—
The crocuses are blooming, bright spots of yellow against the dead pale grasses, and that more than the warm and wild wind coming in off the water tells Caspian that it is truly time.
There is an unmistakable eagerness in the way he lopes down the well-beaten deer track to the cliffside, though there’s no one to see it. The boy’s head is high, dark eyes brighter than the morning sun glancing on the waves. When a blackbird trills from a high stalk he seems to consider singing back. Instead he only snorts, and tosses his head, and plunges quicker down the path.
If Benvolio were awake he would tell him to be careful. But the bat must still be caught in winter sleep; each time Caspian reaches across their bond he is met with silence. Oh, but the sunlight is warm on his back and the sea-birds are returning from wherever it is they go when the frigid gales come rolling in across the bay; it must be today. And even if it isn’t, Caspian will make it so.
He pauses for moment at the top of the cliffs to catch his breath. There is the sweet-earth smell of spring, and the salty tang of the outgoing tide, each scent as familiar as a mother’s touch. And there is the crag that juts out from the rest, and in its shadow is a deeper shadow, and Caspian smiles to see the cave that has sheltered his friend all winter. It’s been lonely without him, though he'll never tell him just how lonely.
Like a hawk about to dive he stands poised at the top of the cliffs, and the wind tears at his pale hair but can do nothing to dislodge his crooked grin.
@any
There is an unmistakable eagerness in the way he lopes down the well-beaten deer track to the cliffside, though there’s no one to see it. The boy’s head is high, dark eyes brighter than the morning sun glancing on the waves. When a blackbird trills from a high stalk he seems to consider singing back. Instead he only snorts, and tosses his head, and plunges quicker down the path.
If Benvolio were awake he would tell him to be careful. But the bat must still be caught in winter sleep; each time Caspian reaches across their bond he is met with silence. Oh, but the sunlight is warm on his back and the sea-birds are returning from wherever it is they go when the frigid gales come rolling in across the bay; it must be today. And even if it isn’t, Caspian will make it so.
He pauses for moment at the top of the cliffs to catch his breath. There is the sweet-earth smell of spring, and the salty tang of the outgoing tide, each scent as familiar as a mother’s touch. And there is the crag that juts out from the rest, and in its shadow is a deeper shadow, and Caspian smiles to see the cave that has sheltered his friend all winter. It’s been lonely without him, though he'll never tell him just how lonely.
Like a hawk about to dive he stands poised at the top of the cliffs, and the wind tears at his pale hair but can do nothing to dislodge his crooked grin.
@any
