03-02-2021, 12:54 AM
[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; width: 310px; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Indeed, dreams are of a rather particular nature and elusive in regards to proper definition. Misunderstood and retooled, given meaning only to be striped of it, an assortment crafted from different means. Few, and far rather between, the ones that lasted upon his own rousing, often burned against the back of his eyes those of a more dark nature. Nightmares. Their cause and purpose was equally unknown, his strange, a mixture that drew from memory and imagination. Accustomed had he grown, knew fear as it clogged his throat and allowed tears to fall silent when he woke, understood in his own way.
Restless had he been that night, no dreams, of either nature, keeping him from restful sleep. This, too, he was used to, used those nights on more productive tasks. None caught his attention, however, and so whittled away the hours in silent contemplation. Discarded this with movement, concealed poorly, a child more prone to overthinking their skill. Only in part this time, few the quiet creaks of old boards, claws light in their tap against. His gaze slowly moved, looked to one of the numerous windows about the sleeping area. Often shuttered the work was, at times, lax and varying portions of the windows were left exposed. Meagre that left open though it was enough to gauge that the morning was still distant, unbroken the darkness.
For a moment Harland pondered simply staying where he was, warm beneath his blankets, but the desire to follow was difficult to nullify. Won over by curiosity he was, nonetheless, reluctant to follow, longing in a glance he cast back before descending. Brief his assessment of the lower floor, empty and silent, the hour too early even for those that handled early preparations. Given no reason to stay within the building for any further time behind left the tavern, door falling shut with a quiet click. Deep his first breath, cold without the sun.
Momentary his pause before he began to walk, directionless and without a destination in mind. Often such was his preference, the intrigue of the unknown tantalising, too many the possibilities. Of course rare his expectations were met, never tempered even with such, disappointment far from his mind. Different this sleepless wandering, quiet the weakened voices, a conversation that proved unhurried. Similar his approach, path diverging, cobble falling away to be reached by sand.
Familiar, and rather well liked, both come across, mild his note of the frantic manner Danny spoke in for a moment. The sudden fall, his soft question stolen away, stranger than his sudden outburst, closer drawn the bombay for he wished to know what may cause such sudden shift in the normally mellow youth. Lacking his question as basis his eyes were instead followed, the cause seemingly the necklace Diya wore, an adornment he carried as well. Unconscious the rise, paw grazing shaped shard. All that remained the moon cradling a star, his beads repurposed, her own in place.
"They're from our home, from before." A guess thrown out, basic his explanation. How might he put into words all the seemingly simple trinkets encompassed, the connection it once established between so many, gone now with theirs hanging from the branches of an oak tree. To Diya did Harland turn, similar his own wait for an answer, hope in golden depths she may know the correct words to convey what he could not.
Restless had he been that night, no dreams, of either nature, keeping him from restful sleep. This, too, he was used to, used those nights on more productive tasks. None caught his attention, however, and so whittled away the hours in silent contemplation. Discarded this with movement, concealed poorly, a child more prone to overthinking their skill. Only in part this time, few the quiet creaks of old boards, claws light in their tap against. His gaze slowly moved, looked to one of the numerous windows about the sleeping area. Often shuttered the work was, at times, lax and varying portions of the windows were left exposed. Meagre that left open though it was enough to gauge that the morning was still distant, unbroken the darkness.
For a moment Harland pondered simply staying where he was, warm beneath his blankets, but the desire to follow was difficult to nullify. Won over by curiosity he was, nonetheless, reluctant to follow, longing in a glance he cast back before descending. Brief his assessment of the lower floor, empty and silent, the hour too early even for those that handled early preparations. Given no reason to stay within the building for any further time behind left the tavern, door falling shut with a quiet click. Deep his first breath, cold without the sun.
Momentary his pause before he began to walk, directionless and without a destination in mind. Often such was his preference, the intrigue of the unknown tantalising, too many the possibilities. Of course rare his expectations were met, never tempered even with such, disappointment far from his mind. Different this sleepless wandering, quiet the weakened voices, a conversation that proved unhurried. Similar his approach, path diverging, cobble falling away to be reached by sand.
Familiar, and rather well liked, both come across, mild his note of the frantic manner Danny spoke in for a moment. The sudden fall, his soft question stolen away, stranger than his sudden outburst, closer drawn the bombay for he wished to know what may cause such sudden shift in the normally mellow youth. Lacking his question as basis his eyes were instead followed, the cause seemingly the necklace Diya wore, an adornment he carried as well. Unconscious the rise, paw grazing shaped shard. All that remained the moon cradling a star, his beads repurposed, her own in place.
"They're from our home, from before." A guess thrown out, basic his explanation. How might he put into words all the seemingly simple trinkets encompassed, the connection it once established between so many, gone now with theirs hanging from the branches of an oak tree. To Diya did Harland turn, similar his own wait for an answer, hope in golden depths she may know the correct words to convey what he could not.