with nothing but the moonlight for cover. Her green eyes followed him closely, watching him disappear into the trees. Mac felt her eyebrows furrow curiously. What was the fool man doing? Had she said something? Nay not that she knew. Standing on unsure legs she followed him, stopping behind the shadow of a tall oak to watch him emerge, dripping from head to toe from the river. Had her touch been so vile that he had to immediately cleanse himself, so much so that he'd jump fully clothed into the river? Her brain would have continued into a tangent had words not burst forth from his mouth, causing her heart to stop and then flutter back into it's lifeline rhthm. Had he said that? Had he really said that what her ears perceived?
"I love you!". The man flung his arms wide as though he were embracing the whole world and Mac caught her breath. The moonlight seemed to beam down through the trees and envelope him into her embrace. Drops of water in his hair glistened as did the sheen on his face and necks. By the goddess he was beautiful! An Adonis to her mind and soul and my how she loved him. She loved him. Her lips silently played the words over and over again before a huge smile lit her face. Aye! She'd loved the man since.... weeel since she'd first met him.
Stepping silently from the shadows, she eyed his broad back, the shoulder muscles, rigid from long hours at the sword straining against the seams of the shirt.She rushed him them. Her legs carrying her quickly and nimbly before launching her body at his chest for a huge hug. She wrapped around him, lips firmly planted against his lips before breaking into a loud voice. "I love you too Sir Julien Icey Grave Delval."
Mac felt the world shift when he drew her into his arms. In one long and deep breath the sky, moon and trees blended into one colorful backdrop and there was no longer anything beyond them. Just two people, alone, and finally succumbing to the electrifying draw that towed them together. Their touch, their bodies, their mind, their spirit all merged upon each other, twisting tentacles and vines into one another that she feared would never be returned or released. Ahh but she did not want to be released if it meant losing him. To feel his arms around her forever would be the only thing she asked for in life.
His lips found hers in the darkness and she pressed instinctively against him, needing the reassurance of his touch, the softness of his palm that drew circles upon her heart and bound them together. As their lips parted and he leaned briefly against her, Mac felt the motors of her mind whirl to life. What was she doing? Ahhhh she was living. But he's a wolf.... no he was her heart, her life, her future. He was everything she could ever ask for and then some.
If you would, my lady, allow me one moment. I will return."
His absence left her immediately barren and cold, as though she were stripped of all clothing and stood naked in the night with nothing but the moonlight for cover. Her green eyes followed him closely, watching him disappear into the trees. Mac felt her eyebrows furrow curiously. What was the fool man doing? Had she said something? Nay not that she knew. Standing on unsure legs she followed him, stopping behind the shadow of a tall oak to watch him emerge, dripping from head to toe from the river. Had her touch been so vile that he had to immediately cleanse himself, so much so that he'd jump fully clothed into the river? Her brain would have continued into a tangent had words not burst forth from his mouth, causing her heart to stop and then flutter back into it's lifeline rhthm. Had he said that? Had he really said that what her ears perceived?
"I love you!". The man flung his arms wide as though he were embracing the whole world and Mac caught her breath. The moonlight seemed to beam down through the trees and envelope him into her embrace. Drops of water in his hair glistened as did the sheen on his face and necks. By the goddess he was beautiful! An Adonis to her mind and soul and my how she loved him. She loved him. Her lips silently played the words over and over again before a huge smile lit her face. Aye! She'd loved the man since.... weeel since she'd first met him.
Stepping silently from the shadows, she eyed his broad back, the shoulder muscles, rigid from long hours at the sword straining against the seams of the shirt.She rushed him them. Her legs carrying her quickly and nimbly before launching her body at his chest for a huge hug. She wrapped around him, lips firmly planted against his lips before breaking into a loud voice. "I love you too Sir Julien Icey Grave Delval."
MackenzieGael- Admin 2
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:14 pm
She was light in his arms as he carried her back up the river bank. The scrub brush along the edge parted for them. He could feel the water dripping from his face and hair, wringing from his clothes into the warm night air. He was soaking her through too but she did not seem to care. The closer they grew to the fire the more wonderful things seemed. Time with her was warm, and passionate, and filled with moments of sheer joy unbounded.
Hugging and kissing her for a long time, he then leant back. Her eyes were glowing with their own inner fire as she took in his face. She seemed to be trying to drink him in, much as he was her. For one brief moment he felt foolish. It was a trick, surely? A trap laid for him with fresh bait? Just as it had been with Desideratist. This woman, as with all women, would try to change him. She wanted him to become good and pure... but looking into her eyes he saw something that he had not encountered in a long time...
Acceptance.
Maybe it was possible. Maybe in this sweet, full figured little Scottish package he had found everything he was looking for. They seemed to fit together like two pieces of a locket many years before torn apart, only now to be reunited here in this meadow. He told her as such, feeling foolish as he spoke those words. His English had become clumsy as his lips were thick with her kisses. His heart blazed and he found it hard to concentrate. Setting her down finally he drew upon all of the strength he could muster. The wine glasses, filled now with whiskey, came unbidden to his hands. Raising the simply crafted piece he tapped it to hers. "To Mackenzie Gael Fraser, the most beautiful woman in this world or the next." And he meant it. Looking up he saw the goddess hanging high in the sky above. That celestial beauty seemed not angry but instead more amused. For was this not what she wanted? For him to live his life with dedication and passion, a fire which too often was bound in too many small moments?
"I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac. I am a poor man, simple in word and deed. I offer to you everything I can give. I will bring you the trees and the birds, the stars and the moon. Tonight all of them are for you and you alone. I would have the music of avian voices play for you, and clothe you in the bright pinpricks of stars with the moon at your throat as a medallion." As he spoke his fingers brushed across the damp clothing of her shirt, touching at wrists and neck. He paused his hand there to feel the pulse beat. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, inhaling the pure soothing lavender of her scent.
Hugging and kissing her for a long time, he then leant back. Her eyes were glowing with their own inner fire as she took in his face. She seemed to be trying to drink him in, much as he was her. For one brief moment he felt foolish. It was a trick, surely? A trap laid for him with fresh bait? Just as it had been with Desideratist. This woman, as with all women, would try to change him. She wanted him to become good and pure... but looking into her eyes he saw something that he had not encountered in a long time...
Acceptance.
Maybe it was possible. Maybe in this sweet, full figured little Scottish package he had found everything he was looking for. They seemed to fit together like two pieces of a locket many years before torn apart, only now to be reunited here in this meadow. He told her as such, feeling foolish as he spoke those words. His English had become clumsy as his lips were thick with her kisses. His heart blazed and he found it hard to concentrate. Setting her down finally he drew upon all of the strength he could muster. The wine glasses, filled now with whiskey, came unbidden to his hands. Raising the simply crafted piece he tapped it to hers. "To Mackenzie Gael Fraser, the most beautiful woman in this world or the next." And he meant it. Looking up he saw the goddess hanging high in the sky above. That celestial beauty seemed not angry but instead more amused. For was this not what she wanted? For him to live his life with dedication and passion, a fire which too often was bound in too many small moments?
"I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac. I am a poor man, simple in word and deed. I offer to you everything I can give. I will bring you the trees and the birds, the stars and the moon. Tonight all of them are for you and you alone. I would have the music of avian voices play for you, and clothe you in the bright pinpricks of stars with the moon at your throat as a medallion." As he spoke his fingers brushed across the damp clothing of her shirt, touching at wrists and neck. He paused his hand there to feel the pulse beat. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, inhaling the pure soothing lavender of her scent.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:15 pm
She was light in his arms as he carried her back up the river bank. The scrub brush along the edge parted for them. He could feel the water dripping from his face and hair, wringing from his clothes into the warm night air. He was soaking her through too but she did not seem to care. The closer they grew to the fire the more wonderful things seemed. Time with her was warm, and passionate, and filled with moments of sheer joy unbounded.
Hugging and kissing her for a long time, he then leant back. Her eyes were glowing with their own inner fire as she took in his face. She seemed to be trying to drink him in, much as he was her. For one brief moment he felt foolish. It was a trick, surely? A trap laid for him with fresh bait? Just as it had been with Desideratist. This woman, as with all women, would try to change him. She wanted him to become good and pure... but looking into her eyes he saw something that he had not encountered in a long time...
Acceptance.
Maybe it was possible. Maybe in this sweet, full figured little Scottish package he had found everything he was looking for. They seemed to fit together like two pieces of a locket many years before torn apart, only now to be reunited here in this meadow. He told her as such, feeling foolish as he spoke those words. His English had become clumsy as his lips were thick with her kisses. His heart blazed and he found it hard to concentrate. Setting her down finally he drew upon all of the strength he could muster. The wine glasses, filled now with whiskey, came unbidden to his hands. Raising the simply crafted piece he tapped it to hers. "To Mackenzie Gael Fraser, the most beautiful woman in this world or the next." And he meant it. Looking up he saw the goddess hanging high in the sky above. That celestial beauty seemed not angry but instead more amused. For was this not what she wanted? For him to live his life with dedication and passion, a fire which too often was bound in too many small moments?
"I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac. I am a poor man, simple in word and deed. I offer to you everything I can give. I will bring you the trees and the birds, the stars and the moon. Tonight all of them are for you and you alone. I would have the music of avian voices play for you, and clothe you in the bright pinpricks of stars with the moon at your throat as a medallion." As he spoke his fingers brushed across the damp clothing of her shirt, touching at wrists and neck. He paused his hand there to feel the pulse beat. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, inhaling the pure soothing lavender of her scent.
Hugging and kissing her for a long time, he then leant back. Her eyes were glowing with their own inner fire as she took in his face. She seemed to be trying to drink him in, much as he was her. For one brief moment he felt foolish. It was a trick, surely? A trap laid for him with fresh bait? Just as it had been with Desideratist. This woman, as with all women, would try to change him. She wanted him to become good and pure... but looking into her eyes he saw something that he had not encountered in a long time...
Acceptance.
Maybe it was possible. Maybe in this sweet, full figured little Scottish package he had found everything he was looking for. They seemed to fit together like two pieces of a locket many years before torn apart, only now to be reunited here in this meadow. He told her as such, feeling foolish as he spoke those words. His English had become clumsy as his lips were thick with her kisses. His heart blazed and he found it hard to concentrate. Setting her down finally he drew upon all of the strength he could muster. The wine glasses, filled now with whiskey, came unbidden to his hands. Raising the simply crafted piece he tapped it to hers. "To Mackenzie Gael Fraser, the most beautiful woman in this world or the next." And he meant it. Looking up he saw the goddess hanging high in the sky above. That celestial beauty seemed not angry but instead more amused. For was this not what she wanted? For him to live his life with dedication and passion, a fire which too often was bound in too many small moments?
"I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac. I am a poor man, simple in word and deed. I offer to you everything I can give. I will bring you the trees and the birds, the stars and the moon. Tonight all of them are for you and you alone. I would have the music of avian voices play for you, and clothe you in the bright pinpricks of stars with the moon at your throat as a medallion." As he spoke his fingers brushed across the damp clothing of her shirt, touching at wrists and neck. He paused his hand there to feel the pulse beat. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, inhaling the pure soothing lavender of her scent.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:16 pm
Mac clamped her lips against the shriek that threatened to erupt when he lifted her from her feet. He'd caught her off guard, innocently, but enough to scare her. It had been years since anyone had carried her, but the emotions that coursed through her body were unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Smiling she studied his profile in the fading light. While riddled with scars, the face underneath was handsome. One she imagined women fawned over at the French court. Now, with the soft sheen of water glistening from his brow he stared intently ahead. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Reaching out with her free hand she brushed a stray strand of damp hair from his eyes. No matter how many women had thrown themselves at his feet. How many he'd notched in his belt. She could feel in his shoulders, in his touch, from the deep glance gaze of his eyes and in the endearing tone of his voice, that he was now hers, just as she was his.
When they finally settled against the log she snuggled into his side, as much for warmth as the need to touch. The night air was crisp but slightly chilled, and when it's long icy fingers caressed her damp clothes, Mac shivered. She glared into the night, as though threatening it to cool her more. The fire was crackling, his body was warm. This was their time! Here! Now! Give us the night Mother! When his voiced reached her, drawing her back to the Earthen plane of existance, Mac smiled softly. "Aye... the locket... weeel... it's as though..." she stopped a moment to gather her thoughts and take a deep breath, "I feel as though I've known ye much longer than this lifetime. Much longer than even these trees around us. Did ye.... do ye nay feel the sparks that jump between us e'ven noo?"
Her fingers sought his hand, to bind them together, to touch. Fingers entwined in his she drew both their hands up to her lips, gently placing a kiss against the knuckles before letting them both fall back to her lap. "I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac..." His words touched her, trailed inside her body and buried into the deep dark places, into the very essence of her soul to take root and flourish. "Grave, you have already given me everything I could ask for." Her eyes sought his in the soft light of the fire. "I seek no material goods nor gifts. I merely ask for ye. For yer love, yer trust, yer companionship." Mac chuckled softly, her mind falling back to his words. "Although... if'n ye can speak w' Mother Nature and procure that dress of stars and moons, I think it would go welll w' ma ehh... complexion no?"
When they finally settled against the log she snuggled into his side, as much for warmth as the need to touch. The night air was crisp but slightly chilled, and when it's long icy fingers caressed her damp clothes, Mac shivered. She glared into the night, as though threatening it to cool her more. The fire was crackling, his body was warm. This was their time! Here! Now! Give us the night Mother! When his voiced reached her, drawing her back to the Earthen plane of existance, Mac smiled softly. "Aye... the locket... weeel... it's as though..." she stopped a moment to gather her thoughts and take a deep breath, "I feel as though I've known ye much longer than this lifetime. Much longer than even these trees around us. Did ye.... do ye nay feel the sparks that jump between us e'ven noo?"
Her fingers sought his hand, to bind them together, to touch. Fingers entwined in his she drew both their hands up to her lips, gently placing a kiss against the knuckles before letting them both fall back to her lap. "I am afraid that I can offer you no gift this evening Mac..." His words touched her, trailed inside her body and buried into the deep dark places, into the very essence of her soul to take root and flourish. "Grave, you have already given me everything I could ask for." Her eyes sought his in the soft light of the fire. "I seek no material goods nor gifts. I merely ask for ye. For yer love, yer trust, yer companionship." Mac chuckled softly, her mind falling back to his words. "Although... if'n ye can speak w' Mother Nature and procure that dress of stars and moons, I think it would go welll w' ma ehh... complexion no?"
MackenzieGael- Admin 2
- Posts : 110
Join date : 2008-08-31
Re: Grave Campsite #1
Admin Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:16 pm
The world seemed to have changed around him. Somehow it all seemed so different. Was it too different? Was this something that he could stand no longer? What was its purpose, it's reason? What was the meaning of love?
He looked into her eyes and realized that he did not care. His world may never be the same again, but had it been all that he wanted it to be in the first place? Certainly he had been happy in those days before The Change, just as he had been happy before becoming Icey Grave, Lord Of Midnight. His name swam before him - Sir Julien Delval.
Her touch upon his brow startled him from his reverie. Her fingers felt hot upon his skin suddenly, as the cold swept through him. Her body was warm and he drew her closer, if such a thing was possible.
"Sparks?" He spoke, rolling the word over in his mouth. This foreign tongue was so much more brutal than that of his homeland. Germanic. Yet at the same time certain lips could shape it to be a thing of beauty. "Sparks, mais oui. But of course. Sparks so much that we should not put wood between us lest it catch alight. I fear for the safety of the town if you should visit Chester." He saw the look in her eyes at his words and kissed her once more to reassure her. Here was one that he would have to be careful with. No brusque woman but one who had a strong exterior and a warm, soft soul inside.
"Although... if'n ye can speak w' Mother Nature and procure that dress of stars and moons, I think it would go welll w' ma ehh... complexion no?"
He could imagine the diamond stars dripping across her skin. From her long curled hair down to the strength of her shoulders, across her back, down over her ribs and navel, dripping down her thighs to her calves and feet... and then he realised this was not all imagination. For though they had spent the night clothed, holding close, the droplets of water that were drying upon her skin gave Mac a halo of jewels that sat upon her skin. It was as beautiful as dew upon grass in the early morning sun. His forefinger traced one of the droplets down her cheek and he laughed. The early morning sun was starting to warm the cold ink of the sky now. The light drew across the velvet once more, covering the firmament and the traveling souls that passed across it.
"Ah, Helios doth return to the sky, forever chasing my Lady but never catching her. He is so fickle and crazy, believing that he could possess one so beautiful as she. For while she rules the night river of souls he is simple and forgotten and alone in the day." He blinked the mirth from his face, and then continued. "It appears that we have talked the whole night through! What will the people of Beeston say when they see you approaching from the direction of my campsite, fair Lady Mayor? Surely jealous Knights aplenty, desperate to run this one simple Wolf through and make of him a kebab. If you wish to go we could ride to the far side of town and part there. I understand if you do not wish to be seen with such as I."
He held his head high, knowing that his teeth were slightly bared.
He looked into her eyes and realized that he did not care. His world may never be the same again, but had it been all that he wanted it to be in the first place? Certainly he had been happy in those days before The Change, just as he had been happy before becoming Icey Grave, Lord Of Midnight. His name swam before him - Sir Julien Delval.
Her touch upon his brow startled him from his reverie. Her fingers felt hot upon his skin suddenly, as the cold swept through him. Her body was warm and he drew her closer, if such a thing was possible.
"Sparks?" He spoke, rolling the word over in his mouth. This foreign tongue was so much more brutal than that of his homeland. Germanic. Yet at the same time certain lips could shape it to be a thing of beauty. "Sparks, mais oui. But of course. Sparks so much that we should not put wood between us lest it catch alight. I fear for the safety of the town if you should visit Chester." He saw the look in her eyes at his words and kissed her once more to reassure her. Here was one that he would have to be careful with. No brusque woman but one who had a strong exterior and a warm, soft soul inside.
"Although... if'n ye can speak w' Mother Nature and procure that dress of stars and moons, I think it would go welll w' ma ehh... complexion no?"
He could imagine the diamond stars dripping across her skin. From her long curled hair down to the strength of her shoulders, across her back, down over her ribs and navel, dripping down her thighs to her calves and feet... and then he realised this was not all imagination. For though they had spent the night clothed, holding close, the droplets of water that were drying upon her skin gave Mac a halo of jewels that sat upon her skin. It was as beautiful as dew upon grass in the early morning sun. His forefinger traced one of the droplets down her cheek and he laughed. The early morning sun was starting to warm the cold ink of the sky now. The light drew across the velvet once more, covering the firmament and the traveling souls that passed across it.
"Ah, Helios doth return to the sky, forever chasing my Lady but never catching her. He is so fickle and crazy, believing that he could possess one so beautiful as she. For while she rules the night river of souls he is simple and forgotten and alone in the day." He blinked the mirth from his face, and then continued. "It appears that we have talked the whole night through! What will the people of Beeston say when they see you approaching from the direction of my campsite, fair Lady Mayor? Surely jealous Knights aplenty, desperate to run this one simple Wolf through and make of him a kebab. If you wish to go we could ride to the far side of town and part there. I understand if you do not wish to be seen with such as I."
He held his head high, knowing that his teeth were slightly bared.
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Re: Grave Campsite #1
MackenzieGael Mon Feb 08, 2010 3:16 pm
His kiss and the touch of his fingers on her skin drowned out the world, leaving her vibrating and alive... oh so alive. She longed to crawl into the circle of his arms and never leave, to live here with him among nature and sleep under the beautiful expanse of stars. Her forehead fell to his shoulder and she sighed deeply. If alas such a think could be wrangled but to do so would mean giving up on those who depended on her. She was mayor, and owed her time and knowledge to the running of Beeston, which admittedly was beginning to really take off and flourish with the devoted help of the towns people. Then there was council... Ohhh Chester council.... ugh! but she was thinking of work! Not here! Not now! Mac think of the man you are leaning against, how solid and warm he feels. How much the depth of his feeling showed in the gentle caress of fingers...
"Ah, Helios doth return to the sky..."
She glanced around quickly, as though confused at the sudden shimmers of light that crept over the land and then turned her face to the morning sun, steadily creeping over the horizon. A deep chuckle vibrated from her chest as a smile turned her lips heavenward and danced exuberantly to her eyes.
"Och aye, it dae appear we've ushered the grian into the sky. 'E an e's bonnie orange tendrils o' hair that s'ream 'owards us." Mac turned her face to him then, her eyes studying his face. "I dinnae think anywan wull be payin' me ony attention nor wud they be wish'n ta run ye through like a spike." She stood then, eyes closing briefly while the blood rushed back into her limbs. She'd been sitting much longer than it seemed and not only were her legs devoid of feeling but so was her bum. Resisting the urge to rub it Mac extended her arm instead, her hand dangling in front of Sir Julien to help him up.
"I say... we tak the long rood, so as we migh' talk a wee bit more."
"Ah, Helios doth return to the sky..."
She glanced around quickly, as though confused at the sudden shimmers of light that crept over the land and then turned her face to the morning sun, steadily creeping over the horizon. A deep chuckle vibrated from her chest as a smile turned her lips heavenward and danced exuberantly to her eyes.
"Och aye, it dae appear we've ushered the grian into the sky. 'E an e's bonnie orange tendrils o' hair that s'ream 'owards us." Mac turned her face to him then, her eyes studying his face. "I dinnae think anywan wull be payin' me ony attention nor wud they be wish'n ta run ye through like a spike." She stood then, eyes closing briefly while the blood rushed back into her limbs. She'd been sitting much longer than it seemed and not only were her legs devoid of feeling but so was her bum. Resisting the urge to rub it Mac extended her arm instead, her hand dangling in front of Sir Julien to help him up.
"I say... we tak the long rood, so as we migh' talk a wee bit more."
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