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Sep. 9th, 2004 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sign_seekerThe darkness of a universe outside all universes whirls and spins into a dizzy blur, bright dying stars melding together with blackness, and then Will stands in the center of his own attic bedroom, in the yellow light of the lamp beside his bed.
He changes into pyjamas, clatters back downstairs to clean his teeth. James slips into the loo ahead of him, and Will pulls a face at him and waits his turn with the usual brotherly teasing passed through the door. Teeth and face cleaned, he trots back upstairs, calling a goodnight to his parents and Mary as he passes their rooms, and slides into bed. He pulls the blanket up to his chin, switches off the light, and lies looking up at the dark ceiling.
The moon is new tonight, and though the stars are bright through his skylight they are not enough to see by. He lies still under the blankets, and watches the patterns that dance before his eyes against the blackness.
Mostly they are random patterns, and he lies heavy-limbed and sleepless, breathing slow and deep as he watches them. Sometimes they seem to shape themselves in his mind, into a circle quartered by a cross, into a dancing white flame, into two silvery eyes that stare back at his, into a bright gleaming cluster of mistletoe blossoms against a dark ancient oak. And he breathes in and out, slow and regular, and watches them.
In his mind faintly is Merriman's deep grave voice, saying gently, "You are mortal and must live in present time, and it is not possible to think in the old ways there," while the children before him met his gaze with wet eyes and sad faces that smoothed out into the quiet joy of a sunlight day, as their memory of the long desperate battle faded into a day's hike in the Welsh mountains. And the bright patterns swirl and shift like a great cloud of pale moths, and Will watches them dance.
He changes into pyjamas, clatters back downstairs to clean his teeth. James slips into the loo ahead of him, and Will pulls a face at him and waits his turn with the usual brotherly teasing passed through the door. Teeth and face cleaned, he trots back upstairs, calling a goodnight to his parents and Mary as he passes their rooms, and slides into bed. He pulls the blanket up to his chin, switches off the light, and lies looking up at the dark ceiling.
The moon is new tonight, and though the stars are bright through his skylight they are not enough to see by. He lies still under the blankets, and watches the patterns that dance before his eyes against the blackness.
Mostly they are random patterns, and he lies heavy-limbed and sleepless, breathing slow and deep as he watches them. Sometimes they seem to shape themselves in his mind, into a circle quartered by a cross, into a dancing white flame, into two silvery eyes that stare back at his, into a bright gleaming cluster of mistletoe blossoms against a dark ancient oak. And he breathes in and out, slow and regular, and watches them.
In his mind faintly is Merriman's deep grave voice, saying gently, "You are mortal and must live in present time, and it is not possible to think in the old ways there," while the children before him met his gaze with wet eyes and sad faces that smoothed out into the quiet joy of a sunlight day, as their memory of the long desperate battle faded into a day's hike in the Welsh mountains. And the bright patterns swirl and shift like a great cloud of pale moths, and Will watches them dance.
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Date: 2004-09-09 12:36 pm (UTC)