stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
[ Hnngh Wessex <3 And yeah Rory is so predictable you even knew where I was going to make the thread before you beat me to it xDD ]
He had finally gotten around to all the preparations he had been neglecting: snow moss, and other suitable materials, had been carted in from the surrounding forest, and he had set about to sound-proofing the cottage. He had grown up in that house, so he knew it intimately: while he tested every floorboard and hinge for squeaking, he still knew beforehand which ones would need seeing to. He oiled the hinges for the door leading to the Long Night outhouse (strategically placed next to the cottage and accessible via a door from inside). He hauled out the blackout window covers, making sure that they were all whole and accounted for. He went over the big barn he housed the goats and ponies in during the seven days of darkness, ensuring that the precious hay was still serviceable as feed and that he had enough of it.
He checked the other outbuildings—that they could all be closed properly, that all doors and covers were fastened so no errant wind could wave them about and squeak into the dark. He checked his food stores. He checked and cleaned the tanks for storing water indoors. He checked his firewood stores (not big enough). But he still had time.
And through it all, his sister shone with her lack of presence. She had baked bread with him one afternoon. They had laughed and talked as if nothing at all was happening, that she wasn't drifting further away on whatever ruinous path that guy had set her down on before ditching her.
Then she had disappeared again, and it was like a knife in his heart.
So he had grabbed some carrots and gone out in the dark, alone, bringing not even a pony with him. What he still needed was light, and light was easiest to hunt for in the dark: their antlers glowed and out on the fields, he could easily spot them as they browsed the snow for food.
Luxere were usually the least of his problems. Once convinced to come home with him they were usually happy to stick around, satisfied by sharing hay and rye with the goats and ponies, kept content by the laughter and snatches of song drifting from the cottage—but this year was not like other years.
This year Rory was alone and sad and tired, and he did not take any joy in the Long Night preparations, so he did not sing.
What if he'd struggle to keep the Luxere by the homestead..?
He felt sick at the idea of it: the monsters breaking into the barn, slaughtering and scattering the herd. And if it happened—he'd be powerless to stop it. He'd just have to wait until the sun rose again and go out and witness what destruction they had wreaked in his life.
It was with such pleasant and uplifting thoughts in his head that he found himself singing sad nonsense about better times to a couple of Luxere regarding him with large, dark eyes out on the Fields.
He had finally gotten around to all the preparations he had been neglecting: snow moss, and other suitable materials, had been carted in from the surrounding forest, and he had set about to sound-proofing the cottage. He had grown up in that house, so he knew it intimately: while he tested every floorboard and hinge for squeaking, he still knew beforehand which ones would need seeing to. He oiled the hinges for the door leading to the Long Night outhouse (strategically placed next to the cottage and accessible via a door from inside). He hauled out the blackout window covers, making sure that they were all whole and accounted for. He went over the big barn he housed the goats and ponies in during the seven days of darkness, ensuring that the precious hay was still serviceable as feed and that he had enough of it.
He checked the other outbuildings—that they could all be closed properly, that all doors and covers were fastened so no errant wind could wave them about and squeak into the dark. He checked his food stores. He checked and cleaned the tanks for storing water indoors. He checked his firewood stores (not big enough). But he still had time.
And through it all, his sister shone with her lack of presence. She had baked bread with him one afternoon. They had laughed and talked as if nothing at all was happening, that she wasn't drifting further away on whatever ruinous path that guy had set her down on before ditching her.
Then she had disappeared again, and it was like a knife in his heart.
So he had grabbed some carrots and gone out in the dark, alone, bringing not even a pony with him. What he still needed was light, and light was easiest to hunt for in the dark: their antlers glowed and out on the fields, he could easily spot them as they browsed the snow for food.
Luxere were usually the least of his problems. Once convinced to come home with him they were usually happy to stick around, satisfied by sharing hay and rye with the goats and ponies, kept content by the laughter and snatches of song drifting from the cottage—but this year was not like other years.
This year Rory was alone and sad and tired, and he did not take any joy in the Long Night preparations, so he did not sing.
What if he'd struggle to keep the Luxere by the homestead..?
He felt sick at the idea of it: the monsters breaking into the barn, slaughtering and scattering the herd. And if it happened—he'd be powerless to stop it. He'd just have to wait until the sun rose again and go out and witness what destruction they had wreaked in his life.
It was with such pleasant and uplifting thoughts in his head that he found himself singing sad nonsense about better times to a couple of Luxere regarding him with large, dark eyes out on the Fields.
