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31_days2005-10-13 01:11 pm
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-10-13 01:11 pm
[October 12] [Original] To Catch A Falling Star
Title: To Catch A Falling Star
Theme: October 12: Into the valley of dying stars
Series: Original
Characters: Palomir, Gale
Summary: ...you put it in your pocket.
Dawn, Gale says, is the best time to catch falling stars.
It's the time when, she tells Palomir in a dramatic stage whisper, that they go home, and if you're fast enough to run behind them and tall enough to jump to them, you might be lucky enough to catch a ride to where they live.
Palomir isn't entirely sure he believes this, but neither is he entirely certain where Gale's going with this vein of conversation either.
Palomir, Gale says, (and the elf knows she's come to the moment of epiphany, now) catch a star with me.
It's not phrased as a question, but then, the hand extended out to him isn't exactly commanding, either. It's an offer to walk beside with her; not to lead, not to follow. He thinks, perhaps, that he can live with that.
So he takes her hand, and they run for the horizon.
While they're running, it doesn't occur to Palomir to ask where they're running /to/. He's assuming Gale knows, or at least he's /hoping/ she knows, because honestly, the last thing he wants to be doing now is haring off into nowhere.
In the meantime, Gale is thinking: Palomir runs like a spring morning.
Palomir runs like melting frost and new-born brooks, like leverets fresh from the burrow tasting their first new year.
That is what Palomir runs like.
Not that Gale will ever tell him.
In Palomir's opinion, Gale's like a peculiarly tangible brand of quicksilver, something slippery and shining that deigns to let itself be held in the hand.
Then again, perhaps it only lets itself be held by certain people, and he thinks that that, too, would be true of the girl.
He isn't sure what to think of that. So he doesn't.
Running, running, running. The horizon doesn't seem any closer, and rock and air and cloud might have passed under their feet for all he knows.
(Or cares.)
The stars tilt in the sky, pinwheeling towards a point in the distance like chips of mica pouring into an invisible cosmic funnel.
Gale's grip tightens on his hand and he can hear her voice, tinny and distant as the wind ferrets it away: "We're almost there."
Palomir would reply, but almost sooner than he can imagine, the material he's been running on vanishes beneath his feet and he falls forward. He's not alone in falling, though. Gale is falling with him.
Instinctively, he curls towards her, attempting to shield her from whatever's to come - the ground, most pressingly, or whatever else might lie below. Gale seems rather delighted however, and in response to his movement, she simply grips his free hand.
They descend belly-down, spinning solemnly in midair. Their freefall seems slower than his brain knows it should be, even as their clothes whip and crackle about them as though caught in a much stronger wind.
Gale says something to him, but he can't hear her voice. He can, however, read her lips. 'Look below you.'
He's been so caught up in staring into her eyes that he hasn't given much thought to where they're going.
Palomir looks down.
And wakes up.
Gale's upside-down face greets him, grinning.
He blinks, and is vaguely aware of lying flat on his back. There's a lump digging into his kidney and hip, but his head feels oddly comfortable, as though its resting on a pillow of some kind. It takes him another moment to digest that he is almost certainly lying in Gale's lap.
"Gale?" Palomir's a little bit disoriented, and he's almost sure he can't remember how he's gotten here.
"You fell asleep," she says, as though prompted. "Look."
Her cupped hands flash in front of his eyes before they scissor apart, blinding him with a burst of temporary starlight.
"Look," she repeats dreamily, and as the brightness fades, Palomir can see the fireflies whirling in his peripheral sight.
"I caught a star."
Theme: October 12: Into the valley of dying stars
Series: Original
Characters: Palomir, Gale
Summary: ...you put it in your pocket.
Dawn, Gale says, is the best time to catch falling stars.
It's the time when, she tells Palomir in a dramatic stage whisper, that they go home, and if you're fast enough to run behind them and tall enough to jump to them, you might be lucky enough to catch a ride to where they live.
Palomir isn't entirely sure he believes this, but neither is he entirely certain where Gale's going with this vein of conversation either.
Palomir, Gale says, (and the elf knows she's come to the moment of epiphany, now) catch a star with me.
It's not phrased as a question, but then, the hand extended out to him isn't exactly commanding, either. It's an offer to walk beside with her; not to lead, not to follow. He thinks, perhaps, that he can live with that.
So he takes her hand, and they run for the horizon.
While they're running, it doesn't occur to Palomir to ask where they're running /to/. He's assuming Gale knows, or at least he's /hoping/ she knows, because honestly, the last thing he wants to be doing now is haring off into nowhere.
In the meantime, Gale is thinking: Palomir runs like a spring morning.
Palomir runs like melting frost and new-born brooks, like leverets fresh from the burrow tasting their first new year.
That is what Palomir runs like.
Not that Gale will ever tell him.
In Palomir's opinion, Gale's like a peculiarly tangible brand of quicksilver, something slippery and shining that deigns to let itself be held in the hand.
Then again, perhaps it only lets itself be held by certain people, and he thinks that that, too, would be true of the girl.
He isn't sure what to think of that. So he doesn't.
Running, running, running. The horizon doesn't seem any closer, and rock and air and cloud might have passed under their feet for all he knows.
(Or cares.)
The stars tilt in the sky, pinwheeling towards a point in the distance like chips of mica pouring into an invisible cosmic funnel.
Gale's grip tightens on his hand and he can hear her voice, tinny and distant as the wind ferrets it away: "We're almost there."
Palomir would reply, but almost sooner than he can imagine, the material he's been running on vanishes beneath his feet and he falls forward. He's not alone in falling, though. Gale is falling with him.
Instinctively, he curls towards her, attempting to shield her from whatever's to come - the ground, most pressingly, or whatever else might lie below. Gale seems rather delighted however, and in response to his movement, she simply grips his free hand.
They descend belly-down, spinning solemnly in midair. Their freefall seems slower than his brain knows it should be, even as their clothes whip and crackle about them as though caught in a much stronger wind.
Gale says something to him, but he can't hear her voice. He can, however, read her lips. 'Look below you.'
He's been so caught up in staring into her eyes that he hasn't given much thought to where they're going.
Palomir looks down.
And wakes up.
Gale's upside-down face greets him, grinning.
He blinks, and is vaguely aware of lying flat on his back. There's a lump digging into his kidney and hip, but his head feels oddly comfortable, as though its resting on a pillow of some kind. It takes him another moment to digest that he is almost certainly lying in Gale's lap.
"Gale?" Palomir's a little bit disoriented, and he's almost sure he can't remember how he's gotten here.
"You fell asleep," she says, as though prompted. "Look."
Her cupped hands flash in front of his eyes before they scissor apart, blinding him with a burst of temporary starlight.
"Look," she repeats dreamily, and as the brightness fades, Palomir can see the fireflies whirling in his peripheral sight.
"I caught a star."