[Original] For Services Rendered.
Feb. 19th, 2006 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreI'm writing, really I am. Just not making it public, that's all. :P
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She dreamt of a lion on a field of blue, glaring fiercely with topaz eyes, lined in sharp relief with golden thread. Rank upon rank stretched out behind, every line perfectly, painfully straight, and there were shining faces among them. One in each flank, each front line, and the others bearing the standards. The sun had set into a fiery horizon of frothing clouds, and when the last of its light disappeared, the field was struck with a wind from the east.
The standard leapt, and the lion roared. Light pierced her eyes, and when she opened them it was the cat purring loudly in her ear, perched precariously between her shoulder and the abandoned pillow beside her. His whiskers tickled her ear.
The day was too bright to be early morning any longer. "Come on, up," she murmured. The cat shifted and she threw the cover back to sit up, working her feet on the worn matting, kicking away an empty earthenware jug. Her head felt stuffed with wool, and maybe she would have been better off with that. When she convinced herself it would be worthwhile to get up and go to the kitchen - that is, when her stomach panged and let her know how long it had been since her last meal - she shuffled into the other room.
It was there, on the table where she'd left it the night before. She walked past it and tried not to see, turning her eyes instead to the bare shelves of the pantry, where she found a sack of rice and not much else. The pan wasn't clean, but it'd only held rice before, too, as far as she remembered. She poured the rice in, pumped the water in, and set it on the stove.
When she turned around it was still there, and the cat had jumped onto the table to sniff at it. She shooed him away and picked it up.
It wasn't even really theirs; just the king's signet ring, for the king's messenger, so they might not put an arrow through his heart the moment of his arrival. A wonderful ring it was, real gold, with a miniature engraving, with a comforting weight. It would bring her money for a time, they'd said, now that her husband could not.
She was grateful when the widow from next door came knocking for a cup of flour. She might have stared all day at the ring and forgotten to light the fire for her rice.
- - - - -
Word: gratitude
Time: ~15 minutes, didn't quite keep track.
- - - - -
She dreamt of a lion on a field of blue, glaring fiercely with topaz eyes, lined in sharp relief with golden thread. Rank upon rank stretched out behind, every line perfectly, painfully straight, and there were shining faces among them. One in each flank, each front line, and the others bearing the standards. The sun had set into a fiery horizon of frothing clouds, and when the last of its light disappeared, the field was struck with a wind from the east.
The standard leapt, and the lion roared. Light pierced her eyes, and when she opened them it was the cat purring loudly in her ear, perched precariously between her shoulder and the abandoned pillow beside her. His whiskers tickled her ear.
The day was too bright to be early morning any longer. "Come on, up," she murmured. The cat shifted and she threw the cover back to sit up, working her feet on the worn matting, kicking away an empty earthenware jug. Her head felt stuffed with wool, and maybe she would have been better off with that. When she convinced herself it would be worthwhile to get up and go to the kitchen - that is, when her stomach panged and let her know how long it had been since her last meal - she shuffled into the other room.
It was there, on the table where she'd left it the night before. She walked past it and tried not to see, turning her eyes instead to the bare shelves of the pantry, where she found a sack of rice and not much else. The pan wasn't clean, but it'd only held rice before, too, as far as she remembered. She poured the rice in, pumped the water in, and set it on the stove.
When she turned around it was still there, and the cat had jumped onto the table to sniff at it. She shooed him away and picked it up.
It wasn't even really theirs; just the king's signet ring, for the king's messenger, so they might not put an arrow through his heart the moment of his arrival. A wonderful ring it was, real gold, with a miniature engraving, with a comforting weight. It would bring her money for a time, they'd said, now that her husband could not.
She was grateful when the widow from next door came knocking for a cup of flour. She might have stared all day at the ring and forgotten to light the fire for her rice.
- - - - -
Word: gratitude
Time: ~15 minutes, didn't quite keep track.