"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. ...
Thanks for posting this! It was a good exercise for me to think up! :)
ReplyDeleteAnd I LOVED yours. The mystery feel was spot on! I want to read what came before AND after.
I had fun joining in on the challenge (thanks for linking to it, by the way!) - and the piece you wrote was EPIC, you did so good!
ReplyDelete~ Savannah
scattered-scribblings.blogspot.com