write like....
Aug. 6th, 2011 04:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
filegI was 503'd out of lj most of the evening. Did not even get my comments until a short while ago, ll in a lump. Hoping for better tomorrow
Writer's Meme:
I wish it told you why
from Breathe
The captain was all but invisible in the gloom, his dark-dappled cloak a pattern of moonlight through leaves, his dark hair a shadow in the gathering of shadows that haunted this place. He might have been a tumbled pile of stones that vaguely resembled a man. Only his eyes, silvered in the grey dark, spoke of his presence - and even they seemed a reflection of stars on dark swirling water. He scanned the great river for any sign of movement, any hint of danger. He perched and waited, restless, the Raven of Ithilien, feeling that he was watching for death.
Lately his dreams left him wakeful, mind racing, thinking it best not to waste a precious second he might regret tomorrow. Instead of sleeping he would walk among his men, study their faces, and try to remember how to breathe - tasting every breath, in and out. Sleep might come all too soon.
He had been watching the full moon dance on the black water for some time before he remembered there should be only a pale gleam tonight. Something danced like foxfire in the stream. He stepped through the reeds and waded into the swirling current, mesmerized, powerless, yet unable to feel alarmed.
It proved to be a sleek grey boat with a prow that reared like the neck of a stallion as it turned and came toward him. Inside, it was full of clear bright water, brighter than moonlight, yet casting no light into the surrounding dark.
In the boat lay the Blade of Gondor, and he was broken.
Writer's Meme:
I wish it told you why
from Breathe
The captain was all but invisible in the gloom, his dark-dappled cloak a pattern of moonlight through leaves, his dark hair a shadow in the gathering of shadows that haunted this place. He might have been a tumbled pile of stones that vaguely resembled a man. Only his eyes, silvered in the grey dark, spoke of his presence - and even they seemed a reflection of stars on dark swirling water. He scanned the great river for any sign of movement, any hint of danger. He perched and waited, restless, the Raven of Ithilien, feeling that he was watching for death.
Lately his dreams left him wakeful, mind racing, thinking it best not to waste a precious second he might regret tomorrow. Instead of sleeping he would walk among his men, study their faces, and try to remember how to breathe - tasting every breath, in and out. Sleep might come all too soon.
He had been watching the full moon dance on the black water for some time before he remembered there should be only a pale gleam tonight. Something danced like foxfire in the stream. He stepped through the reeds and waded into the swirling current, mesmerized, powerless, yet unable to feel alarmed.
It proved to be a sleek grey boat with a prow that reared like the neck of a stallion as it turned and came toward him. Inside, it was full of clear bright water, brighter than moonlight, yet casting no light into the surrounding dark.
In the boat lay the Blade of Gondor, and he was broken.