| Jacob Grimm ( @ 2006-10-06 22:00:00 |
| Current mood: |
146: Hidden. (297 words)
The air was breathtakingly still.
Jacob stood shivering in the mist, watching the thin string of steam emitting from between his lips and resenting it for disturbing the mood. This place was cold and dead, early-winter frost coating the fallen twigs and dried leaves on the forest floor. The life and warmth that his breath represented had no place here.
He was a long way away from where Will was still sleeping, his arm still curled around that village girl, probably in for a splitting headache when he finally woke. Jake was actually feeling the prior night a little himself—the thin sunlight through the window had been what first awoke him and had him squinting. But now he was here: away from the village, away from any known human life. And looking, as he so often did.
“Where are you?” he said, so quiet it was almost a thought. His quivering lips barely formed the words.
Tenderly, he touched a leaf which still clung to its branch, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. He inspected it, searching. The light that came through the branches dappled it with illumination. Letting the leaf go he turned around, listening in the crunch of his footsteps for some clue.
Where are you hiding?
Magic couldn’t hide forever. He was sure of it. Somewhere in one of these woods, that which he and Will ran around pretending to know truly existed. He felt a tree trunk, fingers running through the grooves, feeling out every detail. In the stillness of the air, he was almost sure he could feel it.
Almost.
His hand jumped back and clenched itself by his side. Jacob shook his head, then turned and started back in the direction of the village, at once ashamed and afraid.