While I was pondering the next chapter of my multi-chapter story Maere, this suddenly popped into my head. Just a study of a moment, I guess. R&R.
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Breath
There were but two people in the room, one figure lying still on the bed, the other sitting sunk into itself on a chair right next to it. There was no sound to be heard but the occasional cry of an owl and the fluttering of wings. On a table in the middle of the chamber something was boiling in a vial above a small flame, which was not bright enough to lighten the space around it. If one were to step closer to the two figures they would have seen that the young man on the bed, as motionless as he lay, was not dead. From time to time his chest rose ever so slightly and sometimes his eyes fluttered. Even though his body was covered by an old woollen blanket which to the naked skin must have been all but rough, a careful observer would have noticed that he was slightly built, but tall. Barely visible crinkles around eyes and mouth in such a young person would have told the same observer that he must have laughed a lot in his life. But now there was no laughter on his face. His eyes were tightly closed and his mouth stood slightly open as he drew one quiet breath after the other. Whenever the otherwise regular breathing stalled for even just a second, his silent companion equally held his breath and his body tensed up, like he was waiting for something inevitable but unfathomable to happen. Once the chest rose again under a quivering breath, the other would sink back into the chair, his eyes fixed on the sleeping man's face.
Time passed by as the candle beneath the vial burned to the ground and finally died with a quiet hissing. While its light had been barely noticeable, its absence was very much so. Instantly the shadows that had been kept at bay by the weakening gleam took their just reign over the room. The stars shining feebly in a cloudy night sky did not reach the window to the chamber.
If it had, a bystander would have seen the figure on the chair shift its position, clothes rustling almost inaudibly. A metallic clanking could be heard as the man on the chair placed a hand on the other's chest, carefully, so as to not put too much weight on it. He felt as it was slightly pushed up and fell down again, his breathing synchronising with the feeble motion.
Somewhere outside a horse neighed. As soft as the sound was, it still violently penetrated the peaceful quiescence of the dark room and once more the rustling of fabric indicated movement as the sitting figure flinched. The head that had been bowed to face the bed all the while briefly turned to face the window. A gaze unseen and unseeing wandered the room, meeting nothing but empty space and dimness.
Enclosed by blackness the two figures remained as they were until the stars began to fade and a thin line appeared on the horizon, tingeing all in its way a crimson red. Out in the fields mist began to rise, shaping itself into phantasms and showing glimpses of memories to those passing by. A church-bell slowly began to swing and the resonating sound spread its wings to fly over the town until its progress was broken by the high tower, like a wave in the surge. Another bell, deeper, answered the first call and they continued conversing as windows flew opened, water shed onto the ground. Storekeepers and vendors stumbled into the streets, sleep still in their eyes and began to clumsily perform the first actions of the breaking day. A ragged dog slowly circled a bucket of fish, drawing closer and closer to it until it had mustered up the courage to tentatively sniff it, one leg slightly bent, ready to jump away at the sight of the slightest motion. Somewhere else, the cry of a newborn was to be heard as it sensed the change in the world around it.
In the yard of the castle, a bent old woman began to sweep the cold cobbles with a broom made of thin branches. Their quiet, rhythmic scratching was accompanied by the clacking of horse hoofs, as a stable-boy began his day by grooming the animals entrusted to his care.
Yet, the figures in the room showed no sign of awakening from their positions as the shadows grew shorter and succumbed to the intruding sun rays.
An observer, chilled by the dampness streaming in through the window would have been forced to abandon his post and attend to whatever business the new day brought him, leaving the sitting man to anxiously await the next breath.