15min fic #20
Aug. 25th, 2004 12:45 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Interruption
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'may and any other characters mentioned here, in passing or... not, are mine~ and so's the fic
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 20. The problem with words that could really be anything is that they don't really inspire anything. I mean, really, dust? If a character just walked in Raykin, there'd be dust. So, here we go, dust in the excess. Three cheers for dust.
~ ~ ~
“Your Highness, Sir, Lady, gentlemen…”
The sword master folded his arms as the messenger rattled off the appropriate forms of address. “Out with it, woman, say what you’ve come to say.”
The servant bowed her head respectfully to the man. She addressed him directly, though her words were intended for the assembly. “A sandstorm approaches,” she said succinctly, then left, apparently to inform men training in other areas of the barracks.
Nimay sighed and rested her weight on her sword. There would be no more training today. She sheathed her sword, then lay it against the wall of the barracks with all the other training swords.
The buildings of the palace’s army barracks were all much the same: large, open, single-roomed buildings built of solid stone. Small, slitted windows lined the ceiling of the buildings, and in the event of a sandstorm, wooden flaps were clamped down over them.
Ordinarily, everyone who was present in the room would help to close the windows, but this particular group of army trainees had grown accustomed to merely slumping themselves against the wall and leaving it to Nimay. She never complained; it was considerably quicker her way. A process that normally took a few minutes—during which the sandstorm could well be upon them—was completed in barely a heartbeat, whereupon Nimay joined her comrades against the cool stone wall.
She closed her eyes and rested wrists on drawn-up knees, waiting for her breathing and heartbeat to slow from the exertion of training, waiting for the sandstorm to hit.
There was the eerie silence that always preceded a sandstorm, permeated only by the heavy breathing of the thirty other army trainees. There was a subtle difference between the calm before a sandstorm and that which heralded a thunderstorm, but no Raykinian could pin down exactly what the difference was. Either way, it never lasted long.
Nimay smiled quietly, her eyes still closed as she listened to the high-pitched whining of the wind outside, and the sand grains belting against the wooden shutters. She’d always loved storms, both those borne of Lin and of Aeia. This one was no different, even if it did impede on her training.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'may and any other characters mentioned here, in passing or... not, are mine~ and so's the fic
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 20. The problem with words that could really be anything is that they don't really inspire anything. I mean, really, dust? If a character just walked in Raykin, there'd be dust. So, here we go, dust in the excess. Three cheers for dust.
“Your Highness, Sir, Lady, gentlemen…”
The sword master folded his arms as the messenger rattled off the appropriate forms of address. “Out with it, woman, say what you’ve come to say.”
The servant bowed her head respectfully to the man. She addressed him directly, though her words were intended for the assembly. “A sandstorm approaches,” she said succinctly, then left, apparently to inform men training in other areas of the barracks.
Nimay sighed and rested her weight on her sword. There would be no more training today. She sheathed her sword, then lay it against the wall of the barracks with all the other training swords.
The buildings of the palace’s army barracks were all much the same: large, open, single-roomed buildings built of solid stone. Small, slitted windows lined the ceiling of the buildings, and in the event of a sandstorm, wooden flaps were clamped down over them.
Ordinarily, everyone who was present in the room would help to close the windows, but this particular group of army trainees had grown accustomed to merely slumping themselves against the wall and leaving it to Nimay. She never complained; it was considerably quicker her way. A process that normally took a few minutes—during which the sandstorm could well be upon them—was completed in barely a heartbeat, whereupon Nimay joined her comrades against the cool stone wall.
She closed her eyes and rested wrists on drawn-up knees, waiting for her breathing and heartbeat to slow from the exertion of training, waiting for the sandstorm to hit.
There was the eerie silence that always preceded a sandstorm, permeated only by the heavy breathing of the thirty other army trainees. There was a subtle difference between the calm before a sandstorm and that which heralded a thunderstorm, but no Raykinian could pin down exactly what the difference was. Either way, it never lasted long.
Nimay smiled quietly, her eyes still closed as she listened to the high-pitched whining of the wind outside, and the sand grains belting against the wooden shutters. She’d always loved storms, both those borne of Lin and of Aeia. This one was no different, even if it did impede on her training.