So I pray to hands
And I pray to needs
Sam had never been fond of storms; as a child the Deepfrost rain and thunder in the Grounds had often had him curled up under the covers at night, clutching his pillow tightly around his head to block out the sound. The monsoons weren't quite like those noisy nights (in many ways they were worse, actually), but he'd still found his anxiety on a high recently, the only solace he could find being in his work and the odd moments of quiet in Zeph's home.
At least the work he was doing, while challenging, was new and interesting. While his books had required a lot of focus, the words and letters needing to be correct, he had never needed the sort of precision that Cartography demanded from him: each line, each minute curve, had to be replicated exactly, his pen moving at a snails pace across the page.
Sam was deep in concentration, purposefully drowning himself in details to ignore the storms outside, when he heard the door open: he glanced up, expecting to see one of the wizened old sailors or now-familiar smugglers that seemed to be his most common customers. Instead, a very handsome young man entered, without a shirt and almost as if to add further surprise - wet. His pen paused and he stared, blinking a couple of times. Had this man chosen the wrong door? The Halenani was a few streets over.
"...Can I...help you?" He asked, making sure to keep his eyes at Milo's face. "Or..oh." Suddenly realising what the case might be, Sam smiled. "If you're just looking for shelter from the storm, you can sit in here a while. I don't mind." Especially not for this man.
At least the work he was doing, while challenging, was new and interesting. While his books had required a lot of focus, the words and letters needing to be correct, he had never needed the sort of precision that Cartography demanded from him: each line, each minute curve, had to be replicated exactly, his pen moving at a snails pace across the page.
Sam was deep in concentration, purposefully drowning himself in details to ignore the storms outside, when he heard the door open: he glanced up, expecting to see one of the wizened old sailors or now-familiar smugglers that seemed to be his most common customers. Instead, a very handsome young man entered, without a shirt and almost as if to add further surprise - wet. His pen paused and he stared, blinking a couple of times. Had this man chosen the wrong door? The Halenani was a few streets over.
"...Can I...help you?" He asked, making sure to keep his eyes at Milo's face. "Or..oh." Suddenly realising what the case might be, Sam smiled. "If you're just looking for shelter from the storm, you can sit in here a while. I don't mind." Especially not for this man.
And I pray to blades of grass
To find forgiveness in the weeds
SAMUEL
Base Code by Sky!
