Some lousy introductions

[hermitcrab1112]

And, here is the first one;;

“He’s dead.”
The voice was soft, filled with a quiet sadness.
“Why?”
The question was soft also; the speaker apparently expected no answer.
There was none. Why should there be?

The woman-although she was only sixteen- rose to her feet, her cheeks stained with tears. The tears had stopped; stopped the very moment Jend had entered the ground.
Jend. Her son. Dead?

Serand glanced at her hands, grimy as they were, encrusted with the dirt of his grave.
Perhaps she should wash them. The thought kept her mind going, caused her to move forward through the trees, to reach the stream and wash. Then, it quit. She could go no further. Why should she?

She lay back on the grass, face clumsily washed, and the russet dress enclosing her curvaceous figure. Like a bag, Maamen would say. You shouldn’t wear such things, Serand. Use your body to your advantage, take them by storm.
Serand shrugged the thought away. What use was Maamen’s teaching now?

She lay there still, non-moving, waiting; for what?
Life, nothing, death; anything would work for Serand.
Brown eyes flickered shut, and she was asleep a moment later, nut-brown tresses strewn over the grass.
Maybe she’d wake up later.
Maybe she’d die.
Who cared?

[hermitcrab1112]

And another one;;

The shrill chatter of a child broke the pervading silence of the forest, the high tones echoing softly. An answering voice rang deeply in reply, quiet and low. The childish voice was quiet for a moment, and then broke into song, quiet snatches of an old drinking ditty, or tragic ballad. It was almost comic; songs switching every moment, as the boy forgot the rest of the verses. A deep laugh echoed the songs infrequently, and so they continued, apparently quite happy.

They stopped for a moment at midday, the boy climbing onto the man’s broad shoulders, his face sleepy, and eyes already drooping. The man seemed not to notice the added weight, and carried the youngling easily, his voice quiet now that the boy had slumped, asleep, over his shoulders. His face was serious now, as he pondered the days ahead of them. Perhaps, maybe, hopefully; they could reach Grenman by fall.

Aden Kett might possibly have been forty-five, although his dark brown eyes contained nothing that hinted of old age-save perhaps a certain contained sorrow. His hair was pure white, pulled back into a sailor’s queue that reached the nape of his neck. He wore a huge sword at his side, plain and unadorned, and looked quite capable of using it; both quickly and well.

He was dressed in plain brown breeches and a brown tunic, his boots black and worn, but still useful. No other weapons were noticeable, although by the looks of the man you might expect him to use them. His hands were large and scarred, the cost of much blade-practice, and perhaps battles. In fact, everything about him was large, as if he were a gigantic, languid tiger.

Aden provided a sharp contrast to his son, his ease with a blade the only thing they seemed to have in common. The boy had almost elfin looks about him, with slightly pointed ears, and pale skin, contrasting sharply with his father’s rugged, weather-tanned, ruggedly handsome looks. The boy was /not/ handsome-he was beautiful.

Ebony, shoulder-length hair curled loosely on his head, a stray lock over the soft grey eyes. His body was slender, with long, graceful limbs, and elegant features. His hands were beautiful, although they too, were marred by small scars. Dressed in a small outfit the exact copy of his father’s, with a long, slim, also unadorned dagger at his belt, Rinden Kett, at five years of age, was absolutely adorable.

No doubt about what his father thought. He practically worshipped the ground the boy walked on, and did anything for him. Strangely, Rin seemed unspoiled, although still weak from his illness. Aden grimaced at the thought of the sickness which had taken hold of Rin, causing him to so weak. Strange, that. Still, the boy could only walk a league or so, and then Aden took him-not that he minded, of course.

An hour later, Rin awoke and announced that he was walking. Aden acquiesced, and they continued on their way, the boy silent for a moment. Then, “Papa, why are we going to Grenman?” Aden blinked, surprised, although inwardly he conceded that he would have to answer the question eventually. “We are going to see your Aunt.” Was the official answer for the question. It wasn’t a lie, at least!

Rin pondered the answer for a moment, and then smiled unexpectedly, as if a ray of sunlight had winked at Aden. “Papa, when do we stop for the day?”
Aden sighed, then winked at the boy; their own private joke.
“Well, Rin….perhaps two hours or so?”
The boy nodded and they continued, the boy singing again, Aden pitching in occasionally.