Cindered bones (c)
Feb 16, 2015 0:02:24 GMT -5
Post by East on Feb 16, 2015 0:02:24 GMT -5
FOLLOW YOU DOWN TO THE RED OAK TREE
WHERE THE AIR MOVES THICK THROUGH THE HOLLOW REEDS
WHERE THE AIR MOVES THICK THROUGH THE HOLLOW REEDS
The nights were too long, too heavy. Too quiet. Should Atticus fall asleep despite it all, for a moment's peace, it would reclaim him at the slightest of sounds. A scuff of paws down the hall or a creak of the floorboards brought the male back into its dark embrace where it would hold him for hours. He wouldn't fall asleep, no matter how badly he wanted to return to a time when they were all together, something only achieved through his dreams. It would be spring and Guinevere would be with them, frolicking with their children through the garden with the sun on her face. There would be smiles and laughter, unburdened by suffering.
On these nights he would take a walk, but since winter had returned he had to pick his battles with his body wisely. Atticus would consign himself to staring at the wall until dawn lightened the room or he would move so he could watch Hazel sleep instead. The gentle rise and fall of her chest reassured him and frightened him for when it would cease.
If there was one benefit to the steady flourish of his ailment, it was being able to remain with his daughter. It felt wrong not to feel pain while she did, and it felt better. Perhaps that was the only way he could reason through it all without going out of his mind, if it could make Hazel feel less alone.
The disturbance on this night was much more alarming, breaking sharply through the thin veil of sleep. Atticus raised his head at the sound of quiet whining across the room. "Hazel?" The leader chose his battle now as his joints screamed within his body as he tried to rise upon them. He ignored it with only reaching his daughter in mind, hobbling with excessive clumsiness to reach the mattress she slept upon. The plush terrain was a terrible combination with his limited balance and he lurched across it to collapse closer to Hazel. Atticus inched himself the rest of the way to tuck himself protectively towards his speckled daughter. "I'm here, I'm with you," he soothed her gently as he went to draw his tongue across her ear. All he could give her was his consolations, his attention, but bitterly - so bitterly - wished he could do more.