Monday November 25th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the trail.

I shaved this morning for the first time in... months. I'm not actually sure when the last time was, to be honest.

Anyway, Max spent most of the rest of the day laughing at me. Hard to tell if it was because he was just so pleased to see me without a beard again, or if he just thinks I look funny.

Maybe I'll be able to give him a chance to get used to it.


From this vantage point the trail of black smoke rising up from the plains splits the horizon right down the middle. The air is so still this morning that the smoke does not wander left or right, it just reaches straight up. As though it is grasping for the stars or the moon, though they are long out of sight.

They were up there when the fire began, watching as the flames forced their way out of windows and onto the yard. There were a few moments there when it looked as though the blaze would spread to the neighbour's property but it clung to its source through calm currents and prayer.

It has been burning ever since, which surprises me I must say. I had expected it to have been brought under control long before I reached this overlook. The walk that brought me here was not a short one, nor had I hurried. But the smoke is as thick as ever and shows no sign of dissipating.

It would appear that I was not the only one who wanted that home to burn to the ground.


Greg said...

You shaved just as Winter's starting? That sounds backwards.... Max is probably just fascinated to find that his Daddy had been hiding under that beard all this time :)
So... today's story is based on reality? ;-) I like how peaceful the description is, with the last line delivering a little sting to wake the reader up and get them wondering what's going to happen next. The third paragraph is really good in particular.

The trail
Uruk looked around the dungeons wondering if there would be an obvious way out. A well-worn path trodden by the gaoler perhaps, or a convenient hand-carved wooden sign saying "This way to the executions". In fact he rather hoped there would be such a sign as they fetched a tidy sum at the Sunday 'Artefacts and Bric-a-brac' fayre in Little Codton. But no; the Lich-King's dungeons were dank, damp and dismal, and clearly the Beholder Queen never came down here to suggest a little chintz, some curtains, or at least a periodic cleaning.
He sniffed cautiously; the odours he found in dungeons were rarely appetising, and when they were it just meant some poor soul was being roasted alive. Ah, there was an unusual note for anyone's dungeon: lilac! Perhaps the Beholder Queen did come down here after all.
He sniffed again, and set to following the scent trail.

Marc said...

Greg - yes, well... yes. I shave when I can find the time (and motivation) to do so. If I included the seasons in that calculation I might become an honorary member of ZZ Top.

Thank you for another entry in Uruk's tale. I'm finding it very fascinating :D