Post by Charlie Dudox on Feb 2, 2005 20:36:46 GMT -5
Time off had been good for the body as well as good for the soul. The cousin's vinyard had always been her favorite escape when life or her body treated her poorly. Nestled in the south and on the other side of the mountains, it was always sheltered from much of the biting cold and wind of Ulster. Her cousin was her own age, married to a genial fellow who had put all of his sweat and labor into making the vinyard run. It had been her father's inheritance, past down from generation to generation. But fertile land was of little use to a traveling academic, and so had happily passed it on to the poorly off newlyweds. Years later, the Dudoxes were still welcomed guests and Charlie had taken up her usual winter hermitage in the guest house. Despite her daily walks, she had put on a bit of weight, the effect seemed to soften her features, the sculpture of her jaw bones and chin. She filled out her clothes full, though she had began to wonder what would become of her if she was not able to reverse the trend. But that miniature bit of vanity was far from the closest thing on her mind.
The night in the desert had thrown Charlie for a loop. She had been desperate and, if anything, it had been her fault. It was the sort of guilt that weighted down on her bones. Every day she walked the vinyards, their gnarled vines turning slowly up and out towards the cool winter sun. Had it been another season, she would had eaten grapes directly from the vine, but now, those that existed were small, hard and sour enough to make a girls face sieze up. Her favorite part had always been the eastern edge of the vinyard where the land was terraced with river stone walls. As a little girl she had asked the old care taker why they had taken such effort to move the land and build the walls. She could still remember the sun worn old man's response "Few of us in life are granted flat land in this life. If you don't work hard at what your given, you will watch it wash away in the first spring rain. It is only through back breaking toil that do we ever have a chance of keeping what we love." She loved her studies and her friends and for all that was good about being out here with her books, she knew that she risked watching all she had worked for wash away in the first spring rain. Her thesis could not lie unfinished forever and the university had been more than generous with granting her "time off" again and again. As much as she dreaded it, it was time to return to school and finish what she started.
She was gone by the next day. That was one of the great benefits of never fully unpacking. Unlike the last time she had come to Ulster, she took a carriage, not wishing to brave the snow. There would be enough to brave when she finally returned to Invernis.
(Sorry that this is mediocre, it'll take me a while to get back in the swing)
The night in the desert had thrown Charlie for a loop. She had been desperate and, if anything, it had been her fault. It was the sort of guilt that weighted down on her bones. Every day she walked the vinyards, their gnarled vines turning slowly up and out towards the cool winter sun. Had it been another season, she would had eaten grapes directly from the vine, but now, those that existed were small, hard and sour enough to make a girls face sieze up. Her favorite part had always been the eastern edge of the vinyard where the land was terraced with river stone walls. As a little girl she had asked the old care taker why they had taken such effort to move the land and build the walls. She could still remember the sun worn old man's response "Few of us in life are granted flat land in this life. If you don't work hard at what your given, you will watch it wash away in the first spring rain. It is only through back breaking toil that do we ever have a chance of keeping what we love." She loved her studies and her friends and for all that was good about being out here with her books, she knew that she risked watching all she had worked for wash away in the first spring rain. Her thesis could not lie unfinished forever and the university had been more than generous with granting her "time off" again and again. As much as she dreaded it, it was time to return to school and finish what she started.
She was gone by the next day. That was one of the great benefits of never fully unpacking. Unlike the last time she had come to Ulster, she took a carriage, not wishing to brave the snow. There would be enough to brave when she finally returned to Invernis.
(Sorry that this is mediocre, it'll take me a while to get back in the swing)