Post by noble. on Aug 6, 2018 13:03:16 GMT -5
[lil' story something that I'm writing in my spare time]
ardan
The pink southern sun scorched the back of Ardan's neck as he struggled to pull the nets from the green surging waters. He'd been watching Grisha and the other lads pull nets for severals sun-turns and had begun pulling about a moon ago, maybe less, but it never seemed to get any easier for him as the days passed. What gave Arden the idea that he would suddenly gain the same amount of grace as the others in days time? Who knows. Where ever he got it from it was quickly left behind as he awoke with limbs stiffer than a commoner's tongue.
He gritted his teeth as his pink hands screamed in protest to the rough textures of the ropes. Digging his heels into the floorboards he heaved the net up and out of the salty waters and onto the boat, a chorus of huffs, puffs and smacks following as the 'manders hit the boat. Hard. Their scales flashed dark pinks, greens and browns as they flopped and slithered.
Ardan couldn't help but let his face turn sour as the 'manders released their pungent oils, their thick scales growing slimier and more vibrant by the second. The odor always burned his nose. On a good catching day his nose was pink from rubbing. Today was one of those days.
The boy aggressively wiped his nose with the back of his hand, a useless effort to rid of the sting as well as the smell. He pulled the fabric from his neck and over his nose.
The other lads scrunched their noses and flashed their oh-so-witty smiles at his scarf as they so happily liked to call it. Their remarks didn't soften him though, let them have their fun he liked to think, he didn't mind. What he minded was the 'manders fragrant smell, hence the scarf as he had attempted to explain before, he found comfort in having something between his nose and the damn' slithery things.
He reached behind his mop of brown curls and tightened the cloth before anything else.
"Aye"
The boy did not need to turn his head to know who was approaching him but did none the less. A slight man of burnt chestnut skin approached him, a wave of silver shaping the man's face. Arden was greeted by the man's warm, green eyes that he could have sworn was the very same green as the waters surging and lapping at the boat around them.
He moved forwards towards the man, gently slapping his hand on the back of the man's neck as he did the same, a standard greeting for the two.
