full moon rising on the waters of my soul
The urge to plant the Roses was annoying, and persistent, and Amun was sick and tired of dealing with it after even a short time. And since it seemed impossible to get rid of the voice in his head telling him to hurry up already, he figured he’d just get the task over with as soon as possible. Which was why he was returning to the place where he’d first come into this world: the dark and ruined tower the locals called the Spire. Although it was hardly his favorite place to be, it was necessary, if only to get this nagging compulsion out of his mind.
So he walked through the night, Rose clutched carefully in one unfeeling hand. There were other flowers already at the Spire, so Amun hoped to just get there, plant it, and go home. Not that he really had a home; he’d been crashing in various ruins during the day to avoid the sunlight, and roaming all night. Presumably he would have to find a more permanent residence soon, but for now the freewheeling lifestyle was working for him.
He still hadn’t gotten any clothes, so his only concession to the cold and the snow that he couldn’t feel were the shorts he was wearing. They were all he’d come through with—his old home had been a hot and steamy jungle—and seeing as further clothing was unnecessary it didn’t seem nearly as much a priority as planting these damn flowers.
In the distance, Amun could see another man kneeling and planting his own Rose. Seeing as Amun was still new to these parts, he figured he could use the company. Coming up behind the other man, Amun caught the tail end of the stranger’s words. ”They are beautiful, and I agree, do much to improve this place.” Amun’s voice came out in an easy drawl, and he walked around to the other man’s front, eyes roaming appreciably over the stranger. ”As do you. Hey handsome, I’m Amun. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.” The potter held out his hand for the other man to shake before kneeling to plant his own bloom in the rapidly expanding field of them. It took him a little bit of time to clear the snow and then dig the dirt, but he managed.
So he walked through the night, Rose clutched carefully in one unfeeling hand. There were other flowers already at the Spire, so Amun hoped to just get there, plant it, and go home. Not that he really had a home; he’d been crashing in various ruins during the day to avoid the sunlight, and roaming all night. Presumably he would have to find a more permanent residence soon, but for now the freewheeling lifestyle was working for him.
He still hadn’t gotten any clothes, so his only concession to the cold and the snow that he couldn’t feel were the shorts he was wearing. They were all he’d come through with—his old home had been a hot and steamy jungle—and seeing as further clothing was unnecessary it didn’t seem nearly as much a priority as planting these damn flowers.
In the distance, Amun could see another man kneeling and planting his own Rose. Seeing as Amun was still new to these parts, he figured he could use the company. Coming up behind the other man, Amun caught the tail end of the stranger’s words. ”They are beautiful, and I agree, do much to improve this place.” Amun’s voice came out in an easy drawl, and he walked around to the other man’s front, eyes roaming appreciably over the stranger. ”As do you. Hey handsome, I’m Amun. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.” The potter held out his hand for the other man to shake before kneeling to plant his own bloom in the rapidly expanding field of them. It took him a little bit of time to clear the snow and then dig the dirt, but he managed.
amun
