Cape Horn Lullaby
"And what? Stay out of trouble, be the tin dog? No, mate. Those days are over."
--Mickey, Doctor Who: The Age of Steel
He woke to the rain. And he woke to her.
It made him almost smile to know that for a time he wasn't alone but inevitably, his thoughts turned inward.
Waking fully and crawling out from beneath the thick white furs of his, Renne moved to the wall that held his etchings. Quietly, his fingers traced over the outlines and he remembered each event signified.
The angel in the corner whispered.
The eagle flew on unseen winds.
The ship from ages ago sailed on a placid ocean.
The building with its open doors and laughing light spoke unheard wisdoms.
His fingers moved across the etchings until he had to almost climb the wall to reach the higher sections. he etchings here were of the starker kind -- a destroyed cage, an arrow and a spear. His expression got a little colder with each minute that passed by. Then he stopped and turned toward 'Nathan's scent.
He was amazed. Confused. Afraid.
The Lifestone gave a flicker and turned to a low, steady hum.
Renne said nothing as a memory filtered by. He knew what it was and didn't think to stop it.
His hands moved again and found a smooth place on the wall of his etchings.
He began to fill that space with another drawing.
---------------------------
Almost eight years prior, the grief had been of its own kind. The Ides of March and the Ides of May coexisted like sadistic dance partners in the later of years. But right now, almost eight years prior, the Ides of March didn't exist. It didn't hurl thunder from the sky. It didn't teach him the lesson of Humans.
Almost eight years prior, there was only the monolith.
It was a single tower that cut into the sky with black spearhead stone. It was a haven ad a prison.
Inside with only a single window at its top, the tower's creator lived. It had taken him months but in the end, he had built the tower around himself in a frenzy of quiet pain.
He loved and hated his tower. It kept the outside world 'out'. It kept his memories 'in'.
It was a tower built in the middle of a nowhere field as a testament to the lessons friendship taught.
It was a black monument to keep the pale hand at bay.
Even as it was welcomed, it was never found.
--------------------------
The etching was, like the others, startling in its accuracy. It was not too deeply engraved like the angel or the building with the laughing light. It was not clawed out like the nameless, faceless betrayers of the past.
It was just there, standing lie it undoubtedly did in the no-name field somewhere in a no-name place within Rhy'Din.
The salvation that the tower once represented didn't show through in the drawing.
It only showed the failing pale hand.
"And what? Stay out of trouble, be the tin dog? No, mate. Those days are over."
--Mickey, Doctor Who: The Age of Steel
He woke to the rain. And he woke to her.
It made him almost smile to know that for a time he wasn't alone but inevitably, his thoughts turned inward.
Waking fully and crawling out from beneath the thick white furs of his, Renne moved to the wall that held his etchings. Quietly, his fingers traced over the outlines and he remembered each event signified.
The angel in the corner whispered.
The eagle flew on unseen winds.
The ship from ages ago sailed on a placid ocean.
The building with its open doors and laughing light spoke unheard wisdoms.
His fingers moved across the etchings until he had to almost climb the wall to reach the higher sections. he etchings here were of the starker kind -- a destroyed cage, an arrow and a spear. His expression got a little colder with each minute that passed by. Then he stopped and turned toward 'Nathan's scent.
He was amazed. Confused. Afraid.
The Lifestone gave a flicker and turned to a low, steady hum.
Renne said nothing as a memory filtered by. He knew what it was and didn't think to stop it.
His hands moved again and found a smooth place on the wall of his etchings.
He began to fill that space with another drawing.
---------------------------
Almost eight years prior, the grief had been of its own kind. The Ides of March and the Ides of May coexisted like sadistic dance partners in the later of years. But right now, almost eight years prior, the Ides of March didn't exist. It didn't hurl thunder from the sky. It didn't teach him the lesson of Humans.
Almost eight years prior, there was only the monolith.
It was a single tower that cut into the sky with black spearhead stone. It was a haven ad a prison.
Inside with only a single window at its top, the tower's creator lived. It had taken him months but in the end, he had built the tower around himself in a frenzy of quiet pain.
He loved and hated his tower. It kept the outside world 'out'. It kept his memories 'in'.
It was a tower built in the middle of a nowhere field as a testament to the lessons friendship taught.
It was a black monument to keep the pale hand at bay.
Even as it was welcomed, it was never found.
--------------------------
The etching was, like the others, startling in its accuracy. It was not too deeply engraved like the angel or the building with the laughing light. It was not clawed out like the nameless, faceless betrayers of the past.
It was just there, standing lie it undoubtedly did in the no-name field somewhere in a no-name place within Rhy'Din.
The salvation that the tower once represented didn't show through in the drawing.
It only showed the failing pale hand.