Tantivy

7: Florid

He was uncomfortable.

He felt uncomfortable all the way down to his bones; he wished he could step out of his own skin. The air was stifling, sitting wet and heavy in his lungs as he struggled to push it out and pull it back in. For survival's sake (he shouldn't even really be dwelling on that, given how apathetic he was about that right now).

Summer heat smothered the town under a breezeless blanket. His dark hair burned whenever he crossed into the light of the golden blaze above. He felt heat pour out of his cheeks , half expecting the glass of water he cradled in his shaking hands to boil and slosh, to burn his pale hands.

He braved the melting swelter for a minute as he watched Thor and Sif dance about on the green below his window, charging and parrying with their practice swords. Thor was growing ever taller and broader by the day, Sif herself changing seemingly every time he saw her. They fought in the spirit of friendliness, but he could see the growing power in every controlled sweep, in every whistle of air as the blunted swords sliced through the heat. He couldn't help but stew and wilt in his own envy.

His shoulders felt heavy; his blanket felt as if it were woven from steel mail. He was ever reed thin and sick, weaker than a spring lamb when compared to his brother, it seemed. He prickled with embarrassment if he ever stood side by side with his brother or their friends. He felt lesser. Smaller. He should stop thinking about this. It was making him upset. He was better than this.

If it were even possible, he burned even hotter with jealousy as he turned from his perch to slink back into the shadows, his cough rattling through his chest as he struggled to get enough air. He fell into the dark pit of slumber the second his head hit his pillow.

All he could dream of was the color red.