Summer 50, 515
Sea of Grass
Anja often dreamed of bones. It was not unusual for the Drykas to dream of death. The Sea of Grass showed preferential treatment to no one, and the slightest flicker of chance could bring any Drykas’ life to a sudden, brilliant and bloody close. Perhaps the difference for Anja when compared to his fellows was his mood during the dreams. When his spectral eyes fell upon Syna bleached bones baked in golden light, the Drykas felt at peace. Ohs tratche. He would watch the waves of grass dance in time to the undulations of spirits long since gone from this world. Death in its colorful machinations was just as beautiful as life.
“Already it is morning and yet my husband still sleeps like the dead.”
Anja opened a single sky colored eye. He might have taken in the woven gold tapestries of charging striders lining the walls, or the finely spun woolen blankets that covered his person. But as usual, the man only had eyes for his wife. She was curled up beside him like a kitten, one hand on his stomach and her head playfully resting on his shoulder. Ocean blue eyes, more vibrant than the sky and deeper than the Sea of Grass’s darkest lake gazed at him with a mischievous fondness. Ebony hair cascaded down her shoulders, partially obscuring a school of fish crawling across her neck and disappearing into the shadow of the spiraling wind marks crossing her bare shoulder.
“I was up late last night gavee,” Anja protested. His dominant arm was trapped underneath his beloved’s back, so he raised his free hand to speak in a weak, single-handed gesture. “Surely my kind and caring wife would not fault me extra sleep.”
“Yes and I know your ghosts keep you great company and the work you do is very important,” she replied teasingly. “But need I remind you that you promised me a ride at first light? Your business has kept you far too busy the last ten day. Always off riding to some place or another. Your family is neglected, husband.”
Syla was being playful, not spiteful. But there was an air of truth in her teasing words that sent a pang of guilt through Anja’s sleep addled nerves.
“I believe I was not too terribly neglectful to you last night,” Anja murmured back. He turned his body so he faced his wife, freeing his arm from underneath her body. His fingertips gently traced her wind mark, starting first at her wrist then delicately moving upwards until he reached the tip of her shoulder. Syla’s eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and he didn’t miss the way her breath caught between her lips at his caress. She caught his hand as it began to move back down her shoulder and pulled at his arms so they wrapped around her neck then gently brushed her lips against his. She finally settled with their noses just inches apart.
“I will not be distracted from my ride, Anja.”
The drykas let out a disappointed sigh through his teeth. Love-making was an enjoyable way of keeping his wife content when he was busy with work, but not entirely foolproof in its success rate. Syla had a restlessness befitting the best of plains bred drykas, and if she felt neglected than her stubbornness would make him miserable until he acquiesced. Perhaps this was the reason he only had one wife. Keeping up with more women than her would leave the poor man senseless.
Sea of Grass
Anja often dreamed of bones. It was not unusual for the Drykas to dream of death. The Sea of Grass showed preferential treatment to no one, and the slightest flicker of chance could bring any Drykas’ life to a sudden, brilliant and bloody close. Perhaps the difference for Anja when compared to his fellows was his mood during the dreams. When his spectral eyes fell upon Syna bleached bones baked in golden light, the Drykas felt at peace. Ohs tratche. He would watch the waves of grass dance in time to the undulations of spirits long since gone from this world. Death in its colorful machinations was just as beautiful as life.
“Already it is morning and yet my husband still sleeps like the dead.”
Anja opened a single sky colored eye. He might have taken in the woven gold tapestries of charging striders lining the walls, or the finely spun woolen blankets that covered his person. But as usual, the man only had eyes for his wife. She was curled up beside him like a kitten, one hand on his stomach and her head playfully resting on his shoulder. Ocean blue eyes, more vibrant than the sky and deeper than the Sea of Grass’s darkest lake gazed at him with a mischievous fondness. Ebony hair cascaded down her shoulders, partially obscuring a school of fish crawling across her neck and disappearing into the shadow of the spiraling wind marks crossing her bare shoulder.
“I was up late last night gavee,” Anja protested. His dominant arm was trapped underneath his beloved’s back, so he raised his free hand to speak in a weak, single-handed gesture. “Surely my kind and caring wife would not fault me extra sleep.”
“Yes and I know your ghosts keep you great company and the work you do is very important,” she replied teasingly. “But need I remind you that you promised me a ride at first light? Your business has kept you far too busy the last ten day. Always off riding to some place or another. Your family is neglected, husband.”
Syla was being playful, not spiteful. But there was an air of truth in her teasing words that sent a pang of guilt through Anja’s sleep addled nerves.
“I believe I was not too terribly neglectful to you last night,” Anja murmured back. He turned his body so he faced his wife, freeing his arm from underneath her body. His fingertips gently traced her wind mark, starting first at her wrist then delicately moving upwards until he reached the tip of her shoulder. Syla’s eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and he didn’t miss the way her breath caught between her lips at his caress. She caught his hand as it began to move back down her shoulder and pulled at his arms so they wrapped around her neck then gently brushed her lips against his. She finally settled with their noses just inches apart.
“I will not be distracted from my ride, Anja.”
The drykas let out a disappointed sigh through his teeth. Love-making was an enjoyable way of keeping his wife content when he was busy with work, but not entirely foolproof in its success rate. Syla had a restlessness befitting the best of plains bred drykas, and if she felt neglected than her stubbornness would make him miserable until he acquiesced. Perhaps this was the reason he only had one wife. Keeping up with more women than her would leave the poor man senseless.
