x
The 1st of winter 513AV
The day started in the same old rhythm the bat was used to. Waking up, late in the afternoon already. How he exactly knew, he didn’t know. He could feel it. It probably had something to do with his biological clock imbedded in his brain, but he didn’t care. As long as it was accurate. His lips parted widely in a noisy yawn, emitting weird smelling air from inside. He smacked his lips. Something slimy had gathered in the back of his throat. Any attempts to swallow it failed. Bran then tried getting it out of his mouth by gurgling fiercely.
Pressing the tip of his tongue against his palate, he kind of created a plug. Forcing the air to stream out, while making sounds as if he was choking, he hoped it would lessen the grip of the slime. It didn’t work. The only result he achieved was that he had to chough badly. To him it felt as if he was about to chough up and throw out his stomach. Fortunately, it didn’t turn out that way. Tears gathered in the corners of his dark orbs, his throat feeling like a piece of raw meat. Water! He needed to drink.
Getting to his feet and stumbling to the kitchen, he searched for a bowl. Where had he placed the bloody thing? Maybe he should clean this place a bit. It would make things a bit easier. Especially so when he needed to find something. It would be a whole lot more practical. But well, he wasn’t one for order. Certainly not a supporter of law and order. Personal preferences. Anyway, back to the bowl. He opened the first drawer he laid his eyes on. Of course it wasn’t there. Lost objects could never be found in the first place you looked into. It was an unwritten, but well-known rule. After searching in the first place, in this case the nearest drawer, it all came down to luck.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t his speciality. Naturally, ‘three times the charm’ did apparently not apply on this particular thief. Or maybe it was just taking a break. Every single time he needed to find something. Not that he believed that superstitious stuff. Alright that’s a lie. Although he didn’t want to admit it, or perhaps he didn’t even know it, a small part of him held on to that small sliver of hope that superstition gladly provided.
Ah, there it was! Hidden in a dark corner of a cupboard, the bat had almost overlooked the wooden object. Almost. Reaching out and kneeling down, his whole underarm disappeared in the small space of the deposit. Fingers curling around the rim, he brought both his hand and the bowl back. Getting back up, he could feel the joints in his knees protest with an audible, yet unpainful dry snapping sound. That was quite worrisome. Well, placing things in perspective, he had only just awoken and his body, including his bones, was still adapting to the new active state.
Filling the bowl with some water from the sink, he gulped it down, relieving his somewhat sore throat. The annoying slime plug was still present though. It was very irritating. However, the bat acknowledged that thinking about it would only provide fuel for the feeling, so he figured he should just ignore it. Which was easier said than done. Most things were though. His feet shuffled back the way he came, while his hands threw the now empty bowl somewhere on the counter of the small kitchen. He did it without thinking, but realised what he had done when he heard the clattering noise of the thing connecting with the floor. Well, at least now he knew why he could never find anything.
The bat noticed his feet had led him back to the place he had been sleeping. Which happened to be the middle of the small living room. A blanket was fumbled up, carelessly thrown aside by a waking sleepyhead. The thief himself. It would have been more comfortable sleeping on the bunk, but that had been occupied by Engghaen since about half a season. That reminded him, where was she anyway? Not here, answered his mind dryly. He shrugged. Whatever. She did as she pleased. On that note, why was she still staying at his place anyways?
Not that he wanted her to leave. Okay, maybe a little. His back craved for a comfortable sleeping place, and his muscles were aching most of the time when he woke up. But he enjoyed her company. It kept the cold of loneliness at bay. Talking about cold, it was rather chilly in here. Upon opening the curtains, he noticed white flakes drifting down slowly. People passing by his window held on to a fast pace, hurrying to get to their destination, hands tucked away in their pockets or in warm looking gloves. Filled with a woolly fabric no doubt. Then his vision was blurred by the condense of his breath on the glass. He turned away. I should go make a fire. I can feel the hairs on my arms stand up.
The day started in the same old rhythm the bat was used to. Waking up, late in the afternoon already. How he exactly knew, he didn’t know. He could feel it. It probably had something to do with his biological clock imbedded in his brain, but he didn’t care. As long as it was accurate. His lips parted widely in a noisy yawn, emitting weird smelling air from inside. He smacked his lips. Something slimy had gathered in the back of his throat. Any attempts to swallow it failed. Bran then tried getting it out of his mouth by gurgling fiercely.
Pressing the tip of his tongue against his palate, he kind of created a plug. Forcing the air to stream out, while making sounds as if he was choking, he hoped it would lessen the grip of the slime. It didn’t work. The only result he achieved was that he had to chough badly. To him it felt as if he was about to chough up and throw out his stomach. Fortunately, it didn’t turn out that way. Tears gathered in the corners of his dark orbs, his throat feeling like a piece of raw meat. Water! He needed to drink.
Getting to his feet and stumbling to the kitchen, he searched for a bowl. Where had he placed the bloody thing? Maybe he should clean this place a bit. It would make things a bit easier. Especially so when he needed to find something. It would be a whole lot more practical. But well, he wasn’t one for order. Certainly not a supporter of law and order. Personal preferences. Anyway, back to the bowl. He opened the first drawer he laid his eyes on. Of course it wasn’t there. Lost objects could never be found in the first place you looked into. It was an unwritten, but well-known rule. After searching in the first place, in this case the nearest drawer, it all came down to luck.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t his speciality. Naturally, ‘three times the charm’ did apparently not apply on this particular thief. Or maybe it was just taking a break. Every single time he needed to find something. Not that he believed that superstitious stuff. Alright that’s a lie. Although he didn’t want to admit it, or perhaps he didn’t even know it, a small part of him held on to that small sliver of hope that superstition gladly provided.
Ah, there it was! Hidden in a dark corner of a cupboard, the bat had almost overlooked the wooden object. Almost. Reaching out and kneeling down, his whole underarm disappeared in the small space of the deposit. Fingers curling around the rim, he brought both his hand and the bowl back. Getting back up, he could feel the joints in his knees protest with an audible, yet unpainful dry snapping sound. That was quite worrisome. Well, placing things in perspective, he had only just awoken and his body, including his bones, was still adapting to the new active state.
Filling the bowl with some water from the sink, he gulped it down, relieving his somewhat sore throat. The annoying slime plug was still present though. It was very irritating. However, the bat acknowledged that thinking about it would only provide fuel for the feeling, so he figured he should just ignore it. Which was easier said than done. Most things were though. His feet shuffled back the way he came, while his hands threw the now empty bowl somewhere on the counter of the small kitchen. He did it without thinking, but realised what he had done when he heard the clattering noise of the thing connecting with the floor. Well, at least now he knew why he could never find anything.
The bat noticed his feet had led him back to the place he had been sleeping. Which happened to be the middle of the small living room. A blanket was fumbled up, carelessly thrown aside by a waking sleepyhead. The thief himself. It would have been more comfortable sleeping on the bunk, but that had been occupied by Engghaen since about half a season. That reminded him, where was she anyway? Not here, answered his mind dryly. He shrugged. Whatever. She did as she pleased. On that note, why was she still staying at his place anyways?
Not that he wanted her to leave. Okay, maybe a little. His back craved for a comfortable sleeping place, and his muscles were aching most of the time when he woke up. But he enjoyed her company. It kept the cold of loneliness at bay. Talking about cold, it was rather chilly in here. Upon opening the curtains, he noticed white flakes drifting down slowly. People passing by his window held on to a fast pace, hurrying to get to their destination, hands tucked away in their pockets or in warm looking gloves. Filled with a woolly fabric no doubt. Then his vision was blurred by the condense of his breath on the glass. He turned away. I should go make a fire. I can feel the hairs on my arms stand up.
x
