Post by Ériu on Apr 10, 2015 2:44:14 GMT
Last night, Ériu dreamt of knights on horseback, their long hair slipping down past their thighs. They spilled sharp light off their new armor, and their blades sang battle hymns that stuck in Ériu’s head the next morning.
She is humming one such hymn when she comes down the stairs in that early hour and enters the kitchen, practically floating as she wears a happy expression.
Waverly looks up from the kitchen counter, hand pausing mid-slice of a loaf of freshly-baked bread. The humming has completely caught her off-guard. Then again, a lot Ériu’s behavior has started to do that. The Werecat stares at the Elf before resolving into an impish smile. “Someone’s happy this mornin’.” She resumes slicing. “Sleep well, I take it, Eri?”
“Mmhm.” Ériu nods as she plops into a dining chair. The song continues as milk is poured into a wooden cup, the tune only breaking as the Elf takes the occasional sip. It’s during the second break that the Shaman decides to share the contents of her dream.
Waverly listens, thinking “hormones” when the muscular, long-haired knights are described. She says little more than the expressive “ah” and “oh” as her sister indulges in the details. By the time Ériu finishes, the Werecat is settled in the chair next to the Elf, passing slices of fragrant bread and a saucer of butter to the other diner.
“Can you imagine bein’ a knight? It must be excitin’!”
“Eh, it sounds all right, providin’ you like a life of chaos. Why? You fancyin’ bein’ one?”
“I don’t know,” she answers between bites of food, almost too excited to remember her table manners. Almost. “Dreams are somethin’ powerful, Waverly. . .What do you think?”
The Werecat consistently wavers between the beliefs that dreams are just dreams and that dreams are symbolic of something else. It’s a convenient system that has served her well throughout her years. She spreads jam across her slice of bread and makes it look like she’s giving Ériu’s experience some real consideration when, really, she already knows what she wants to say to the lass. “I think, Eri, the dream means that you’re bored with your life. We just got back from that trip to Orange District. Very fascinatin’ place, eh?”
To this, Ériu nods, eager to hear more.
“Y’see? I think you just want some excitement in your life. You’re young and have a long road ahead of ya. Maybe the farmer’s life ain’t for you. Maybe it is, but ya won’t know that until you go out and try new things. What I don’t believe is that dream means you should run out and become a knight’s flunky, though.”
The Elf’s expression dims considerably, crestfallen and feeling resentful for her elder sister’s evaluation. She should’ve never mentioned the dream to Waverly. Hopefully, she won’t tell Maple. She doesn’t feel up to a double-team dream-killing; however, the Werecat continues, but not right away, as she’s taking a fair share of bites from her own breakfast. When she’s finished, the Sorcerer leans back in her chair and meets Ériu eye-to-eye.
“Do you really think you’d do well in that school, Eri?”
The Shaman blinks. Her insides start to quiver in crescendo’d excitement. The expression on her face is brightening again. “Ye-. Yes, I do.”
“Fine then. We’ll have to see what Maple says . . . but as far as I’m concerned, I think it’d be good for you.” Less dangerous than being a squire, at any rate. Waverly isn’t looking at Ériu then; she’s standing to take her dirty dish to the kitchen sink; however, she’s got a pretty good imagination herself and can practically see the Elf’s large grin from the back of her head.
“You will?! I. . .” She’s trying to regain her composure, trying to seem dignified. “Th. Thank you, Waverly.”
“Don’ mention it.” Dishes clank against the bottom of the sink. Steaming water runs. “My word ain’t necessarily law around here . . . but I’ll try.” From the corner of her eye, Ériu’s hand appears, grasping her own cleared plate. She puts in the sink, and the Werecat sees the glimmer from the girl’s eyes, the smile beaming from her usually solemn features.
Maybe this would be even better for her than the Sorcerer had expected.
words: 719
She is humming one such hymn when she comes down the stairs in that early hour and enters the kitchen, practically floating as she wears a happy expression.
Waverly looks up from the kitchen counter, hand pausing mid-slice of a loaf of freshly-baked bread. The humming has completely caught her off-guard. Then again, a lot Ériu’s behavior has started to do that. The Werecat stares at the Elf before resolving into an impish smile. “Someone’s happy this mornin’.” She resumes slicing. “Sleep well, I take it, Eri?”
“Mmhm.” Ériu nods as she plops into a dining chair. The song continues as milk is poured into a wooden cup, the tune only breaking as the Elf takes the occasional sip. It’s during the second break that the Shaman decides to share the contents of her dream.
Waverly listens, thinking “hormones” when the muscular, long-haired knights are described. She says little more than the expressive “ah” and “oh” as her sister indulges in the details. By the time Ériu finishes, the Werecat is settled in the chair next to the Elf, passing slices of fragrant bread and a saucer of butter to the other diner.
“Can you imagine bein’ a knight? It must be excitin’!”
“Eh, it sounds all right, providin’ you like a life of chaos. Why? You fancyin’ bein’ one?”
“I don’t know,” she answers between bites of food, almost too excited to remember her table manners. Almost. “Dreams are somethin’ powerful, Waverly. . .What do you think?”
The Werecat consistently wavers between the beliefs that dreams are just dreams and that dreams are symbolic of something else. It’s a convenient system that has served her well throughout her years. She spreads jam across her slice of bread and makes it look like she’s giving Ériu’s experience some real consideration when, really, she already knows what she wants to say to the lass. “I think, Eri, the dream means that you’re bored with your life. We just got back from that trip to Orange District. Very fascinatin’ place, eh?”
To this, Ériu nods, eager to hear more.
“Y’see? I think you just want some excitement in your life. You’re young and have a long road ahead of ya. Maybe the farmer’s life ain’t for you. Maybe it is, but ya won’t know that until you go out and try new things. What I don’t believe is that dream means you should run out and become a knight’s flunky, though.”
The Elf’s expression dims considerably, crestfallen and feeling resentful for her elder sister’s evaluation. She should’ve never mentioned the dream to Waverly. Hopefully, she won’t tell Maple. She doesn’t feel up to a double-team dream-killing; however, the Werecat continues, but not right away, as she’s taking a fair share of bites from her own breakfast. When she’s finished, the Sorcerer leans back in her chair and meets Ériu eye-to-eye.
“Do you really think you’d do well in that school, Eri?”
The Shaman blinks. Her insides start to quiver in crescendo’d excitement. The expression on her face is brightening again. “Ye-. Yes, I do.”
“Fine then. We’ll have to see what Maple says . . . but as far as I’m concerned, I think it’d be good for you.” Less dangerous than being a squire, at any rate. Waverly isn’t looking at Ériu then; she’s standing to take her dirty dish to the kitchen sink; however, she’s got a pretty good imagination herself and can practically see the Elf’s large grin from the back of her head.
“You will?! I. . .” She’s trying to regain her composure, trying to seem dignified. “Th. Thank you, Waverly.”
“Don’ mention it.” Dishes clank against the bottom of the sink. Steaming water runs. “My word ain’t necessarily law around here . . . but I’ll try.” From the corner of her eye, Ériu’s hand appears, grasping her own cleared plate. She puts in the sink, and the Werecat sees the glimmer from the girl’s eyes, the smile beaming from her usually solemn features.
Maybe this would be even better for her than the Sorcerer had expected.
words: 719
