sunny days, sunny days, don't you trick me into stayin'. don't you throw me in a cornfield just to take the corn away. sunny days, sunny days, don't you trap me in your rays. you gotta cut me loose or promise not to fade. - danny schmidt. Timestamp: 32 Fall 513 AV The west pasture glowed in the autumn sun. It joined hands with the wind rushing across the grasses to dim and glow in swift fleeing shadows. Above the sky was stretched thin as silk between the hands of gods, allowing the soul breaking blue of the Ukalas to bleed through. The air was redolent with the sharp scent of lemon grass and sea salt but heartened with the denser aroma of fresh turned earth and the warm fur of sleepy Imperial Watcher puppies. It was the sort of day in which all souls moving within the boundaries of dusk and dawn were possessed by an acuity of promise. Hope buoyed in the bones of men on days like these and every beat of the heart could be heard like a lion's roar through dreaming heads. It was this day, this perfect day fashioned from what too often felt like a half burned patchwork of scraps in life, that Caelum decided to claim for himself. It began as little more than a selfish thought as he walked beneath the sky the night before, moving from between the barns toward the healing clinic and, eventually, below to bed. He had been setting his feet in a fighter's stance and aligning his bones in preparation for an attack by imaginary enemies, every curled fist and every slow, tight turn in the steps of kata. The choreographed patterns of self defense he practiced religiously, driven at last to these lengths by the vagaries of suffering he had been showed and ultimately endured since his return to Mizahar. Between throwing a punch -- straight on, thumb tucked, hips shifting and shoulder rotating a quarter of the way -- and springing back from the sliver of moonlight dropped by Leth at his feet like scraps from the table, Caelum thought about dogs. Up until recently, Caelum had probably spent less than a minute of his life thinking about dogs. He had never had a dog, never particularly known one closely, and never been in a situation where his patient was a dog. But the Sanctuary boasted of a kennel that was full of dogs. Big dogs and small dogs. Fast dogs and lumbering. Cute and frightening. To the last, the dogs were healthy. After all, they were the dogs of the Sanctuary. Every living creature here was healthy or well aided along their way toward health, else he and Kavala would undoubtedly have something to say about it. A serious worshipers of the goddess Rak'keli, they both had issues with caring for the lives of every one and thing that crossed their paths. Therefore, all seven Imperial Watcher puppies, fresh weaned from their mother, were ridiculously prime examples of glowing doggy healthy. As dogs, the puppies required little more than love and attention beyond the more basic template of their banal needs -- food, water, light, shelter, air. Further, as dogs, the puppies also desired very little beyond these things. Standing in the shadows and starlight, dressed in the skin of the Drkyas ankal dead half a millenia before and feeling tired to the marrow of his bones, Caelum had drawn the night air deep into his lungs. By the time he blew it out again with nothing and no one around, the only eyes on him that of Leth and Zintila's diamond bright stars, he realized that he needed to look after himself a bit better or begin to fade. The sun had been up for a few hours, but Caelum had slept in. More specifically, he had woken with the first gasp of dawn and in the infancy of light turned right over and gone back to sleep. He managed half a bell, in all truth, and little more; but he spent the rest doing little more than puttering and reading and lounging before crawling clear of the belows and out into the open air. He went straight to the kennel and right down the clean and orderly aisle, stopping at every dog to have a pat and a word. Then, post haste, he had collected five sleeping puppies into his arms, delivered the snorting mother a jaunty grin, and marched right out of the kennel again. The remaining two puppies were already awake and bounced at his heels, tails wagging with furious curiosity, and ultimately followed him and their brethren into the west pasture. When anyone wandered by, they would see the stunning and dignified ethaefal of Syna rolling around in the dirt and grass with a pack of playful dogs like a child. In some ways, it was probably a better sight than most. |