Dallen McHenderson
Spring 513, Day 43
Dallen woke up, ready to take the day by storm. Then he went back to sleep. And about an hour later, finally got up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Wearing only his trousers, he shivered, dancing across the hardwood floor to his clothing chest, put his shoes and shirt on. Moving to his pantry, he picked up a half-eaten loaf of bread and ripped out a bite. Running his fingers through his hair, he yawned, and moving over to his desk, picked up his coat from the back of his armchair. Today's goin' t' be a good day, Dallen, a good day.
Pulling his red overcoat over his shoulders, Dallen picked up a canvas, rolled it up, and stuck it under his arm. Forgoing his hat, he grabbed three sticks of sharpened charcoal, the board that he used for a palette, and his paint & brush bag.
Striding toward the door, Dallen opened it with a click, and inserting his key, with a snap, locked the door. Turning around, Dallen looked up and down his street, and leaning backwards, hands over his head, popped his spine, loosening his back. Looking to the hills outside the city, ringing the edge of the pass, Dallen decided in that instant where he would spend the day.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
After about an hour of trudging around in the forest in the pass, Dallen chanced upon a beautiful sight. In a small clearing, a single white rose bloomed, surrounded by no other vegetation but grass for about ten meters around. Immediately sitting down, leaning against a tree, he unrolled the canvas and placed it on the back of the palette board. Taking one sharpened stick of charcoal, he began to draw the stem of the flower, using narrow lines and broad strokes to outline the area where the rose would be. Beginning the first petal, he adjusted his angle so that the petals would be clean and even, with enough space to paint between.
Dallen woke up, ready to take the day by storm. Then he went back to sleep. And about an hour later, finally got up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Wearing only his trousers, he shivered, dancing across the hardwood floor to his clothing chest, put his shoes and shirt on. Moving to his pantry, he picked up a half-eaten loaf of bread and ripped out a bite. Running his fingers through his hair, he yawned, and moving over to his desk, picked up his coat from the back of his armchair. Today's goin' t' be a good day, Dallen, a good day.
Pulling his red overcoat over his shoulders, Dallen picked up a canvas, rolled it up, and stuck it under his arm. Forgoing his hat, he grabbed three sticks of sharpened charcoal, the board that he used for a palette, and his paint & brush bag.
Striding toward the door, Dallen opened it with a click, and inserting his key, with a snap, locked the door. Turning around, Dallen looked up and down his street, and leaning backwards, hands over his head, popped his spine, loosening his back. Looking to the hills outside the city, ringing the edge of the pass, Dallen decided in that instant where he would spend the day.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
After about an hour of trudging around in the forest in the pass, Dallen chanced upon a beautiful sight. In a small clearing, a single white rose bloomed, surrounded by no other vegetation but grass for about ten meters around. Immediately sitting down, leaning against a tree, he unrolled the canvas and placed it on the back of the palette board. Taking one sharpened stick of charcoal, he began to draw the stem of the flower, using narrow lines and broad strokes to outline the area where the rose would be. Beginning the first petal, he adjusted his angle so that the petals would be clean and even, with enough space to paint between.
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