9/23/15 - 4:30 am
Sunrise was hours away; the night sky still black as ink and dotted with far off fire light. Rhydin?s two moons hung low in the sky, well on their way to sinking from view entirely behind the little cabin in the woods.
A light breeze blew through the clearing in which the cabin sat. It had certainly been some time since leaves rustled on the trees and rolled in a tumble over grass colored Springtime green. Wildflowers everywhere and all around bent in dips and sways with the wind. Shadows colored black and grey draped over the sides of a greenhouse just beyond that little cabin, blanketing the plants sleeping within. There wasn?t a single noise from the chicken coop. The hens slept like the dead. A large eagle owl sat perched on a bough of a massive oak, the tree nearest the cabin. Beneath the watchful creature hung a rope and wood plank swing, swaying in the wind.
A ripple of warm air blurred the space at the end of the dock. Static snapped and a tall, broad shouldered figure stepped out of the pulse of heat. He took a deep breath of cool, fresh air that was tainted with the sharp tang of ozone. The acrid scent disappeared along with the static and heat and the figure was left to stand alone in the dark.
The owl made a low noise and the man on the dock swiveled his head, looking toward the tree. When the creature did not alight from the branch, he turned his eyes back over the water.
The breeze kept the lake from being a smooth mirror of the heavens, but the quiet ripples of water made the light of the stars dance and sparkle.
There was no other light to speak of save for the silver color of the moons on the ground below and a faint spot of yellow reflecting off the windows of the cabin from within. It had been days since the songbird had slept and it would be days more until she did. It was during nights like these she would lie inside herself for hours until the lonely light of morning peeked through the trees.
There were small snippets of paper spread about the table she sat at, each one bearing a small pile of crushed herb. Pestle scraped against mortar in rhythmic sync pausing when the deep hoot of an owl drifted through one of the open windows. Aoife stilled, drawing in her breath to hold before looking up. She always looked up first. Her eyes drifted to the windows, to the door next. The day had hardly begun but she knew what it was. A spell that denied entrance was of no matter, she tensed in wait.
In the quiet, she heard a knock against the glass panes at the top of the front door.
Aoife started counting with the first release of air after a small flinch. Her fingers flexed around the pestle, but she set it on the table before rising. There was a dagger in one of the succulents on the side table. Pulling on the cardigan that had been resting on the back of her chair, she let it settle unevenly, forgetting that it was entirely inside out. With the hilt of the dagger stolen and a trail of soil on the floor, she stepped over to the door and reached for the handle. A turn. A click. It was never locked. Hinges silent, a sliver of light sliced over the man on the other side who found himself looking at a single grey eye.
Not even a thought, no hesitation, the door opened enough for the songbird to fill in the space with what little she had. Her expression was unreadable but her eyes were all doe. Unease was written in the depths when she tried to look over his shoulders for a darker shadow. It was the quiet of the owl that brought her eyes to Cane?s. Her mouth opened, forming many words that never left the surface of her tongue before she actually spoke.
?Canaan.? His name.
The Cajun smiled down at the songbird tiredly, shoulders rounded, eyelids drooping. He looked exhausted, and not just physically.
?Aoife.? Her name. But he didn?t stop there. ?I? didn? wanna be anywhere else right now.?
He said I. The tip of the knife caught in her sweater when her fingers relaxed. She nodded a few times and stepped back, swinging the door wide enough to allow him entrance. ?Come,? she told him.
Drawing himself up a bit straighter, Cane slipped through the space she?d left him and stepped over to the edge of the table. There had been a time when this cabin was his hiding place. Now it was hers. He scraped a hand over his mouth and chin, fingernails scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he looked around.
?Thank you,? Cane said after a short time, as if suddenly remembering his manners.
Once he was through Aoife leaned into the edge of the door, gliding it back over the threshold until the latch clicked back into place. Taking her hand off the knob and setting it flat on the wood, she looked over her shoulder at his profile, at the way he hovered. He was perhaps more lost that she. Stepping to the side, she moved behind him and into the space that was a tiny kitchen. ?Would you like some tea?? The question sat on one of his broad shoulders like a feather for its softness.
Tracking her with his eyes, Cane watched the way she moved to ready some without waiting for his answer. She rarely did. ?Sure.? He said that every time.
Her table was covered with what looked like work. Rather than take the risk of messing anything up, Cane moved in the direction opposite the kitchen area, to the side of the room that held a couch and two plush chairs. A quiet groan preceded the Cajun?s collapse onto the couch.
He always said that. Every time. Losing the knife to the counter, Aoife went through the motions by habit?s script. Chance would have it the kettle was still warm and screamed minutes later. With a mug in each hand she followed the echoes his footsteps left. Rather than settle into one of the chairs like every time before, the songbird took a corner of the couch and settled over the curl of a leg. Her knee peeped through the tear there, one in a series of three that were awfully suspicious.
Cane?s mug was on the small coffee table, resting on top of a stack of books. The songbird was quiet for a minute, watching him. ?I?m here. Where?re you??
His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, but the curve was cruel. ?On a bed at Matadero watchin? ?im die.? Cane stirred, lifting his head from the arm of the couch to look squarely at Aoife. ?Or some?n like a death.? Turning ever so slightly, he tipped from his side more onto his back and brought one of his legs up onto the cushion between them, bent at the knee.
?Have ya ever watched it happen??
She was watching him in the way she did, mum and still. When he spoke of Salvador?s change, she looked down into her lap. The leaves in her mug had settled onto the bottom to steep. ?No.? Two fingers moved against the side. ?Last year--was the first time I--stayed.?
She shook her head before glancing up and over the back of the couch at the door. ?I can?t be there.? Her gaze drifted to catch Cane?s. ?I?m sorry.?
He had yet to reach for the tea waiting for him on the coffee table. Aoife?s final words were something of a curiosity and they wrought a furrow into his brow. ?Why?re ya sorry??
?Because it makes you sad.?
Oh. That replaced his consternation with a soft smile. ?I don? like ta watch ?im suffer. But I?m fine. It?ll be business as usual by tomorrow.? Cane lay one of his arms across his middle and tucked the other up under his head.
She didn?t believe him, but she didn?t say it. It was in the way she tipped her head to the side to mimic the angle of his. It was in the small curve of her smile that lasted three seconds longer than a ghost.
?You don? believe me.? Of course he called her on it. He wanted to know why, but didn?t ask.
Aoife shook her head, another smile faded, no explanation. ?You stay with him the whole time??
Oh but how the curiosity ate away at him. Cane watched the woman in silence for a good thirty seconds before nodding. ?Played music fer ?im all day yesterday. Sang, too. Ain? been ta sleep yet.?
He?d watch her take a sip of tea. He?d watch her take another. But rather than resting the mug in her lap, she brought it up against her chest and held it there with fingers smothered by too long sleeves. ?You sm--look tired.? Again, words stacked up in towers on the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn?t ask because she knew the answer would be the same. She wouldn?t let herself wonder if he remembered that she?d broken a promise.
?You can stay. The sun is almost here, but I?ll watch you.? Just like she had all the times before. And all the ones he never knew about.
Cane?s eyes cut away from the songbird to stare at the cup of tea waiting for him on the little coffee table. ?Is dat what I t?ink it is??
Aoife?s eyes were slow to follow, but they did. She made a noise in her throat, a hum. A note. ?You don?t have to. You can take it with you if you?d like.?
Smiling, rolled forward and sat up with a quiet groan. Cane stretched out an arm to pick up the mug and brought it up to his nose for a sniff. He drank it all before ever answering her; when he was finished, the Cajun stared down into the bottom of the cup at the wet, soggy mess that clung to the ceramic. A few more slow breaths was all it took before his vision began to swim.
Not wishing to drop the mug onto the floor, he set it back on the table and let himself fall back against the cushions into repose. ?I told?ja,? he murmured. ?Don? wanna be anywhere else.?
She watched him reach. Watched the rim of the mug catch between his lips. Watched his throat work the potent tea down until there was nothing left. Somewhere in the seconds between she started to say something about slowing down but remembered each and every time he never listened. Canaan didn?t like tea, but he knew when she made it for him it was well worth the struggle.
The songbird chose to savor her own blend in delicate, little sips. ?You don?t fit here.? And she was shifting to slide off.
His legs moved into the space she?d been occupied and Cane turned on his side, shoving his face up against the back of the couch. ?So ya?ve said. I fit jes? fine.?
Aoife barely had enough time to move lest she be kicked in the backside by the sweep of his untied boots. He looked like a tiger trying to curl up in a cat bed.
?Sleep well, Canaan.? Words lost to a lullaby whisper somewhere close to his ear.
____________
Written with the wonderful AoifeDuggan
Sunrise was hours away; the night sky still black as ink and dotted with far off fire light. Rhydin?s two moons hung low in the sky, well on their way to sinking from view entirely behind the little cabin in the woods.
A light breeze blew through the clearing in which the cabin sat. It had certainly been some time since leaves rustled on the trees and rolled in a tumble over grass colored Springtime green. Wildflowers everywhere and all around bent in dips and sways with the wind. Shadows colored black and grey draped over the sides of a greenhouse just beyond that little cabin, blanketing the plants sleeping within. There wasn?t a single noise from the chicken coop. The hens slept like the dead. A large eagle owl sat perched on a bough of a massive oak, the tree nearest the cabin. Beneath the watchful creature hung a rope and wood plank swing, swaying in the wind.
A ripple of warm air blurred the space at the end of the dock. Static snapped and a tall, broad shouldered figure stepped out of the pulse of heat. He took a deep breath of cool, fresh air that was tainted with the sharp tang of ozone. The acrid scent disappeared along with the static and heat and the figure was left to stand alone in the dark.
The owl made a low noise and the man on the dock swiveled his head, looking toward the tree. When the creature did not alight from the branch, he turned his eyes back over the water.
The breeze kept the lake from being a smooth mirror of the heavens, but the quiet ripples of water made the light of the stars dance and sparkle.
There was no other light to speak of save for the silver color of the moons on the ground below and a faint spot of yellow reflecting off the windows of the cabin from within. It had been days since the songbird had slept and it would be days more until she did. It was during nights like these she would lie inside herself for hours until the lonely light of morning peeked through the trees.
There were small snippets of paper spread about the table she sat at, each one bearing a small pile of crushed herb. Pestle scraped against mortar in rhythmic sync pausing when the deep hoot of an owl drifted through one of the open windows. Aoife stilled, drawing in her breath to hold before looking up. She always looked up first. Her eyes drifted to the windows, to the door next. The day had hardly begun but she knew what it was. A spell that denied entrance was of no matter, she tensed in wait.
In the quiet, she heard a knock against the glass panes at the top of the front door.
Aoife started counting with the first release of air after a small flinch. Her fingers flexed around the pestle, but she set it on the table before rising. There was a dagger in one of the succulents on the side table. Pulling on the cardigan that had been resting on the back of her chair, she let it settle unevenly, forgetting that it was entirely inside out. With the hilt of the dagger stolen and a trail of soil on the floor, she stepped over to the door and reached for the handle. A turn. A click. It was never locked. Hinges silent, a sliver of light sliced over the man on the other side who found himself looking at a single grey eye.
Not even a thought, no hesitation, the door opened enough for the songbird to fill in the space with what little she had. Her expression was unreadable but her eyes were all doe. Unease was written in the depths when she tried to look over his shoulders for a darker shadow. It was the quiet of the owl that brought her eyes to Cane?s. Her mouth opened, forming many words that never left the surface of her tongue before she actually spoke.
?Canaan.? His name.
The Cajun smiled down at the songbird tiredly, shoulders rounded, eyelids drooping. He looked exhausted, and not just physically.
?Aoife.? Her name. But he didn?t stop there. ?I? didn? wanna be anywhere else right now.?
He said I. The tip of the knife caught in her sweater when her fingers relaxed. She nodded a few times and stepped back, swinging the door wide enough to allow him entrance. ?Come,? she told him.
Drawing himself up a bit straighter, Cane slipped through the space she?d left him and stepped over to the edge of the table. There had been a time when this cabin was his hiding place. Now it was hers. He scraped a hand over his mouth and chin, fingernails scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he looked around.
?Thank you,? Cane said after a short time, as if suddenly remembering his manners.
Once he was through Aoife leaned into the edge of the door, gliding it back over the threshold until the latch clicked back into place. Taking her hand off the knob and setting it flat on the wood, she looked over her shoulder at his profile, at the way he hovered. He was perhaps more lost that she. Stepping to the side, she moved behind him and into the space that was a tiny kitchen. ?Would you like some tea?? The question sat on one of his broad shoulders like a feather for its softness.
Tracking her with his eyes, Cane watched the way she moved to ready some without waiting for his answer. She rarely did. ?Sure.? He said that every time.
Her table was covered with what looked like work. Rather than take the risk of messing anything up, Cane moved in the direction opposite the kitchen area, to the side of the room that held a couch and two plush chairs. A quiet groan preceded the Cajun?s collapse onto the couch.
He always said that. Every time. Losing the knife to the counter, Aoife went through the motions by habit?s script. Chance would have it the kettle was still warm and screamed minutes later. With a mug in each hand she followed the echoes his footsteps left. Rather than settle into one of the chairs like every time before, the songbird took a corner of the couch and settled over the curl of a leg. Her knee peeped through the tear there, one in a series of three that were awfully suspicious.
Cane?s mug was on the small coffee table, resting on top of a stack of books. The songbird was quiet for a minute, watching him. ?I?m here. Where?re you??
His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, but the curve was cruel. ?On a bed at Matadero watchin? ?im die.? Cane stirred, lifting his head from the arm of the couch to look squarely at Aoife. ?Or some?n like a death.? Turning ever so slightly, he tipped from his side more onto his back and brought one of his legs up onto the cushion between them, bent at the knee.
?Have ya ever watched it happen??
She was watching him in the way she did, mum and still. When he spoke of Salvador?s change, she looked down into her lap. The leaves in her mug had settled onto the bottom to steep. ?No.? Two fingers moved against the side. ?Last year--was the first time I--stayed.?
She shook her head before glancing up and over the back of the couch at the door. ?I can?t be there.? Her gaze drifted to catch Cane?s. ?I?m sorry.?
He had yet to reach for the tea waiting for him on the coffee table. Aoife?s final words were something of a curiosity and they wrought a furrow into his brow. ?Why?re ya sorry??
?Because it makes you sad.?
Oh. That replaced his consternation with a soft smile. ?I don? like ta watch ?im suffer. But I?m fine. It?ll be business as usual by tomorrow.? Cane lay one of his arms across his middle and tucked the other up under his head.
She didn?t believe him, but she didn?t say it. It was in the way she tipped her head to the side to mimic the angle of his. It was in the small curve of her smile that lasted three seconds longer than a ghost.
?You don? believe me.? Of course he called her on it. He wanted to know why, but didn?t ask.
Aoife shook her head, another smile faded, no explanation. ?You stay with him the whole time??
Oh but how the curiosity ate away at him. Cane watched the woman in silence for a good thirty seconds before nodding. ?Played music fer ?im all day yesterday. Sang, too. Ain? been ta sleep yet.?
He?d watch her take a sip of tea. He?d watch her take another. But rather than resting the mug in her lap, she brought it up against her chest and held it there with fingers smothered by too long sleeves. ?You sm--look tired.? Again, words stacked up in towers on the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn?t ask because she knew the answer would be the same. She wouldn?t let herself wonder if he remembered that she?d broken a promise.
?You can stay. The sun is almost here, but I?ll watch you.? Just like she had all the times before. And all the ones he never knew about.
Cane?s eyes cut away from the songbird to stare at the cup of tea waiting for him on the little coffee table. ?Is dat what I t?ink it is??
Aoife?s eyes were slow to follow, but they did. She made a noise in her throat, a hum. A note. ?You don?t have to. You can take it with you if you?d like.?
Smiling, rolled forward and sat up with a quiet groan. Cane stretched out an arm to pick up the mug and brought it up to his nose for a sniff. He drank it all before ever answering her; when he was finished, the Cajun stared down into the bottom of the cup at the wet, soggy mess that clung to the ceramic. A few more slow breaths was all it took before his vision began to swim.
Not wishing to drop the mug onto the floor, he set it back on the table and let himself fall back against the cushions into repose. ?I told?ja,? he murmured. ?Don? wanna be anywhere else.?
She watched him reach. Watched the rim of the mug catch between his lips. Watched his throat work the potent tea down until there was nothing left. Somewhere in the seconds between she started to say something about slowing down but remembered each and every time he never listened. Canaan didn?t like tea, but he knew when she made it for him it was well worth the struggle.
The songbird chose to savor her own blend in delicate, little sips. ?You don?t fit here.? And she was shifting to slide off.
His legs moved into the space she?d been occupied and Cane turned on his side, shoving his face up against the back of the couch. ?So ya?ve said. I fit jes? fine.?
Aoife barely had enough time to move lest she be kicked in the backside by the sweep of his untied boots. He looked like a tiger trying to curl up in a cat bed.
?Sleep well, Canaan.? Words lost to a lullaby whisper somewhere close to his ear.
____________
Written with the wonderful AoifeDuggan