I actually typed this one up yesterday, and forgot to post! Another one later today too, hopefully! :)
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
"I do not want to hear a single word from you." Elaine's finger is level with Lem's eyes, and he closes his mouth obediently. From past experience he knows full well it is much easier to merely comply until her temper cools, however uncomfortable it may be in the meantime. Elaine's eyebrows continue on their skyward march. "Two hours! Two hours I have been waiting for his lordship to make a reappearance. Two hours! Do you think the rushes replace themselves? The common-room is a sty, and I have not even dared to think about dinner! There is a pile of carrots through there-" She pulls a wooden spoon from her apron and brandishes it in the direction of the scullery;"-as high as my-"
"Elaine-"
"Elaine is it?!"
Lem sets his jaw. "My lady, I was only following your explicit directions from this morning."
Elaine refolds her arms, eyes narrow as arrow-slits. "I do not remember instructing you to disappear for the greater portion of the day, young sir."
"I went for a bath. As per your request." He indicates his still sodden hair, brown-black with damp and plastered against his jaw. Elaine gives him a searching glare and Lem furrows his brow in reply. He begins to edge closer to the door, now unwilling to waste further time with this daily confrontation. Elaine's arm blocks his way suddenly, and he bumps against it in his blithe desire for escape. He is a full head taller than her, but Lem is no fool. No-one in their right mind would dare provoke Elaine further, unless they wished to clean the chimneys with bare palms for the next fortnight. She glares up at him, cheeks coloured with blotchy fury, and Lem screws his eyes shut for a heartbeat before acquiescing, and doing the necessary.
"I am sorry, my lady," he says, and if his fingers are crossed behind his back then Elaine either does not see or makes no allusion to it.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Friday, 10 June 2011
Literary Lunches!: Lakewater cont.
Last one for this week, not sure if I'll continue or not next week, but we'll see! (I totally mess up the tenses in this aaah...)
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
The Twin Cottages lie ahead, bathed in sunlight, wall-ivy swinging gently in the light breeze. Two wide, low-built houses, with thatched roofs and merry little windows peeping out at the world, they had always had a bustle of folk around them for the road that divided the two, running north to south, was well travelled indeed, and Lem often came home to find a peddler or farmhand or errand boy enjoying a mug of cool cider in his dining room. Lem had lived in the eastern Cottage all his life, and Anna in the western, and Elaine seemed herself to drift between the two, incessant on her quest to hound Lem, and whether or not that was true he nevertheless felt he was more harangued than anyone had the right to be. She was an aunt or a cook or a neighbour who had attached herself to the houses long before Lem was born, and she currently stood in the doorway of the western cottage with her hands on her hips, hair in wild disarray and a scowl directed toward the approaching Lem that would have turned crows white.
"Good luck." Anna says, throwing Lem a grin over her shoulder as she walks off across the road toward the eastern Cottage. Lem sighs, and begins the arduous journey toward what he presumes will be a no doubt thorough ear-boxing.
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
The Twin Cottages lie ahead, bathed in sunlight, wall-ivy swinging gently in the light breeze. Two wide, low-built houses, with thatched roofs and merry little windows peeping out at the world, they had always had a bustle of folk around them for the road that divided the two, running north to south, was well travelled indeed, and Lem often came home to find a peddler or farmhand or errand boy enjoying a mug of cool cider in his dining room. Lem had lived in the eastern Cottage all his life, and Anna in the western, and Elaine seemed herself to drift between the two, incessant on her quest to hound Lem, and whether or not that was true he nevertheless felt he was more harangued than anyone had the right to be. She was an aunt or a cook or a neighbour who had attached herself to the houses long before Lem was born, and she currently stood in the doorway of the western cottage with her hands on her hips, hair in wild disarray and a scowl directed toward the approaching Lem that would have turned crows white.
"Good luck." Anna says, throwing Lem a grin over her shoulder as she walks off across the road toward the eastern Cottage. Lem sighs, and begins the arduous journey toward what he presumes will be a no doubt thorough ear-boxing.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Literary Lunches!: Lakewater cont.
Where on earth is this going help.
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
"Well?" She says, one hand on her hip. Lem pulls his breeches up and belts them, and stands there, looking at her.
"Well what?"
"Are you coming? I was sent to fetch you. Elaine is getting extremely catty in your absense." Anna fixes him with a look that Lem cannot help but deflect.
He glances at his feet again, and shrugs. "I suppose." Turning, he stoops to gather up his shoes, adding, "As if she needs an excuse. Bugger Elaine," but Anna is already ahead of him, low-hanging catkins dusting the top of her head as she passes beneath the trees. She had never been one for gossip, anyway. And Elaine...well, the less Elaine knew of what was uttered behind her back the better.
Lem sighs, and gives the still lakewater a last, longing glance, before stepping messily into his unlaced shoes and traipsing after Anna, brushing aside the errant sprigs of broom as he goes with lazy abandon.
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
"Well?" She says, one hand on her hip. Lem pulls his breeches up and belts them, and stands there, looking at her.
"Well what?"
"Are you coming? I was sent to fetch you. Elaine is getting extremely catty in your absense." Anna fixes him with a look that Lem cannot help but deflect.
He glances at his feet again, and shrugs. "I suppose." Turning, he stoops to gather up his shoes, adding, "As if she needs an excuse. Bugger Elaine," but Anna is already ahead of him, low-hanging catkins dusting the top of her head as she passes beneath the trees. She had never been one for gossip, anyway. And Elaine...well, the less Elaine knew of what was uttered behind her back the better.
Lem sighs, and gives the still lakewater a last, longing glance, before stepping messily into his unlaced shoes and traipsing after Anna, brushing aside the errant sprigs of broom as he goes with lazy abandon.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Literary Lunches!; Lakewater cont.
Continued from yesterday. This is being made up as I go along, by the way (this may be obvious.)
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
There is a tinkling of softly scattered stones and he looks up to see that he is not alone. Stepping carefully toward the lapping waters, shoe-clad feet picking their way between knife-stones and satin pebbles alike, Anna looks up at him, and her smile is quiet, half-amused, an eyebrow arcs at his state of undress.
"I needed a bath." He offers, looking down at his toes and offering a soft laugh in return. His shirt he bundles in his hands and holds before him, a belated show of modestly. Anna snorts indelicately, negotating the shingle as she approaches further.
"You must have been filthy." She stops in front of him, and looks up, pushing her loose hair behind her ears. "You've been gone for hours."
Lem shrugs, and Anna steps around him, letting the water lap gently over the toes of her boots as she looks out over the lake. Lem takes the opporutinty to shoulder his way into his shirt, and has one leg in his breeches when Anna turns around, the sunlight creating fiery halos in her copper hair.
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
There is a tinkling of softly scattered stones and he looks up to see that he is not alone. Stepping carefully toward the lapping waters, shoe-clad feet picking their way between knife-stones and satin pebbles alike, Anna looks up at him, and her smile is quiet, half-amused, an eyebrow arcs at his state of undress.
"I needed a bath." He offers, looking down at his toes and offering a soft laugh in return. His shirt he bundles in his hands and holds before him, a belated show of modestly. Anna snorts indelicately, negotating the shingle as she approaches further.
"You must have been filthy." She stops in front of him, and looks up, pushing her loose hair behind her ears. "You've been gone for hours."
Lem shrugs, and Anna steps around him, letting the water lap gently over the toes of her boots as she looks out over the lake. Lem takes the opporutinty to shoulder his way into his shirt, and has one leg in his breeches when Anna turns around, the sunlight creating fiery halos in her copper hair.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Literary Lunches!; Lakewater
I've started getting in some descriptive writing practice on my lunchbreaks, hoping to improve and motivate myself further by writing every day! Here's the first piece (which may or may not be continued tomorrow)! (Don't expect these to make any sense, contain any plot or have much literary merit, it's really just for my own improvement.)
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
His hair plasters his face otter-like, slick and inky, as he breaks the glassy surface of the lake and sends ripples shoreward in ever increasing diameters. He breathes, and blinks away the moisture from clear blue eyes. Dragonflies flit, jewelled wings ablur, between the reeds and beneath the laden willow-branches that dip their fingertips lazily into the cool water. The sun looks hazily down, muggy rays beating their way through the treetops and warming the beach boulders and the clothes lain upon them. Toward the shallows, his knees scrape against shale and he plants a bare, damp-wrinkled foot beneath him and pushes downward, rising and sending a wild cascade of temporary rain down onto the smooth pebbles and sparkling moss. The beach-stones prick his feet as he steps further, toward the rocks where he has left his clothes, and as he grsaps wetly at his shirt he looks up at the cry of passing geese, arrowed lazily against the slow sky.
Lakewater
© M. Harley 2011
His hair plasters his face otter-like, slick and inky, as he breaks the glassy surface of the lake and sends ripples shoreward in ever increasing diameters. He breathes, and blinks away the moisture from clear blue eyes. Dragonflies flit, jewelled wings ablur, between the reeds and beneath the laden willow-branches that dip their fingertips lazily into the cool water. The sun looks hazily down, muggy rays beating their way through the treetops and warming the beach boulders and the clothes lain upon them. Toward the shallows, his knees scrape against shale and he plants a bare, damp-wrinkled foot beneath him and pushes downward, rising and sending a wild cascade of temporary rain down onto the smooth pebbles and sparkling moss. The beach-stones prick his feet as he steps further, toward the rocks where he has left his clothes, and as he grsaps wetly at his shirt he looks up at the cry of passing geese, arrowed lazily against the slow sky.
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