#2ndperson — Public Fediverse posts

#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood

Nature—it's all around you.

Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.

You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.

One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.

To the left, about there...

You see...

Tawny eyes.

Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.

You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.

The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.

You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.

"Wait," you say.

He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.

You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!

You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.

Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./

The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.

Friends once more.

The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"

-=-=-=-=-

When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory

#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood

Nature—it's all around you.

Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.

You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.

One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.

To the left, about there...

You see...

Tawny eyes.

Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.

You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.

The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.

You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.

"Wait," you say.

He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.

You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!

You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.

Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./

The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.

Friends once more.

The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"

-=-=-=-=-

When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory

#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood

Nature—it's all around you.

Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.

You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.

One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.

To the left, about there...

You see...

Tawny eyes.

Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.

You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.

The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.

You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.

"Wait," you say.

He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.

You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!

You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.

Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./

The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.

Friends once more.

The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"

-=-=-=-=-

When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory

#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood

Nature—it's all around you.

Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.

You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.

One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.

To the left, about there...

You see...

Tawny eyes.

Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.

You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.

The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.

You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.

"Wait," you say.

He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.

You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!

You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.

Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./

The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.

Friends once more.

The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"

-=-=-=-=-

When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory

#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood

Nature—it's all around you.

Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.

You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.

One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.

To the left, about there...

You see...

Tawny eyes.

Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.

You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.

The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.

You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.

"Wait," you say.

He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.

You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!

You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.

Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./

The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.

Friends once more.

The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"

-=-=-=-=-

When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory