Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2015 22:42:43 GMT -5
The lake water glistened scarlet as the dying rays of the sun spread across its brilliant surface. Beyond the waters dark trees were silhouetted in the dusk, and beyond them shone the last of the glowing disk that had brought warmth and daylight to the world, only to sink away as the moon appeared faded and porous in the sky. As Kendrick sat on the lakeside, he watched the beautiful sunset with an expression of pleasure on his face, though the ugly scars twisted his features into something that more resembled a wince than a smile. He was a difficult man to read at the best of times, and at that moment even his family could not have fully understood what the man was thinking. However, there was no discontent in Kendrick, no mean spirit or general pessimism. He was content, content to sit by the water and listen to it lapping gently against the shore. He was content to be content.
Of course, this state could only last until he was either interrupted or forced to return to the Cameron's house in the city. Neither were thrilling prospects, as being alone or with his family was the only source of peace the usually tense man had from his paranoia. Even now, he kept his bow close to his hand, where he could easily take it up. His fingers caressed the wood of an arrow with its steel tip glinting dangerously, even in the dim light of evening.
Tomorrow was the coronation. Which Kendrick did not exactly care about, though he supposed he should care about the heir to the throne of the kingdom. Really, those kind of concerns were far above his pay grade. His life was simple, his desires simple, and his ambitions very humble. He wanted only his family and a comfortable life that allowed him time to fish and sketch when he felt the lure of nature calling him. It was strange that his experience as a boy had not robbed him of his joy of the outdoors. There were some things that even the greatest trauma could not overcome, he supposed.
Kendrick began sketching the rough textures of the sunset into his notebook. The fine shape of the trees and the rise and fall of lake waves were recorded carefully by his large and work worn hand, but despite the man's heavy size and fierce look, the movements of his hand were tender and almost loving. There were few pleasures in life that equalled his little attempts to capture the beauty of the world around him. The man was not the best of artists, but he loved to sketch, and he loved to share his sketches with the people who mattered to him. He was sure that some of the servants back home would like this sketch, the scenery was so marvelous and beautiful. Shelbourne was perhaps greener and more lush, but Kendrick liked Bordelaix, too. It had a stately feel to it, though he supposed that was to be expected of the capital of the entire kingdom. Deep in thought, Kendrick continued to sketch alone by the lakeside, his attention drifting farther away from his surroundings as he lost himself in his work.
Of course, this state could only last until he was either interrupted or forced to return to the Cameron's house in the city. Neither were thrilling prospects, as being alone or with his family was the only source of peace the usually tense man had from his paranoia. Even now, he kept his bow close to his hand, where he could easily take it up. His fingers caressed the wood of an arrow with its steel tip glinting dangerously, even in the dim light of evening.
Tomorrow was the coronation. Which Kendrick did not exactly care about, though he supposed he should care about the heir to the throne of the kingdom. Really, those kind of concerns were far above his pay grade. His life was simple, his desires simple, and his ambitions very humble. He wanted only his family and a comfortable life that allowed him time to fish and sketch when he felt the lure of nature calling him. It was strange that his experience as a boy had not robbed him of his joy of the outdoors. There were some things that even the greatest trauma could not overcome, he supposed.
Kendrick began sketching the rough textures of the sunset into his notebook. The fine shape of the trees and the rise and fall of lake waves were recorded carefully by his large and work worn hand, but despite the man's heavy size and fierce look, the movements of his hand were tender and almost loving. There were few pleasures in life that equalled his little attempts to capture the beauty of the world around him. The man was not the best of artists, but he loved to sketch, and he loved to share his sketches with the people who mattered to him. He was sure that some of the servants back home would like this sketch, the scenery was so marvelous and beautiful. Shelbourne was perhaps greener and more lush, but Kendrick liked Bordelaix, too. It had a stately feel to it, though he supposed that was to be expected of the capital of the entire kingdom. Deep in thought, Kendrick continued to sketch alone by the lakeside, his attention drifting farther away from his surroundings as he lost himself in his work.