You're off camping? Or you've sent the children to a summer camp where they'll learn to climb trees (to avoid bears) treat snakebites (if they fail to avoid the snakes) and put out forest fires (a six-week course including learning how to use a respirator, how to carry more water than you thought you ever could, and how to avoid stampeding bears trying to get away from the fire)? Oh, and there's an evening class in talking about ice hockey teams and how victory was stolen from them.
The camp "What did he mean, no beach parties?" asked War. He looked around, then whistled, a bright, high noise that went on for a little bit too long. "Remember that time we were at Fuego del Terra?" Pestilence held a hand out to help Scuffles stand up, but Scuffles handed him the hell-chihuahua instead, which bared her teeth at him. "No." "Yeah, you probably wouldn't. We did drink a lot. Well, do you remember a three-day blackout?" "Before last Christmas?" Pestilence half-sighed, half-laughed. The chihuahua sniffed his sleeve and sneezed, while Scuffles stood up and dusted himself off. "Right; well, the reason he said no beach parties is partly because you never remember the parties." Two Valkyries walked into the room and, just for a moment, there was a smell of hot blood spilled over snow, smoke from signal fires burning desperately, and a taste of bitter acorn and iron in the air. "I'll need a half-hour to be ready," said War. "Scuff, you're coming with us. Dress nicely. Famine... try not being yourself, hey?" Famine giggled. "Meet here or there?" War stretched, his arms reaching up less than halfway to the unnecessarily high ceiling and his muscles rippling like waves on a lake on a sunny, breezy morning. "There," he said. "Let's set up camp at the Monasterio de las Huelgas. It's--" "--just outside Burgos," said Pestilence, sounding slightly surprised. "I gave forty monks dysentery there once!" "Always the philanthropist," said War. "I don't think there are any monks there any more though." "Just tourists," said Famine. "I'm good to go; I'll go and make them all hungry for cultural and spiritual development somewhere else." Famine walked away, somehow fading into the foreground until he was gone from view, and the others dispersed around the villa, collecting small items, trying to set the hell-chihuahua down, and giving orders to the Valkyries on how to handle the souls of the war-dead while Death was consulting. There was a brief sense of business, and then peace fell across the villa, and in the garden E. Kevin Gway screamed just once and then relaxed enough to fall asleep.
The monasterio de las Huelgas was a pale stone building with a wide cobbled street outside and an iron railing that was considerably more modern than the 10th century architecture. A long colonnade fronted half of it, above which was a clerestory. These led into chapel houses and then to a square tower with an excellent view toward Burgos. A small chapel was set separately in front of the main monastery, near which was a closed and chained iron gate. Three tourists stood outside, posing for the camera of a fourth, while the Spanish sun beat down mercilessly on them. "You look hungry," said Famine as he walked past, seemingly oblivious to the fact that two of them, stood next to each other, looked together like a rather sweaty overstuffed couch. "There's a sale on hotdogs two streets over." Then he looked at the railing, mounted on a knee-high wall, and the gate that blocked his entrance. He reached towards it, just as something barked behind him.
We had the tent set up in the yard for a week, tried spending the night twice but the boys were too wound up both times and we ended up back in the house.
Ah, a new venue appears. I am excited to see what comes next.
2 comments:
You're off camping? Or you've sent the children to a summer camp where they'll learn to climb trees (to avoid bears) treat snakebites (if they fail to avoid the snakes) and put out forest fires (a six-week course including learning how to use a respirator, how to carry more water than you thought you ever could, and how to avoid stampeding bears trying to get away from the fire)? Oh, and there's an evening class in talking about ice hockey teams and how victory was stolen from them.
The camp
"What did he mean, no beach parties?" asked War. He looked around, then whistled, a bright, high noise that went on for a little bit too long.
"Remember that time we were at Fuego del Terra?" Pestilence held a hand out to help Scuffles stand up, but Scuffles handed him the hell-chihuahua instead, which bared her teeth at him.
"No."
"Yeah, you probably wouldn't. We did drink a lot. Well, do you remember a three-day blackout?"
"Before last Christmas?"
Pestilence half-sighed, half-laughed. The chihuahua sniffed his sleeve and sneezed, while Scuffles stood up and dusted himself off. "Right; well, the reason he said no beach parties is partly because you never remember the parties."
Two Valkyries walked into the room and, just for a moment, there was a smell of hot blood spilled over snow, smoke from signal fires burning desperately, and a taste of bitter acorn and iron in the air.
"I'll need a half-hour to be ready," said War. "Scuff, you're coming with us. Dress nicely. Famine... try not being yourself, hey?"
Famine giggled. "Meet here or there?"
War stretched, his arms reaching up less than halfway to the unnecessarily high ceiling and his muscles rippling like waves on a lake on a sunny, breezy morning. "There," he said. "Let's set up camp at the Monasterio de las Huelgas. It's--"
"--just outside Burgos," said Pestilence, sounding slightly surprised. "I gave forty monks dysentery there once!"
"Always the philanthropist," said War. "I don't think there are any monks there any more though."
"Just tourists," said Famine. "I'm good to go; I'll go and make them all hungry for cultural and spiritual development somewhere else."
Famine walked away, somehow fading into the foreground until he was gone from view, and the others dispersed around the villa, collecting small items, trying to set the hell-chihuahua down, and giving orders to the Valkyries on how to handle the souls of the war-dead while Death was consulting. There was a brief sense of business, and then peace fell across the villa, and in the garden E. Kevin Gway screamed just once and then relaxed enough to fall asleep.
The monasterio de las Huelgas was a pale stone building with a wide cobbled street outside and an iron railing that was considerably more modern than the 10th century architecture. A long colonnade fronted half of it, above which was a clerestory. These led into chapel houses and then to a square tower with an excellent view toward Burgos. A small chapel was set separately in front of the main monastery, near which was a closed and chained iron gate. Three tourists stood outside, posing for the camera of a fourth, while the Spanish sun beat down mercilessly on them.
"You look hungry," said Famine as he walked past, seemingly oblivious to the fact that two of them, stood next to each other, looked together like a rather sweaty overstuffed couch. "There's a sale on hotdogs two streets over." Then he looked at the railing, mounted on a knee-high wall, and the gate that blocked his entrance. He reached towards it, just as something barked behind him.
Greg - smart ass :)
We had the tent set up in the yard for a week, tried spending the night twice but the boys were too wound up both times and we ended up back in the house.
Ah, a new venue appears. I am excited to see what comes next.
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