10-01-2021, 08:56 PM
Cyan had never been a great sleeper. Falling asleep wasn’t the problem, the night had always brought a familiar type of comfort with it – that kind of comfort you get only when you can count on something to happen over and over. Rather it was the bit about staying asleep that had become troubling. A light sleeper, apparently, and every creak in the wood or slightest rustle of leaves would have him jarring upright and alert. Never could he say how far the moon had travelled in the sky after he’d drifted off, all he knew was that it was never enough, and he’d not be able to try again until the next dusk seeped in.
Cursed, he thought. What else could it be?
So it’s no surprise to him when the faintest tickling at his heels rouses him, and his oddly red eyes narrow to make out the blanket of fog rolling in. For a moment he watches it creep silently, steadily across the ground, confident in its duty to touch every nook and cranny of the meadow before the dawn awoke.
The longer he stands there, the stronger the odd urge grows to move. Not away though, but towards the source. Weird, he thought, how he meant for the realization to be a question and not a statement. But now, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned and made his way towards the awaiting forest.
He stopped at wood’s edge where he could catch a glimpse of the moon just above the tallest pine. Along the boughs, things danced and moved with each breeze, and since he was apparently all out of good ideas for the night, opted for a bad one, and yanked the closest one down and over his head. Cyan huffed as the thing settled atop him, a bit unnerved at how seemingly perfect it ended up fitting.
It was red and brown, and aside from that he couldn’t tell much. A brow raised in question to reflect his current thought of “What the hell am I wearing?” when the wind whispered an eager answer of Khakis. And a second later it added, even more enthused, Sexy Jake from State Farm.
He stared into the woods.
And scowled.
Cursed, he thought. What else could it be?
So it’s no surprise to him when the faintest tickling at his heels rouses him, and his oddly red eyes narrow to make out the blanket of fog rolling in. For a moment he watches it creep silently, steadily across the ground, confident in its duty to touch every nook and cranny of the meadow before the dawn awoke.
The longer he stands there, the stronger the odd urge grows to move. Not away though, but towards the source. Weird, he thought, how he meant for the realization to be a question and not a statement. But now, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned and made his way towards the awaiting forest.
He stopped at wood’s edge where he could catch a glimpse of the moon just above the tallest pine. Along the boughs, things danced and moved with each breeze, and since he was apparently all out of good ideas for the night, opted for a bad one, and yanked the closest one down and over his head. Cyan huffed as the thing settled atop him, a bit unnerved at how seemingly perfect it ended up fitting.
It was red and brown, and aside from that he couldn’t tell much. A brow raised in question to reflect his current thought of “What the hell am I wearing?” when the wind whispered an eager answer of Khakis. And a second later it added, even more enthused, Sexy Jake from State Farm.
He stared into the woods.
And scowled.