01-15-2019, 12:22 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"]Ink drawn across the page, sweep of it touching the surface of alabaster leaving within its wake something new, beginnings drawn within the stark contrast of lines written upon surface.
He knew well the journey such could take one upon, the joy caught within the heart as it beat upon the cage of the ribs, wondrous the tempo as it sped up, enjoyment cast about the curve of a smile. Clear his father's voice, warmth where they joined, fur so alike mingling into one, his small paws batting at the surface of the book as on the story continued. Fantastical had been some, snippets contained in the darkness of blanket thrown about them, hidden from prying eyes, yet discussion had come from others, clear the workings of the mind though young had he been. Enjoyment was found in debate, exploring the world and the things within, but he found those nights when the story was nothing more then that the best.
The skill he bore for such was great, more so then one may expect for one at the stage of life he was within, spanning not the language that settled upon his tongue and was shared by many but another. Germanic words lingered on the edge of his thoughts, suspended there on the broken lines, swirling within. Clear his feeling for such, the crease of brow over eyes once bright now grown dark, stormy the amber irises cast upon the concrete. Minimal his knowledge with such, tongue tripping over each word, mind never able to truly grasp each before it was slipping away as though it was nothing more then sand.
Sound all around, the chatter of others and the sound of their steps as they continued on their path, designated for tasks were set before them unlike Keyne, finding reason for their wandering. Yet beneath it was an odd one, rolling sound arising in a burst, that more suited to the vocal cords of a bird, disorienting to hear it well practised and precise though the tone was different, all too deep for an avian to produce. Attention shifted until it found the two, familiar in a way an acquaintance passed on the street proved to be, nagging thought raising trying to draw forth their names. Yet hazy was it all, his head fuzzy within the wake of a growing sickness, sniffle making such clear as his steps turned.
Words found perch upon his tongue yet never arose, gaze flicking up and down, moving from the lion who held the book to the subject of his interest, worn and well loved, tended to though time had left a mark upon it, finally his attention settling upon it fully. Difficult was it to tell what the words were from such a place, head twisting so the upside down words may make some more sense but there was no hope of such, rather he crept a little closer, never enough contact was made, tilting his chin up once more to look towards Orpheus. “What's it about.”
He knew well the journey such could take one upon, the joy caught within the heart as it beat upon the cage of the ribs, wondrous the tempo as it sped up, enjoyment cast about the curve of a smile. Clear his father's voice, warmth where they joined, fur so alike mingling into one, his small paws batting at the surface of the book as on the story continued. Fantastical had been some, snippets contained in the darkness of blanket thrown about them, hidden from prying eyes, yet discussion had come from others, clear the workings of the mind though young had he been. Enjoyment was found in debate, exploring the world and the things within, but he found those nights when the story was nothing more then that the best.
The skill he bore for such was great, more so then one may expect for one at the stage of life he was within, spanning not the language that settled upon his tongue and was shared by many but another. Germanic words lingered on the edge of his thoughts, suspended there on the broken lines, swirling within. Clear his feeling for such, the crease of brow over eyes once bright now grown dark, stormy the amber irises cast upon the concrete. Minimal his knowledge with such, tongue tripping over each word, mind never able to truly grasp each before it was slipping away as though it was nothing more then sand.
Sound all around, the chatter of others and the sound of their steps as they continued on their path, designated for tasks were set before them unlike Keyne, finding reason for their wandering. Yet beneath it was an odd one, rolling sound arising in a burst, that more suited to the vocal cords of a bird, disorienting to hear it well practised and precise though the tone was different, all too deep for an avian to produce. Attention shifted until it found the two, familiar in a way an acquaintance passed on the street proved to be, nagging thought raising trying to draw forth their names. Yet hazy was it all, his head fuzzy within the wake of a growing sickness, sniffle making such clear as his steps turned.
Words found perch upon his tongue yet never arose, gaze flicking up and down, moving from the lion who held the book to the subject of his interest, worn and well loved, tended to though time had left a mark upon it, finally his attention settling upon it fully. Difficult was it to tell what the words were from such a place, head twisting so the upside down words may make some more sense but there was no hope of such, rather he crept a little closer, never enough contact was made, tilting his chin up once more to look towards Orpheus. “What's it about.”