Dreams of Late.
Posted: Mon Feb 02, 2004 7:06 am This day could have been of any number; or night, one might say, save for the fact that the sky was a rather odd green, purple clouds sending forth pink lightning. It could have been the most
-recent- day, certainly enough, as the moans of the undead flitered through the mist-made trees. Surrounded! Jerint cast about for a weapon, his leg aching even now, though it were a much-younger, fit body that he now possessed. A stick was his only choice; grabbed from the ground, brandished.
"By, carefool now, y'feul!"
It spoke, shivering and twisting in his hand until two liquid black eyes stared at him; his rabbit, held by the ears; but they were coming, now to reveal their faces; zombies, long-dead, Audmathus' ilk; though comrades long dead, hatred in their eyes replaced those that had been nameless, unkown. A terror gripped Jerint's heart, an icy grip clenching it painfully, sending something, something down his heart; the rabbit was swung, half-heartedly, even as the man allowed the fog to overcome; a dreamless sleep...
"Nae, nae, Ahll've noone o'tha."
"Bonny mess, hinny, tha' is. Cain't 'ave ye flootin' oof, yet."
The Rabbit perched in it's throne of cloud, hind paws very neatly crossed, it's chin resting on the pad of a paw as he regarded the man before him as some great Lord examines a new steed. Twenty times it's normal size, towering over the bewildered Jerint. With a flick of it's ear it summons a whisp of cloud, changing and formulating into a large carrot, which it nibbled daintily.
"By, tha's th'stuff. Carrot?"
Jerint awoke with a start, jerking forward; the slight scrape of steel as he whips out a large, wickedly-curved knife; sweat-stained brow furrowed, great gasps being drawn into aching lungs. With a wince he palpates his sore, tingling left arm; red-rimmed eyes dart to the rabbit at the foot of his bed; normal-sized, now, it gave no indication to the man's sudden movement; it muttered rabbit-mutters, hind feet flicking in some fantasy of younger days gone by. Asleep. The hand that held the knife trembled, the thought crossing hismind once more for the umpteenth time. For a few minutes he would remain, before with a grinding of teeth the old man resheathed his blade, turning over in his cold, rented bed.
He had the weaker will.
-recent- day, certainly enough, as the moans of the undead flitered through the mist-made trees. Surrounded! Jerint cast about for a weapon, his leg aching even now, though it were a much-younger, fit body that he now possessed. A stick was his only choice; grabbed from the ground, brandished.
"By, carefool now, y'feul!"
It spoke, shivering and twisting in his hand until two liquid black eyes stared at him; his rabbit, held by the ears; but they were coming, now to reveal their faces; zombies, long-dead, Audmathus' ilk; though comrades long dead, hatred in their eyes replaced those that had been nameless, unkown. A terror gripped Jerint's heart, an icy grip clenching it painfully, sending something, something down his heart; the rabbit was swung, half-heartedly, even as the man allowed the fog to overcome; a dreamless sleep...
"Nae, nae, Ahll've noone o'tha."
"Bonny mess, hinny, tha' is. Cain't 'ave ye flootin' oof, yet."
The Rabbit perched in it's throne of cloud, hind paws very neatly crossed, it's chin resting on the pad of a paw as he regarded the man before him as some great Lord examines a new steed. Twenty times it's normal size, towering over the bewildered Jerint. With a flick of it's ear it summons a whisp of cloud, changing and formulating into a large carrot, which it nibbled daintily.
"By, tha's th'stuff. Carrot?"
Jerint awoke with a start, jerking forward; the slight scrape of steel as he whips out a large, wickedly-curved knife; sweat-stained brow furrowed, great gasps being drawn into aching lungs. With a wince he palpates his sore, tingling left arm; red-rimmed eyes dart to the rabbit at the foot of his bed; normal-sized, now, it gave no indication to the man's sudden movement; it muttered rabbit-mutters, hind feet flicking in some fantasy of younger days gone by. Asleep. The hand that held the knife trembled, the thought crossing hismind once more for the umpteenth time. For a few minutes he would remain, before with a grinding of teeth the old man resheathed his blade, turning over in his cold, rented bed.
He had the weaker will.