[Fic] Pine Marten
Jun. 26th, 2009 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeCharacter: Astrid Kessler
Comm: couples_therapy
Prompt: 68.2 Compare your partner to a specific animal
"Dirty little weasel."
Astrid did not slam the door behind Greg. Astrid was a graceful, poised woman even in her fury. Which was the only reason she didn't slam the door behind him, the repetition for five solid minutes to herself that she was poised and calm and could handle this like a rational adult and not by stomping off to her room and sulking. Flouncing on the bed was something a child did. She was almost ninety.
That did not stop her from comparing him in no uncertain terms to a weasel, a snake, a bitty little bug. A two-faced god of lies and deceit, and all manner of other unflattering things. A worm and a toad may have worked their way into the one-sided conversation somewhere. She exhausted her vocabulary of things he could go fornicate with and the things he was inclined to eat or drink, the ineptitude or dishonor of his ancestors and the deformities on his person. She punched the pillow until the fist-shaped dent refused to puff up again. Eventually, she may have cried a little. No one else would ever know for certain.
Astrid dreamed.
She was still wounded, still hurting, the traces of tears on her cheeks mixing with dew and the smell of pine needles. Some kind of coniferous forest, she decided. Some bed of pine needles and the trees stretching up above her to the limits of her vision. She opened her gummy eyes and stared.
It was hard to move. Maybe out of the dream she was trying to move, maybe this was her body's way of keeping her from falling out of bed? She was so tired. Of Greg, of the arguments between her and Sascha over everything these days, of the rain that never seemed to stop falling on Seattle, of having to move every ten or twenty years just as she was getting comfortable in a town. Tired of so many things, none of them with easy solutions and all of them grating on her like bits of sand trapped between scales. She closed her eyes again and, since she couldn't move, decided to try to go back to sleep.
The trees whispered to her, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. The breeze caressed her body, lulling her back to sleep or soothing her stress away, she wasn't certain. Her fingertips twitched along the ground, returning the gesture. On the third down-sweep they brushed fur instead of pine needles, and she opened her eyes again.
Whatever it was skittered under the leaf cover and down out of sight. Astrid pushed herself up onto her elbow with an effort, looking down the length of her body. A pair of bright eyes peeked out at her from beneath the fallen leaves and pine needles. It was adorable. She smiled, the air and her spirits lightning by palpable degrees at the same time. "I won't hurt you," she told it. "It's all right."
Clearly, it didn't believe her. But there was a patch of fur between the leaves and pine needles, and she lowered herself back to the ground again and eased her hand down to stroke the creature's fur. Dark brown fur, and silky-soft to the touch. Her breaths came slower and easier, the scent of pine and earth and dew-damp fur clear in the air as she stroked the creature. Even more soothing was the warmth beneath the fur, vital and alive. The kind of warmth that only came from stroking the fur of a living creature. It held very still, perhaps still afraid of her.
"I wish you'd come out and say hello," she murmured, half asleep again with the lassitude of deep relaxation. "No, I suppose that wasn't very polite of me. You wouldn't be comfortable if you came out from under there, would you?" The furry creature didn't answer, of course. Even in her dreams, animals rarely spoke.
"I'm dreaming," she told it, certain that she was. "I'm not sure why. My dreams aren't usually this clear or this quiet. Maybe I just needed a few minutes to concentrate and breathe? Maybe I just needed to resume my practice of daily meditation," she added, with a wry chuckle that was subdued so as not to startle her new friend. Meditation had helped, once upon a time. She wasn't sure if it would, now. Everything seemed so topsy-turvy.
"Everything's turned upside down. All right, not everything. Not even most things, now that I think about it," she continued after a moment, after her fingers had stilled over the fur and the creature had rippled in silent protest. She resumed petting, with a knowing smile. "It's all the little things. Everything irritates, and it all piles up on itself and I feel as though I never have a moment to breathe." Which was, she realized, what this was. Her body giving her a little room to breathe. Something that would calm her nerves and steady her against whatever tomorrow would bring. "I don't want to wake up," she murmured, fingers light on the warm fur, feeling the sun on her knuckles. "Not anytime soon, anyway. I like it here."
"You have to wake up," she heard. And when she propped herself up on her elbow to uncover the creature right before it scampered away she did, at least, catch a flash of bright blue eyes. Brown fur, golden bib, brown rounded snout of what she recognized with amazement as a pine marten, and bright blue eyes. "Wake up, Astrid."
And then she woke up.
Comm: couples_therapy
Prompt: 68.2 Compare your partner to a specific animal
"Dirty little weasel."
Astrid did not slam the door behind Greg. Astrid was a graceful, poised woman even in her fury. Which was the only reason she didn't slam the door behind him, the repetition for five solid minutes to herself that she was poised and calm and could handle this like a rational adult and not by stomping off to her room and sulking. Flouncing on the bed was something a child did. She was almost ninety.
That did not stop her from comparing him in no uncertain terms to a weasel, a snake, a bitty little bug. A two-faced god of lies and deceit, and all manner of other unflattering things. A worm and a toad may have worked their way into the one-sided conversation somewhere. She exhausted her vocabulary of things he could go fornicate with and the things he was inclined to eat or drink, the ineptitude or dishonor of his ancestors and the deformities on his person. She punched the pillow until the fist-shaped dent refused to puff up again. Eventually, she may have cried a little. No one else would ever know for certain.
Astrid dreamed.
She was still wounded, still hurting, the traces of tears on her cheeks mixing with dew and the smell of pine needles. Some kind of coniferous forest, she decided. Some bed of pine needles and the trees stretching up above her to the limits of her vision. She opened her gummy eyes and stared.
It was hard to move. Maybe out of the dream she was trying to move, maybe this was her body's way of keeping her from falling out of bed? She was so tired. Of Greg, of the arguments between her and Sascha over everything these days, of the rain that never seemed to stop falling on Seattle, of having to move every ten or twenty years just as she was getting comfortable in a town. Tired of so many things, none of them with easy solutions and all of them grating on her like bits of sand trapped between scales. She closed her eyes again and, since she couldn't move, decided to try to go back to sleep.
The trees whispered to her, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. The breeze caressed her body, lulling her back to sleep or soothing her stress away, she wasn't certain. Her fingertips twitched along the ground, returning the gesture. On the third down-sweep they brushed fur instead of pine needles, and she opened her eyes again.
Whatever it was skittered under the leaf cover and down out of sight. Astrid pushed herself up onto her elbow with an effort, looking down the length of her body. A pair of bright eyes peeked out at her from beneath the fallen leaves and pine needles. It was adorable. She smiled, the air and her spirits lightning by palpable degrees at the same time. "I won't hurt you," she told it. "It's all right."
Clearly, it didn't believe her. But there was a patch of fur between the leaves and pine needles, and she lowered herself back to the ground again and eased her hand down to stroke the creature's fur. Dark brown fur, and silky-soft to the touch. Her breaths came slower and easier, the scent of pine and earth and dew-damp fur clear in the air as she stroked the creature. Even more soothing was the warmth beneath the fur, vital and alive. The kind of warmth that only came from stroking the fur of a living creature. It held very still, perhaps still afraid of her.
"I wish you'd come out and say hello," she murmured, half asleep again with the lassitude of deep relaxation. "No, I suppose that wasn't very polite of me. You wouldn't be comfortable if you came out from under there, would you?" The furry creature didn't answer, of course. Even in her dreams, animals rarely spoke.
"I'm dreaming," she told it, certain that she was. "I'm not sure why. My dreams aren't usually this clear or this quiet. Maybe I just needed a few minutes to concentrate and breathe? Maybe I just needed to resume my practice of daily meditation," she added, with a wry chuckle that was subdued so as not to startle her new friend. Meditation had helped, once upon a time. She wasn't sure if it would, now. Everything seemed so topsy-turvy.
"Everything's turned upside down. All right, not everything. Not even most things, now that I think about it," she continued after a moment, after her fingers had stilled over the fur and the creature had rippled in silent protest. She resumed petting, with a knowing smile. "It's all the little things. Everything irritates, and it all piles up on itself and I feel as though I never have a moment to breathe." Which was, she realized, what this was. Her body giving her a little room to breathe. Something that would calm her nerves and steady her against whatever tomorrow would bring. "I don't want to wake up," she murmured, fingers light on the warm fur, feeling the sun on her knuckles. "Not anytime soon, anyway. I like it here."
"You have to wake up," she heard. And when she propped herself up on her elbow to uncover the creature right before it scampered away she did, at least, catch a flash of bright blue eyes. Brown fur, golden bib, brown rounded snout of what she recognized with amazement as a pine marten, and bright blue eyes. "Wake up, Astrid."
And then she woke up.