Sightings - Original Story
Sep. 6th, 2008 05:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thismazTitle: Sightings
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 111 - Antikythera at:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Note: The Antikythera mechanism is an ancient mechanical calculator designed to calculate astronomical positions. Practical uses ... have been said to include: ... setting the dates of religious festivals connected with astronomical events. Ref: Wikipedia
Rating: U
Summary: The sun was warm on the back of her neck as she watched the line of light crawl down the side of the mountain.
Word Count: 1,155
Comments: Are greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
Sightings
On the last morning of her month long task, Tarns looked up from the stylus she was carefully carving to a fresh point and paused to consider the schoolyard below her. It had been years since she'd last come this way, but it appeared unchanged. It was that kind of place.
She smiled as she remembered one particular afternoon in early spring when she'd stood in the doorway at the foot of the north tower, as the other kids skittered across the cobbles to the dining hall for supper. She'd watched them go, before tightening the belt on her trews and making her way to the gardens behind the dorm block.
She'd been late for Doctor Wade's biology class that morning. Running and stumbling up the spiral staircase to the tower room where the class was taught, she'd arrived just as Doctor Wade, high on his stool behind his desk, slapped his long stick against a chart pinned to the wall. "Draco draco: The common garden dragon," he'd announced, pointing at the picture of a multicoloured creature with short stumpy legs and a long tail. "Believed, by the credulous, to be a distant relative of Draco magnifico: The mythical flying species." Even as ink on parchment, it had appeared to glow, the artist having rendered it in bright and very lifelike jewel colours. That was why she'd been late - she'd spent too long hunting the little beasties in the vegetable beds, instead of eating her breakfast. "We," Doctor Wade had intoned, "are interested only in the actual, living animal. Is that clear?" She'd slipped into her seat as he glared around the room, directing a particularly quelling look at her. Each student in turn had nodded an obedient head in agreement. He'd been so certain of his facts, so sure of the difference between truth and myth; who were they to question?
Doctor Wade was long gone, now. Some other teacher taught biology, to other children who maybe dreamed, as she had done, of mythical creatures.
Leaning back in her saddle, Tarns allowed her gaze to linger over each tower, pitch and gable of her childhood home, before raising her eyes to look out, across the valley. The mountain that towered behind the school was sharp and steep and the rising sun caught at its snow-laden peak, making it glow and turning the glaciers to rivers of molten gold. She'd never even seen a gold krona in the days when this ring of mountains marked the physical parameters of her existence. Now she carried a small purse at her belt, with enough coin to pay her way for another fortnight.
The sun was warm on the back of her neck as she watched the line of light crawl down the side of the mountain, catching at the high forest and introducing green into the world. It would be another fifteen minutes before it penetrated to the valley floor. For now, like the woodland on the lower flanks of the mountains, the farms and the village were dark and no one stirred.
Below her, to her right, the high pass rose up from the coastal planes. In front, it descended into the valley and to the school, and the village that serviced it. In the depths of winter this route was impassable on foot and there were a few days when the sun never reached the village at all. At this time of year, though, the sun rose early and fast, breaking over the eastern ridge and giving the valley long days of warmth. The farmlands around the village were rich with ripening corn. Soon it would be harvest time and the school would empty for the two weeks of hard labour necessary to bring in the crop.
Tarns reached down and shoved her knife back into its sheath, strapped to her leg just above her boot. Apart from at harvest time, they'd only had sandals to wear in the summer, when she was a pupil at the school. She remembered how they flopped against the soles of her feet, so that, more often than not, she took them off and went barefoot - as long as she was out of sight of any teacher who might growl at her and tell her to mend her slovenly ways. In winter, they'd had leather galoshes that felt like buckets on her feet. There'd been a brief fashion, during her final year, for tying them tight around the ankle with plaited ribbons. Some of the pupils had access to bright coloured threads. Others, with simple twine, took pride in the intricacy of their braiding and their knots.
She ran her fingers lightly along the plaited leather of her reins, considering the points of wear. Maybe, when she got back to Citadel, she'd make a new set. There was sure to be a few merchants selling brightly dyed leather at the Saints' Fair. Now that she'd taken the last of the long series of sights, she could look forward to returning to Citadel for the holiday with unclouded anticipation.
Glancing across the valley, she noticed that the leading edge of sunlight had reached the high pastures, the dark green of the forest thrown into sharp relief against the new young green of the grass. The sheep scattered across the ground looked like bleached boulders. Below her, the village still slumbered and she paused for a moment, cataloguing the cottages, testing her memory of who lived where. Soon the folk would start to stir. Tammy Craggs would throw open his door and stretch his arms above his head before crossing the road to the forge. Mistress Flynn would take her bucket of slops to the sty in her back yard and the children would pour out of the doors, heading up the road to the school, for another day of learning, or daydreaming, depending upon their inclinations.
Tarns carefully returned her stylus, tablet, bubble sextant and a-kythera to their individual pockets in her satchel and slung the strap around her neck and under her right arm, so the bag settled comfortably on her hip. It was time she was gone. The last sight was recorded, her task was complete.
Settling herself more comfortably, she hitched up her reins and pursed her lips. Her whistle was high and long, and undulated across the slopes of the mountain, bouncing back to her with multiple echoes. Aritarnis adjusted his feet, gathered himself on his haunches and launched himself over the lip of the crag upon which they'd sat to take the sightings of the triple star at sunrise, confirm the calendar and watch the dawn.
For a moment, there was the usual stomach plunging sensation of falling, then his wings caught the air and they soared up, out of the shadow of the mountain and into the light, the sun catching on his scales and turning them to ruby and sapphire and emerald.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 111 - Antikythera at:
tamingthemuseNote: The Antikythera mechanism is an ancient mechanical calculator designed to calculate astronomical positions. Practical uses ... have been said to include: ... setting the dates of religious festivals connected with astronomical events. Ref: Wikipedia
Rating: U
Summary: The sun was warm on the back of her neck as she watched the line of light crawl down the side of the mountain.
Word Count: 1,155
Comments: Are greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
Sightings
On the last morning of her month long task, Tarns looked up from the stylus she was carefully carving to a fresh point and paused to consider the schoolyard below her. It had been years since she'd last come this way, but it appeared unchanged. It was that kind of place.
She smiled as she remembered one particular afternoon in early spring when she'd stood in the doorway at the foot of the north tower, as the other kids skittered across the cobbles to the dining hall for supper. She'd watched them go, before tightening the belt on her trews and making her way to the gardens behind the dorm block.
She'd been late for Doctor Wade's biology class that morning. Running and stumbling up the spiral staircase to the tower room where the class was taught, she'd arrived just as Doctor Wade, high on his stool behind his desk, slapped his long stick against a chart pinned to the wall. "Draco draco: The common garden dragon," he'd announced, pointing at the picture of a multicoloured creature with short stumpy legs and a long tail. "Believed, by the credulous, to be a distant relative of Draco magnifico: The mythical flying species." Even as ink on parchment, it had appeared to glow, the artist having rendered it in bright and very lifelike jewel colours. That was why she'd been late - she'd spent too long hunting the little beasties in the vegetable beds, instead of eating her breakfast. "We," Doctor Wade had intoned, "are interested only in the actual, living animal. Is that clear?" She'd slipped into her seat as he glared around the room, directing a particularly quelling look at her. Each student in turn had nodded an obedient head in agreement. He'd been so certain of his facts, so sure of the difference between truth and myth; who were they to question?
Doctor Wade was long gone, now. Some other teacher taught biology, to other children who maybe dreamed, as she had done, of mythical creatures.
Leaning back in her saddle, Tarns allowed her gaze to linger over each tower, pitch and gable of her childhood home, before raising her eyes to look out, across the valley. The mountain that towered behind the school was sharp and steep and the rising sun caught at its snow-laden peak, making it glow and turning the glaciers to rivers of molten gold. She'd never even seen a gold krona in the days when this ring of mountains marked the physical parameters of her existence. Now she carried a small purse at her belt, with enough coin to pay her way for another fortnight.
The sun was warm on the back of her neck as she watched the line of light crawl down the side of the mountain, catching at the high forest and introducing green into the world. It would be another fifteen minutes before it penetrated to the valley floor. For now, like the woodland on the lower flanks of the mountains, the farms and the village were dark and no one stirred.
Below her, to her right, the high pass rose up from the coastal planes. In front, it descended into the valley and to the school, and the village that serviced it. In the depths of winter this route was impassable on foot and there were a few days when the sun never reached the village at all. At this time of year, though, the sun rose early and fast, breaking over the eastern ridge and giving the valley long days of warmth. The farmlands around the village were rich with ripening corn. Soon it would be harvest time and the school would empty for the two weeks of hard labour necessary to bring in the crop.
Tarns reached down and shoved her knife back into its sheath, strapped to her leg just above her boot. Apart from at harvest time, they'd only had sandals to wear in the summer, when she was a pupil at the school. She remembered how they flopped against the soles of her feet, so that, more often than not, she took them off and went barefoot - as long as she was out of sight of any teacher who might growl at her and tell her to mend her slovenly ways. In winter, they'd had leather galoshes that felt like buckets on her feet. There'd been a brief fashion, during her final year, for tying them tight around the ankle with plaited ribbons. Some of the pupils had access to bright coloured threads. Others, with simple twine, took pride in the intricacy of their braiding and their knots.
She ran her fingers lightly along the plaited leather of her reins, considering the points of wear. Maybe, when she got back to Citadel, she'd make a new set. There was sure to be a few merchants selling brightly dyed leather at the Saints' Fair. Now that she'd taken the last of the long series of sights, she could look forward to returning to Citadel for the holiday with unclouded anticipation.
Glancing across the valley, she noticed that the leading edge of sunlight had reached the high pastures, the dark green of the forest thrown into sharp relief against the new young green of the grass. The sheep scattered across the ground looked like bleached boulders. Below her, the village still slumbered and she paused for a moment, cataloguing the cottages, testing her memory of who lived where. Soon the folk would start to stir. Tammy Craggs would throw open his door and stretch his arms above his head before crossing the road to the forge. Mistress Flynn would take her bucket of slops to the sty in her back yard and the children would pour out of the doors, heading up the road to the school, for another day of learning, or daydreaming, depending upon their inclinations.
Tarns carefully returned her stylus, tablet, bubble sextant and a-kythera to their individual pockets in her satchel and slung the strap around her neck and under her right arm, so the bag settled comfortably on her hip. It was time she was gone. The last sight was recorded, her task was complete.
Settling herself more comfortably, she hitched up her reins and pursed her lips. Her whistle was high and long, and undulated across the slopes of the mountain, bouncing back to her with multiple echoes. Aritarnis adjusted his feet, gathered himself on his haunches and launched himself over the lip of the crag upon which they'd sat to take the sightings of the triple star at sunrise, confirm the calendar and watch the dawn.
For a moment, there was the usual stomach plunging sensation of falling, then his wings caught the air and they soared up, out of the shadow of the mountain and into the light, the sun catching on his scales and turning them to ruby and sapphire and emerald.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-06 04:44 pm (UTC)I don't know where to start with the things I loved about this, so I'll just list them
Tarns remembering being late for class and her daydreaming about dragons
The details of the community waking up - the anticipation of the day to day happening she would witness after having been away
The wonderful image of the plaited ribbons decorating galoshes and the pride the children took in the show.
And finally, the dragon. Proof that children should never stop dreaming. Wonderful, just completely wonderful
no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 05:51 am (UTC)And thank you. I'm so pleased it came out okay. I think this story has been rewritten more than anything else I've ever done, through this last week, so I'm so glad it worked in the end. Even if I felt like I could have done with more time. *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-06 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 05:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-06 06:46 pm (UTC)And yes, this is your 104 week mark; congratulations!! ^_^ Feel free to step out if you need or want to, and come back in whenever. We'll always be happy to have your awesome fiction!
~Nebula
no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 05:57 am (UTC)Oh, I'll be back, no fear. I just want the opportunity to consolidate all I've learnt here - put it into practice, with more time to think. And there's something to be said for withdrawing on a high. *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-28 03:14 am (UTC)I love it. Every word.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-28 11:01 am (UTC)This one fought me for every sentence, so I'm particularly pleased to hear that you enjoyed it.