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rainbowfic2017-03-31 11:12 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2017-03-31 11:12 pm
Provence Lavender #8, Moonlight #18
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Sunrise
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Provence Lavender #8. View from the hills, Moonlight #18. Idyll
Supplies and Materials: pointillism, miniature collection, photography, graffiti (Out Like a Lamb), frame, fabric, beading wire,
Word Count: 212
Rating: G
Characters: Isshiri
Warnings: Nope.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri has always loved early mornings; that never changes, no matter where he wanders.
On the coastline, there's something about the way it slowly tints the water to pink, to gold, and finally blue, with the soft sound of the waves echoing in unceasing repetitive motion beneath it.
Or in the North, where the sun glimmers through the auroras, or comes back after a polar winter--he saw that once, despite the difficulty he found in weeks of darkness; it was all worth it for that first, perfect dawn.
The wooded lowlands have their own charms, under a dense canopy where the birds wake him before the sun touches the forest floor; he likes to lie there, listening to them and watching the patterns gradually take shape around him.
And then there's home, of course, where the City climbs out of the sands at dawn, a falling star the night left behind as a gift to the earth, shining and refracting the sunlight like something out of a dream.
His absolute favorite, though, would have to be the mountains, with the air cool and clear and crisp around him; he can see for miles and miles and miles, the sun gently illuminating an entire world below, just waiting for him to arrive.
Story: Sunrise
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Provence Lavender #8. View from the hills, Moonlight #18. Idyll
Supplies and Materials: pointillism, miniature collection, photography, graffiti (Out Like a Lamb), frame, fabric, beading wire,
Word Count: 212
Rating: G
Characters: Isshiri
Warnings: Nope.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri has always loved early mornings; that never changes, no matter where he wanders.
On the coastline, there's something about the way it slowly tints the water to pink, to gold, and finally blue, with the soft sound of the waves echoing in unceasing repetitive motion beneath it.
Or in the North, where the sun glimmers through the auroras, or comes back after a polar winter--he saw that once, despite the difficulty he found in weeks of darkness; it was all worth it for that first, perfect dawn.
The wooded lowlands have their own charms, under a dense canopy where the birds wake him before the sun touches the forest floor; he likes to lie there, listening to them and watching the patterns gradually take shape around him.
And then there's home, of course, where the City climbs out of the sands at dawn, a falling star the night left behind as a gift to the earth, shining and refracting the sunlight like something out of a dream.
His absolute favorite, though, would have to be the mountains, with the air cool and clear and crisp around him; he can see for miles and miles and miles, the sun gently illuminating an entire world below, just waiting for him to arrive.