Post-Battle Interlude

[rememberettersberg]

As the last of the zombies disperse, dust fading in the chill air, so too does Thomas' mood, the manic good humour that had kept him going all day. Every part of his body hurts, the solid ache of extended exertion, and he knows that he must look as awful as he feels. A mirror reveals the grim reflection of a past age; Captain Nightingale, awash with blood and mud, clothes torn to rags and skin caked with grime.

He strips without thinking much of it, dives into the freezing shock of the lake's still depths, and swims until his aches turn into leaden exhaustion. A part of him, as always when near open water, reaches out in search of its spirit but encounters only dank emptiness. Usually this would bother him, but tonight it feels right, apt.

There's a towel on the shore when he emerges, one he didn't leave there, and he wonders at the mansion all over again. Hordes of undead by day, the comfort of a fresh and fluffy towel at night. His lakeside office glows with warm light and the promise of fresh tea. He trudges towards it without conscious thought, mind half a century away.

Not primarily an open post, but he'll talk if anyone turns up.

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"How logical," Susan says, thoughtful. "I suppose I haven't spent much time thinking about magic. Narnia seemed magical, of course, but the only practitioners were the Lion and the Witch. Never humans." Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, she remembers. The phrasing strikes her as queer now.