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Eeeeee! I shall most definitely be looking forward to it! :D Hope you're feeling better! *hugs*
The Formatting Cheatsheet under the post box is also pretty helpful. Though not as indepth as the article NuttsnBolts mentions, it does have the basics.
No worries, I saw your status updates. This can wait until you're able to get to it, I'm in no rush. *hugs*
It didn’t take Herring as long as she’d expected to reach her home and squirrel away her own stash of acorns after leaving the stranger to his ways. Even so, she spared little mind for him as she finished her chores for the evening beyond tilting her head consideringly when he tripped another circle of charms. He was still moving forward, impressively, but sideways too, and if he kept on, he’d miss the forest’s centre, and was reassuringly far away from the thatch-roofed cottage she called home. And he gained a scowl in the direction she’d last known when she felt the wind wind warm around her as she sat in the doorway and used the low light to sew up the hole in her old quilt. Too warm for the forest. Full of stolen heat.
Should have known. Bringing magic here… Of course, the lack of weapons made sense now. She didn’t get as many mages after glory though—like women, they didn’t feel the need to prove themselves, she supposed, or felt they already had power of their own—so she forgave herself for not seeing it right away and bent back to the slightly uneven row of stitches she’d already made. It didn’t matter that they weren’t neat, only that she could pull them tight enough without making kinks to keep the down inside. Never perfect, but she spent effort only insofar as she was required to. When it saved her from having to work harder sooner, she did her best, when it wasn’t likely she’d be saving the quilt much past the next winter, if even, she saw little use in straining her eyes or her fingers in getting everything just right.
Pulling the knot tight and biting the thread to break it, she held the piece up for her own inspection beneath the last of the light, squinting to make out a bunch of nothing and shadows and shrugged to herself. She’d finished, if it was absolutely horrible she’d fix it tomorrow. Or the day after. She had half the summer before the frosts returned. And much else to do, besides. But for now, as dusk slid into dark and the earth trembled beneath the running deer, she listened for the snuffling breaths of its hunters and slid inside, shutting the door softly behind her and forgot, entirely, that anyone else might be hiding from the shadows tonight.
The quilt went back into the trunk at the foot of her bed, which she dropped into without much fuss, and drifted off. Her sleep was heavy, dreamless, dragging down and down until morning drifted close and called her back from the void.
She rolled over, grumbling… and didn’t stir again until soft light crept beneath the door. Prompting her to sit up when she noticed and curse the temptation that kept her from rising with the dawn. It was late. Later than she usually woke up, and there were things…. Chickens! Chickens to feed, a goat to milk, Ibi would be after her behind for the wait, and still all those bloody acorns to gather!
Her preparations were somewhat scrambled then, and she finished her breakfast beside the dairy goat, Ibi, sharing her crust with the petulant creature as she milked her and laughing at a chicken perching itself on her back. But soon enough, water drawn and goat pegged to a different section of ground where she’d find fresh fodder, chickens penned up away from predators—like the owl nesting in her rafters—Herring set out again, empty basket swinging in her hands, and steps a little more animated today, still full of energy.
Until she caught the scent of blood. It lay in the still air, and crept into her conscious like creeper vines, curling around her thoughts until she paused and turned, frowning. Remembering.
Right, moonless nights and forest guests went well together. Poor lad’s rotten luck they’d found his scent. Well, best to make certain it was him. Much as he’d not bothered her thoughts all this time, it would be a solid start to the morning. One trouble gone and dealt with, and barely any effort on her part and not even a full day in Aberlynn. Might have been a record, if there hadn’t been that one fellow slipped crossing a stream, knocked his head and drowned in naught but an inch of water.
Didn’t take long to find him. Ragged and torn, bloody and nothing else made it into her observations as her hazel eyes fell on pale hair and dark skin. Pointy ears. Grey elf. She stepped back in realization. Dark elf… Herring turned her head to spit away the curse of just seeing him. Free hand drifting towards the hilt of her small knife before she paused. Dead elf?
Looked as though the night hunters had been after him. But blood still oozed sluggishly from his wounds, and, as she stared, his chest rose, stuttered with the struggle, and fell. “Well, an’ I seen worse crowbait, though still think she’s turned ‘er eye thisaway for yeh.”
She knew what he was. Understood, now, why he’d been covered head to toe. Stories told her she should leave off and let nature take its course. If he managed to survive the next night—it was always three, when the moon vanished, and he’d only missed the first—she’d be sore impressed. But he’d be that much closer to death and dying and causing no more trouble. Dark elves could drain your strength with a touch. Smiled with teeth sharp enough to slice meat from a child’s bones. Their eyes, she’d heard, glowed in the dark, like a predator. But she’d also been told that they lived in the ground, in caves so far away she’d never have to worry. So, what was one doing here?
And when would she ever get another chance to see one up close without it trying to eat her?
Moving cautiously, unable to ignore temptation now she’d had the notion, Herring set her basket down and unsheathed her knife to have it sooner to hand. Wounded beasts were the most likely to bite.
She stepped closer, following the flow of silver hair past his face. Watching his hands, his closed eyes, flickering… Wary, as she finally stood over him and looked down. Didn’t look like much from this angle. Nightshades would have him for sure.
Should have known. Bringing magic here… Of course, the lack of weapons made sense now. She didn’t get as many mages after glory though—like women, they didn’t feel the need to prove themselves, she supposed, or felt they already had power of their own—so she forgave herself for not seeing it right away and bent back to the slightly uneven row of stitches she’d already made. It didn’t matter that they weren’t neat, only that she could pull them tight enough without making kinks to keep the down inside. Never perfect, but she spent effort only insofar as she was required to. When it saved her from having to work harder sooner, she did her best, when it wasn’t likely she’d be saving the quilt much past the next winter, if even, she saw little use in straining her eyes or her fingers in getting everything just right.
Pulling the knot tight and biting the thread to break it, she held the piece up for her own inspection beneath the last of the light, squinting to make out a bunch of nothing and shadows and shrugged to herself. She’d finished, if it was absolutely horrible she’d fix it tomorrow. Or the day after. She had half the summer before the frosts returned. And much else to do, besides. But for now, as dusk slid into dark and the earth trembled beneath the running deer, she listened for the snuffling breaths of its hunters and slid inside, shutting the door softly behind her and forgot, entirely, that anyone else might be hiding from the shadows tonight.
The quilt went back into the trunk at the foot of her bed, which she dropped into without much fuss, and drifted off. Her sleep was heavy, dreamless, dragging down and down until morning drifted close and called her back from the void.
She rolled over, grumbling… and didn’t stir again until soft light crept beneath the door. Prompting her to sit up when she noticed and curse the temptation that kept her from rising with the dawn. It was late. Later than she usually woke up, and there were things…. Chickens! Chickens to feed, a goat to milk, Ibi would be after her behind for the wait, and still all those bloody acorns to gather!
Her preparations were somewhat scrambled then, and she finished her breakfast beside the dairy goat, Ibi, sharing her crust with the petulant creature as she milked her and laughing at a chicken perching itself on her back. But soon enough, water drawn and goat pegged to a different section of ground where she’d find fresh fodder, chickens penned up away from predators—like the owl nesting in her rafters—Herring set out again, empty basket swinging in her hands, and steps a little more animated today, still full of energy.
Until she caught the scent of blood. It lay in the still air, and crept into her conscious like creeper vines, curling around her thoughts until she paused and turned, frowning. Remembering.
Right, moonless nights and forest guests went well together. Poor lad’s rotten luck they’d found his scent. Well, best to make certain it was him. Much as he’d not bothered her thoughts all this time, it would be a solid start to the morning. One trouble gone and dealt with, and barely any effort on her part and not even a full day in Aberlynn. Might have been a record, if there hadn’t been that one fellow slipped crossing a stream, knocked his head and drowned in naught but an inch of water.
Didn’t take long to find him. Ragged and torn, bloody and nothing else made it into her observations as her hazel eyes fell on pale hair and dark skin. Pointy ears. Grey elf. She stepped back in realization. Dark elf… Herring turned her head to spit away the curse of just seeing him. Free hand drifting towards the hilt of her small knife before she paused. Dead elf?
Looked as though the night hunters had been after him. But blood still oozed sluggishly from his wounds, and, as she stared, his chest rose, stuttered with the struggle, and fell. “Well, an’ I seen worse crowbait, though still think she’s turned ‘er eye thisaway for yeh.”
She knew what he was. Understood, now, why he’d been covered head to toe. Stories told her she should leave off and let nature take its course. If he managed to survive the next night—it was always three, when the moon vanished, and he’d only missed the first—she’d be sore impressed. But he’d be that much closer to death and dying and causing no more trouble. Dark elves could drain your strength with a touch. Smiled with teeth sharp enough to slice meat from a child’s bones. Their eyes, she’d heard, glowed in the dark, like a predator. But she’d also been told that they lived in the ground, in caves so far away she’d never have to worry. So, what was one doing here?
And when would she ever get another chance to see one up close without it trying to eat her?
Moving cautiously, unable to ignore temptation now she’d had the notion, Herring set her basket down and unsheathed her knife to have it sooner to hand. Wounded beasts were the most likely to bite.
She stepped closer, following the flow of silver hair past his face. Watching his hands, his closed eyes, flickering… Wary, as she finally stood over him and looked down. Didn’t look like much from this angle. Nightshades would have him for sure.
Heehee, awesomesauce!
If you need anything from me, lemme know.
If you need anything from me, lemme know.
Well, and ‘e sure ‘as some fancy words, doan ‘e?
He didn’t, really, but while he had difficulty with her accent, so she had some with his word choice. Not much, if she was being truly honest. It was more that Herring never considered any sentence starting or finishing with an accusatory you wouldn’t know, or anything with similar intent, deserving of a proper listening ear. Wasn’t any reason to hear a stranger imagining they knew anything at all about her, was there now?
Granted, most of this fellow’s assumptions were true. She’d never been strung up or beaten, had never been told she was vile or worthless—the very idea had her tilting her head again—she didn’t know what it was like to live his life anymore than he could know hers. Didn’t change the fact that he was pretending he did. It left her standing with her free hand on her hip, head still angled back and to the side in a manner that suggested confidence while her still narrowed eyes allowed for a hint of uncertainty. She didn’t have a plan for strangers who weren’t lost or here for glory. One you led out of the trees, and the rest you left to follow their destinies to an early grave or a new life. She didn’t deal with strangers, and she hadn’t the faintest clue how to treat his outburst.
Was she supposed to know how to respond to that?
Did he mean her to feel sorry for him? Because he was still walking where he wasn’t wanted, no matter what set his boots in this direction. She might have gotten angry in turn, traded outburst for outburst, but a quick puff of air to get the hair out of her face reminded her that she was tired and didn’t care. He was letting out steam like a kettle reaching boiling point, probably didn’t have a thing to do with her and if she only waited him out… there, see? The man cut himself off conspicuously, making no effort to apologise or explain himself.
Either way, she was only glad he’d stopped and didn’t seem to want her to pay it any attention. So, she pretended like he’d held his tongue properly the whole while, and even ignored the way his hands went to his wrists. Memory or recent affectation, she wasn’t going to care. He had his problems and she had hers, and unfortunately for him, he was hers.
And whatever he thought about her just now, reasonable assumptions aside, she didn’t feel the slightest sense of concern over his life up until now. Why should she? So, when he jumped back to the idea of a dragon, Herring continued staring at him.
Bringing her basket to the front so she could hold it there with both hands, and taking advantage of the height their respective positions afforded her, she made it clear she wasn’t just physically looking down on him. Making demands no please or thank you like that… her laugh, when it came, arrived after a suitably lengthy pause to make sure it was obviously mocking. And she leaned forward over the acorns ever so slightly, using what he gave her to make her message clear. If the rest of the world didn’t want him, she saw no reason to act any differently. She wasn’t going to beat him, but she wasn’t just going to do what he wanted, either. And it wasn’t just because there wasn’t any dragon.
“What makes ye think I’ve any knowin’ on where that beastie kips? Better for us both I show ye th’hole y’ought t’crawl int’ like a proper rabbit so’s isnit any trouble whate’er it be ye brung t’th’forest.” She didn’t like biding by doing as she was told. And she saw no reason to play nice now. If he was only here to hide from the rest of the world, then he could find himself some other hole and hide there. She wasn’t looking for company.
“Doan need a monster lettin’ loose round ‘ere, do I? Isnit any a one needin’ that.” Straightening up, Herring sniffed and turned away to leave him to it, whatever it might be, since he apparently wanted to join the vaunted ranks of dead heroes. She didn’t need to waste more time on him, and wasn’t about to explain that he was barking up the wrong tree looking for dragons here. There wasn’t enough light left to go back to work, but she had other chores to finish up before heading to bed.
So, off she went, muttering to herself. “Waste a time an’ good mem’ries, all these ‘ere fools. Right plague a’them.”
He didn’t, really, but while he had difficulty with her accent, so she had some with his word choice. Not much, if she was being truly honest. It was more that Herring never considered any sentence starting or finishing with an accusatory you wouldn’t know, or anything with similar intent, deserving of a proper listening ear. Wasn’t any reason to hear a stranger imagining they knew anything at all about her, was there now?
Granted, most of this fellow’s assumptions were true. She’d never been strung up or beaten, had never been told she was vile or worthless—the very idea had her tilting her head again—she didn’t know what it was like to live his life anymore than he could know hers. Didn’t change the fact that he was pretending he did. It left her standing with her free hand on her hip, head still angled back and to the side in a manner that suggested confidence while her still narrowed eyes allowed for a hint of uncertainty. She didn’t have a plan for strangers who weren’t lost or here for glory. One you led out of the trees, and the rest you left to follow their destinies to an early grave or a new life. She didn’t deal with strangers, and she hadn’t the faintest clue how to treat his outburst.
Was she supposed to know how to respond to that?
Did he mean her to feel sorry for him? Because he was still walking where he wasn’t wanted, no matter what set his boots in this direction. She might have gotten angry in turn, traded outburst for outburst, but a quick puff of air to get the hair out of her face reminded her that she was tired and didn’t care. He was letting out steam like a kettle reaching boiling point, probably didn’t have a thing to do with her and if she only waited him out… there, see? The man cut himself off conspicuously, making no effort to apologise or explain himself.
Either way, she was only glad he’d stopped and didn’t seem to want her to pay it any attention. So, she pretended like he’d held his tongue properly the whole while, and even ignored the way his hands went to his wrists. Memory or recent affectation, she wasn’t going to care. He had his problems and she had hers, and unfortunately for him, he was hers.
And whatever he thought about her just now, reasonable assumptions aside, she didn’t feel the slightest sense of concern over his life up until now. Why should she? So, when he jumped back to the idea of a dragon, Herring continued staring at him.
Bringing her basket to the front so she could hold it there with both hands, and taking advantage of the height their respective positions afforded her, she made it clear she wasn’t just physically looking down on him. Making demands no please or thank you like that… her laugh, when it came, arrived after a suitably lengthy pause to make sure it was obviously mocking. And she leaned forward over the acorns ever so slightly, using what he gave her to make her message clear. If the rest of the world didn’t want him, she saw no reason to act any differently. She wasn’t going to beat him, but she wasn’t just going to do what he wanted, either. And it wasn’t just because there wasn’t any dragon.
“What makes ye think I’ve any knowin’ on where that beastie kips? Better for us both I show ye th’hole y’ought t’crawl int’ like a proper rabbit so’s isnit any trouble whate’er it be ye brung t’th’forest.” She didn’t like biding by doing as she was told. And she saw no reason to play nice now. If he was only here to hide from the rest of the world, then he could find himself some other hole and hide there. She wasn’t looking for company.
“Doan need a monster lettin’ loose round ‘ere, do I? Isnit any a one needin’ that.” Straightening up, Herring sniffed and turned away to leave him to it, whatever it might be, since he apparently wanted to join the vaunted ranks of dead heroes. She didn’t need to waste more time on him, and wasn’t about to explain that he was barking up the wrong tree looking for dragons here. There wasn’t enough light left to go back to work, but she had other chores to finish up before heading to bed.
So, off she went, muttering to herself. “Waste a time an’ good mem’ries, all these ‘ere fools. Right plague a’them.”
The lights went out.
In the dark instant that followed, a shout rose from below. Panicked and shaken, breaking the evening’s casual relaxation as surely as the thump and rattle of a body flinging itself against a door. Between sobbing breaths, faces poked around corners and over couches, as the Morgans each turned surprise and trepidation towards the guest room where the stranger they’d offered a night’s shelter was kicking up such a fuss. “Hey, hey, woah now, it’s only the power’s out, be back on soon’s be, reckon. Easy there, fella.” Three children stared, wide-eyed, as their father reached for the door handle and paused only briefly at the heavy crash behind it.
When he and his wife rushed into the room, they found the kid’s bag left behind, and a broken window. The only thing missing was a china figurine from the mantel, but they found it two days later on the porch. Along with an apologetic note. They didn’t see him again.
Thunk!
Brakes screamed shrill protest as the woman’s leg locked straight in panic spurred adrenaline. The truck wobbled, back end drifting, but came to a stop still more or less parallel to the road. Swearing, she looked in the mirror for the deer that had run out in front of her, knowing without wanting to admit it that the hit had been too solid to leave it standing. Wishing they weren’t so fast, wondering where in all hell it had jumped out from. What had it leaping into her way when it could have gone the other and lived?
The shadowy silhouette that slipped up out of the ditch as she finally saw the deer in her rearview mirror was large and eerie in the sudden quiet. Witchfire glow lighting up its eyes as it glanced her way a long moment before turning to the dying deer and dragging it, in a series of sharp tugs, back into the shadows where her lights couldn’t reach.
A wolf? So near the city? More likely a big dog, with surprisingly good timing…. Without really thinking, the woman rolled up her windows before she set off again, and she couldn’t help looking back more than once, but the creature must have hauled the carcass into the ditch by then, out of sight and in the shadows. She’d have to ask someone if wolves often came this way.
Old Abe, from up the way, swore he saw some varmint sneaking about near his goat shed, setting the flock into fussing. But when he went and grabbed his gun, wasn’t hide nor hair of it, not a single thing but a footprint. Darndest thing though: looked human. Musta been a bear.
Old man’s eyes aren’t what they used to be.
The beautiful day ahead had turned into stormy skies and angry rumbles. He’d known it was coming. He’d smelled the rain on the wind, felt the tension rising. But he’d thought he’d have more time to find some shelter. Trouble was, he didn’t know the area. Hadn’t known where he was almost from the start. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d crossed the border yet or was still in Canada. It wasn’t like territories were only a human concept, but rocks and plants definitely didn’t care either way, and he’d mostly been avoiding roads. They’d made walking easier, but they weren’t exactly the safest places when cars came barrelling out of nowhere.
Another few seconds, and that deer he’d been chasing might have gotten off home free, and he’d be the one lying there…
At the time, Addison hadn’t thought about it. He’d been too busy making the most of a good opportunity. Filling his empty stomach. It was only later, replete and satisfied, that his mind had flashed back to that split second’s hesitation and fear he’d felt. To the broken deer, the truck’s taillights flashing bright and swaying as the driver straightened out and kept going after a long, long pause. That could have been him. And even if it wasn’t, a smaller car, or a less experienced driver… Someone else might have died. And it would have been his fault. He didn’t need to risk his own or anyone else’s life more than he already did for a meal. Even if it was probably the only way he’d catch a meal. Better to wash dishes, if it came to that.
Only, that meant following roads again. Well, country roads had less traffic, and slower, usually. So, after a while, he’d found himself another one. Not quite a dirt track, but it hardly looked like it had two lanes, let alone enough to be a highway, and there were plenty of turn-offs here, down long driveways. Dogs had been barking at him from just about every second house for the last two hours. But he’d politely ignored them and kept on. And now, here he was, drenched within seconds by the downpour, daylight suddenly dark as twilight, no public roof in sight, every barn guarded by dogs, and him too shy to go knocking on doors again after the last time.
The memory still made him flush warmly, so, asking for shelter was out as an option. But, before he gave up entirely, Addison decided to give hitchhiking a go. Might get him somewhere he could stay, and let him keep going for a bit, too. Not to mention, if he could ask someone where the hell he was, that would be great. Just as long as the map in his bag, which was currently dribbling a steady stream of somehow colder than the rain rainwater down his back, was still legible. Because otherwise, yeah, he was lost. Not a horrible thing. Wasn’t like he’d been going anywhere to start with, but he was thinking that maybe he should start thinking about that. About having a destination, because sooner or later, he’d hit ocean, and then what? Couldn’t swim that.
Without a goal, there wasn’t much point in moving forward, after a certain point, and he didn’t know what he was looking for. Made him restless, even though he’d been on the move almost every day for the past month.
So, making a miserable picture on the side of the road, sodden, hunched against the wind, dark hair slicked to his head and dripping into his eyes, shorts doing absolutely nothing to keep out the chill, Addison kept on. One soggy shoe in front of the other, hand out whenever he saw light flashing off the water on the road. Three cars in slow succession went on past… One, considerately, went wide so as not to splash him. The thought was nice, but the effort pointless, he was already as wet as you could get. With the light rapidly fading despite it being only mid-afternoon, Addison figured that the rate of traffic might give him two, maybe three more chances before he’d need to ditch the road and risk a dogfight to get out of the rain. He was already shivering. It was friggin’ cold.
In the dark instant that followed, a shout rose from below. Panicked and shaken, breaking the evening’s casual relaxation as surely as the thump and rattle of a body flinging itself against a door. Between sobbing breaths, faces poked around corners and over couches, as the Morgans each turned surprise and trepidation towards the guest room where the stranger they’d offered a night’s shelter was kicking up such a fuss. “Hey, hey, woah now, it’s only the power’s out, be back on soon’s be, reckon. Easy there, fella.” Three children stared, wide-eyed, as their father reached for the door handle and paused only briefly at the heavy crash behind it.
When he and his wife rushed into the room, they found the kid’s bag left behind, and a broken window. The only thing missing was a china figurine from the mantel, but they found it two days later on the porch. Along with an apologetic note. They didn’t see him again.
***
Thunk!
Brakes screamed shrill protest as the woman’s leg locked straight in panic spurred adrenaline. The truck wobbled, back end drifting, but came to a stop still more or less parallel to the road. Swearing, she looked in the mirror for the deer that had run out in front of her, knowing without wanting to admit it that the hit had been too solid to leave it standing. Wishing they weren’t so fast, wondering where in all hell it had jumped out from. What had it leaping into her way when it could have gone the other and lived?
The shadowy silhouette that slipped up out of the ditch as she finally saw the deer in her rearview mirror was large and eerie in the sudden quiet. Witchfire glow lighting up its eyes as it glanced her way a long moment before turning to the dying deer and dragging it, in a series of sharp tugs, back into the shadows where her lights couldn’t reach.
A wolf? So near the city? More likely a big dog, with surprisingly good timing…. Without really thinking, the woman rolled up her windows before she set off again, and she couldn’t help looking back more than once, but the creature must have hauled the carcass into the ditch by then, out of sight and in the shadows. She’d have to ask someone if wolves often came this way.
***
Old Abe, from up the way, swore he saw some varmint sneaking about near his goat shed, setting the flock into fussing. But when he went and grabbed his gun, wasn’t hide nor hair of it, not a single thing but a footprint. Darndest thing though: looked human. Musta been a bear.
Old man’s eyes aren’t what they used to be.
***
The beautiful day ahead had turned into stormy skies and angry rumbles. He’d known it was coming. He’d smelled the rain on the wind, felt the tension rising. But he’d thought he’d have more time to find some shelter. Trouble was, he didn’t know the area. Hadn’t known where he was almost from the start. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d crossed the border yet or was still in Canada. It wasn’t like territories were only a human concept, but rocks and plants definitely didn’t care either way, and he’d mostly been avoiding roads. They’d made walking easier, but they weren’t exactly the safest places when cars came barrelling out of nowhere.
Another few seconds, and that deer he’d been chasing might have gotten off home free, and he’d be the one lying there…
At the time, Addison hadn’t thought about it. He’d been too busy making the most of a good opportunity. Filling his empty stomach. It was only later, replete and satisfied, that his mind had flashed back to that split second’s hesitation and fear he’d felt. To the broken deer, the truck’s taillights flashing bright and swaying as the driver straightened out and kept going after a long, long pause. That could have been him. And even if it wasn’t, a smaller car, or a less experienced driver… Someone else might have died. And it would have been his fault. He didn’t need to risk his own or anyone else’s life more than he already did for a meal. Even if it was probably the only way he’d catch a meal. Better to wash dishes, if it came to that.
Only, that meant following roads again. Well, country roads had less traffic, and slower, usually. So, after a while, he’d found himself another one. Not quite a dirt track, but it hardly looked like it had two lanes, let alone enough to be a highway, and there were plenty of turn-offs here, down long driveways. Dogs had been barking at him from just about every second house for the last two hours. But he’d politely ignored them and kept on. And now, here he was, drenched within seconds by the downpour, daylight suddenly dark as twilight, no public roof in sight, every barn guarded by dogs, and him too shy to go knocking on doors again after the last time.
The memory still made him flush warmly, so, asking for shelter was out as an option. But, before he gave up entirely, Addison decided to give hitchhiking a go. Might get him somewhere he could stay, and let him keep going for a bit, too. Not to mention, if he could ask someone where the hell he was, that would be great. Just as long as the map in his bag, which was currently dribbling a steady stream of somehow colder than the rain rainwater down his back, was still legible. Because otherwise, yeah, he was lost. Not a horrible thing. Wasn’t like he’d been going anywhere to start with, but he was thinking that maybe he should start thinking about that. About having a destination, because sooner or later, he’d hit ocean, and then what? Couldn’t swim that.
Without a goal, there wasn’t much point in moving forward, after a certain point, and he didn’t know what he was looking for. Made him restless, even though he’d been on the move almost every day for the past month.
So, making a miserable picture on the side of the road, sodden, hunched against the wind, dark hair slicked to his head and dripping into his eyes, shorts doing absolutely nothing to keep out the chill, Addison kept on. One soggy shoe in front of the other, hand out whenever he saw light flashing off the water on the road. Three cars in slow succession went on past… One, considerately, went wide so as not to splash him. The thought was nice, but the effort pointless, he was already as wet as you could get. With the light rapidly fading despite it being only mid-afternoon, Addison figured that the rate of traffic might give him two, maybe three more chances before he’d need to ditch the road and risk a dogfight to get out of the rain. He was already shivering. It was friggin’ cold.
I've written stuff, oh so impressive of me. lol
Glad you like! And now, to sleep with me! And you, maybe, yes...
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