"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...

This is a special thanks to Skye because she (?) is the one who rounded out my dozen. But, of course, it is a thanks to all of my followers because without any one of them, there would be no dozen. :D Thanks again, guys!
ReplyDeleteI'm honored to be your twelfth follower. I hope it continues to grow :)
DeleteYou have a wonderful blog!
Yay!! I love your blog! =)
ReplyDeleteYou are good for me, Emily. :) I love your blog, too. It's so full of life and fun and energy and homeyness and awesome photos and inspiring historical things.
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