sons could be birds,
taken broken up to the mountain
taken broken up to the mountain
Flash. Nate can't help but smile at the fondness in Adam's voice. "Animals are better at looking out for themselves than we are." His voice is flat as ever, a monotone rumble, but he means it as a comfort. His eyes are up as he speaks, searching for the dog. She is as good an example as any: outside most of the time, patrolling their space, babysitting chickens, giving alarm should anyone venture close. She doesn't appear until they've made it up near the cabin. Then she's a ringing bark, a sudden blur of grey fur and mud, rocketing toward them only to pause several paces away, her deep voice echoing in her chest. "There she is," says Nate, paying no mind to the barking. He casts a glance at Adam, curious to see if the Outlander is as good with dogs as he says. Teacup is big, but not dangerous. Loud, but generally not prone to biting. She moves up warily to sniff at the newcomer, her tail waving slowly.
"You'll have to watch out for the chickens," Nate says as he moves up toward the house. "The hens aren't mean, but the rooster's a bastard." The hens could be mean, if he thought about it. They'd pecked him enough times when he was younger. He bounds up the steps to stand on the porch and turns to blink at Adam. "This is it, though. Pretty small." He tilts his head a little in response to the question. He had assumed the answer he preferred was obvious, though perhaps not. "Because I don't like people," Nate says, his tone suggesting he has no desire to continue that line of conversation. The truth is a lot more complicated than that, involves things about his family he prefers not to mention, things about himself he wants everyone to forget. Wants to forget, himself, as well.
The best way to move conversation on is to pretend it is already moving on, Nate decides. He ducks inside, throwing his new purchases into a corner. The cabin was clearly meant to house few people — maybe a couple, at most. Nate never learned if the previous occupant had a wife. Most of the space is taken up with clutter: evidence of his trade, an inexplicable abundance of potted plants, a chicken who ought not be inside but which is nonetheless foraging around the floors. Nate frowns at it. "You don't actually have to sleep on the porch," he calls over his shoulder. Maybe that's too friendly. He feels more at ease, though, in his own home, and Adam is surprisingly easy to get along with. For an Outlander. So far. "There's a spare room in the back. I use it for storage, but you could probably fit. Try not to mess with anything."
"You'll have to watch out for the chickens," Nate says as he moves up toward the house. "The hens aren't mean, but the rooster's a bastard." The hens could be mean, if he thought about it. They'd pecked him enough times when he was younger. He bounds up the steps to stand on the porch and turns to blink at Adam. "This is it, though. Pretty small." He tilts his head a little in response to the question. He had assumed the answer he preferred was obvious, though perhaps not. "Because I don't like people," Nate says, his tone suggesting he has no desire to continue that line of conversation. The truth is a lot more complicated than that, involves things about his family he prefers not to mention, things about himself he wants everyone to forget. Wants to forget, himself, as well.
The best way to move conversation on is to pretend it is already moving on, Nate decides. He ducks inside, throwing his new purchases into a corner. The cabin was clearly meant to house few people — maybe a couple, at most. Nate never learned if the previous occupant had a wife. Most of the space is taken up with clutter: evidence of his trade, an inexplicable abundance of potted plants, a chicken who ought not be inside but which is nonetheless foraging around the floors. Nate frowns at it. "You don't actually have to sleep on the porch," he calls over his shoulder. Maybe that's too friendly. He feels more at ease, though, in his own home, and Adam is surprisingly easy to get along with. For an Outlander. So far. "There's a spare room in the back. I use it for storage, but you could probably fit. Try not to mess with anything."
