Samuel
Sam felt himself growing comfortable, even without the warmth or exact feel of the cushions or Amun behind him. It was peaceful, to be able to sit and relax with someone and read; so different from doing it himself: occasionally he would glance back to see Amun's reaction to a certain part, or to explain a word or phrase that was now out of use.He was pleased to see Amun touch the picture too, thinking that feeling the crust of the old ink next to the smooth paper was as much a part of the experience as hearing the words. "Oh, do I draw? Not really...I can copy things well, but I've never been too gifted with creating my own images." When it came to illuminations in manuscripts he usually only needed to restore damaged art or copy over ideas between scripts, so he had not had much practice in crafted his own images.
"Can you draw? After all, you make such beautiful pottery..." He asked, turning to face Amun, a little surprised by how close they were once he did but not moving away.
I drink too much coffee and I think of you often
In a city where reality has long been forgotten
