Title: Timeslid
Part: Teaser
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing. Oo
Author's note: This is for smile7499. ^^; Eheh... I hope that this turns out well. If it's super crappy, don't yell at me, please. -_-; Just constructive criticism, right? 'Kay?
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use the Art for nothing but the service
of that Life. I will guard growth and ease
pain. I will fight to preserve what grows
and lives well in its own way; and I will
change no object or creature unless its
growth and life, or that of the system of
which it is part, are threatened. To these
ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside
fear for courage, and death for life, when it is
right to do so--'till the Universe's end.
This was dumb. Dumb, idiotic, freaking crazy!
The rain was lashing down upon him in burning streaks, leaving angry red patches against his pale face, sticking his tousled, dark hair to his forehead. Thunder clapped and lightning streaked across the horizon, pale threads of light entwining and weaving a pathway across the dark sky.
"Dammit!" Ronan slipped, and soft, warm earth pressed past his lips, staining his teeth and assaulting his tongue. He turned his head to the side and spat it out, stumbling up, his mud-streaked pants sticking uncomfortably against his already soaked legs.
Flipping some hair out of his eyes, he began to stagger back up the hill, keeping his eyes focused on the peak of Bray Head, his mouth a determined line. He continued on like this for what seemed an eternity; he had no sense of time, because his watch had ceased working.
Time. He was majorly screwed over as far as that went. He didn't know where--no, when the hell he was. First, he'd been walking Vevay road, and it'd been nice out. Now... all he could see was grass, endless amounts, and some little huts trembling in the wind.
You are so freaking screwed, Ronan.
Somehow, admitting it to himself made him feel better about it. He nearly laughed, but thought against it as lighting burst out in front of him, dangerously close. The ground began to slip away underneath him again, and he mentally cursed his shoes for not having better traction. Lunging forward, he managed to grasp some loose strands of grass, and keep himself from tumbling hopelessly down the hill.
He managed to get somewhat of a grip with his elbows, and pulled himself to the top of the hill. Shaking the rain (and his hair) from his eyes, he squinted down the opposite side of the hill.
There were huts. Thatched huts. Right where his school should have been. He was just beginning to digest this information, when his body shuddered violently as a livid gust of wind clapped him, threatening to send him flying backward.
Ducking down and covering his head with one arm, he began to walk down the hill, careful with his footing. He'd only made it about twenty feet when he slipped again, and tumbled down the rest of the length of the hill.
The day was just looking peachy keen(1). He was tired, pissed off, soaked, muddy, and now, bruised and battered. And now, on further contemplation, it didn't seem like running down the hill had been the smartest thing to do at the moment. Now, he was directly in front of the sea.
This would not normally have been bad, but he was in the middle of a storm. Which meant that the sea was throwing up angry waves of white water, spraying the air so thickly that he could hardly see. His eyes stung from it like someone was shooting a thousand needles into them all at once, then repeating the process over, and over, and over...
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(1) Can anyone tell I've been reading the Anita Blake vampire novels? Just nod and smile. Nod and smile... ::gets whacked:: OWIE!