"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. ...

Esther that is gorgeous!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Erudessa! It turned out better than I expected, and I just so proud of it that I had to share it with somebody who would appreciate it! Are you ever that way? I have so many sketches that turn out horribly. So when one surprises me by being decent, I tend to leave it out on the coffee table and hope somebody notices it -- you know what I mean?
ReplyDeleteSo thank you for noticing!
You must be getting so excited! That's a nice sketch too - I always admire people who can draw. :) (I haven't progressed from stick figures, it seems.)
ReplyDeleteLovely sketch! I am so happy for you!
ReplyDeleteAhhh so exciting!!! And this is a beautiful sketch! =)
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