"Francis, rise and shine! We start early today!" Margaret yelled and pulled the curtains from the window, letting in the shine of the rising Sun. "10 more minutes, mum," he grumbled and hid his face to a soft and warm pillow. "That's sweet, honey," she cooed and pulled the blanket from him. Francis scuffed and crawled into a ball. "Now go wake Artie up, I'm too busy at the moment, with breakfast and all!" the woman quirkily said and left. Slowly, Francis sat up and stretched himself while yawning. He looked out the window to another beautiful day in the country, white bed-sheets drying in the wind alongside his and the others' clothes they had worn the previous day. He changed and went to Arthur's room, where the Brit was still calmly sleeping. He sat on the bed and for a little while he watched him sleep, for he looked too peaceful to wake up, until the Brit started to move and open his eyes. Thinking the best time to wake him up so it wouldn't seem as if he's been sitting there for long, Francis gently shook him. Arthur looked at him and groaned. "I knew I felt like the biggest creep in the world was in my room," he said while rubbing his eyes and earned a chuckle from his friend. "Wake up, Arthùr," he shook him again after Arthur had fallen back asleep. Drifting, he sat up and looked at Francis with tired eyes. "But I don't want to, I had such a pleasant dream," he whispered and yawned. "Well, too bad, get up," Francis smiled and patted his shoulder before leaving the room.
With a heavy mind, Arthur rose from the bed and slowly got dressed. He went to open the window when he noticed slight muddy footprints on the sill. With a small smile he took a few tissues from his bag and cleaned them up before leaving his bedroom. When Arthur got downstairs, he was surprised to see only his parents and Francis at the kitchen table. "What took you so long?" Margaret asked from the stove. "Nothing," the Brit quickly replied. He took his seat next to his friend and made himself a few sandwiches, asking his father what they have in store for them today. "Well, your mother thought while some of you help her clean the house, the rest will help me paint the yard, plant a few trees to the garden and fix the shed. So sucks to be them who's stuck with Marge," he said, earning a smack from his wife. They heard a truck pull in front. "That must be William with the saplings," she said and gave Arthur his porridge. Joseph stood from the table and called Francis, who had finished his meal, to help him unload the young trees. Francis thanked them for the meal and went with him, leaving Arthur to look back. "Ugh, your brothers haven't lost their ability to oversleep," Margaret said and threw her kitchen towel next to the sink. "Why did you send Francis to wake me up anyway? Couldn't you have done it yourself?" Arthur asked his mother before she left. "Well, dear, everybody deserves someone who makes them look forward for the following day," she said with a warm smile. "What do you mean?" her son called to her back, but she ignored and went upstairs with her usual heavy steps.
When Francis got back to the now crowded kitchen, he noticed Arthur washing the dishes and went to talk to him. Before he could say anything though, Margaret pulled him away from the Brit and handed him a small basket, a little white veil covering the food in it. "Be a dear and go take this to Nana, will you?" she asked with a smile one couldn't deny. Francis took the basket and once again left the house. He walked over the hill to the old woman and put the basket next to her. Mary only looked at it and then continued to stare at Francis. "I'll join you for some time," he said and sat next to her, her gaze never leaving him. They sat in the silence for a while until Francis asked: "Arthùr told me you make great pipeweed. Could I try some?" The old woman pulled out a small pipe beneath her robes and after having stuffed the leaves in it, she lit it and handed to the man. Eyebrows raised, he thanked her and took a few whiffs. "It really is good," he said, feeling a fruity and herbal taste relax him. "Arthùr had been right about her too; something really draws to her," he thought to himself while he puffed the pipe. Something about her made Francis feel free to talk about things that mattered and he was sure that it wasn't the silence, decorated with the song of birds, which made him feel that way.
"Isn't it funny how we go about our days just worrying about ourselves, doing what we please, and then one day, someone comes into your life and turns everything upside down? You now spend every waking moment just waiting to hear from them, whether it's a phone call, a text, a knock on the door or even a sweet letter in the mail. You get anxious waiting for the next time you get to see them. You lose sleep just because you never want to say goodbye or you can't wait to greet them in the mornings. You start to feel things you never felt before and your whole world starts to revolve around that other person. I think that... love... is such a sweet thing. It's scary, though: to find someone that makes you so happy; you start giving them all of your attention, because they're what makes you forget everything bad that's going on in your life. They're the first person you want to talk to in the morning and the last one before you go to sleep just so you can start and end your day with a smile. It all sounds great to have that someone, but it's... so scary to think about how easily they could just leave and take that happiness away too, when they go," he muttered, talking more to himself than Mary, looking at the sky and the lazy clouds swim by there. The old woman took hold of his hand, hers' surprisingly warm and soft, even though wrinkled, scarred and hoarse. Francis looked at her with a surprised look, but soon understood and smiled. And thus they continued to sit there, Francis' hand locked between Mary's two, while he spoke his mind about everything - the feelings he had that confused him, his fears and sorrows, the places he'd like to visit and the times he'd want to enjoy someday, his dreams and hopes for the future. When he was done, he felt a million times better and as if all his thoughts were as clear as ever to him, even though all that time the old woman hadn't said a word. He thanked her and gave her back her pipe, which she stuffed between her tattered scarf again. The Frenchman stood up and wished her a good day, but before he could leave, Mary opened her mouth and let out a raspy, yet mellow voice. "Take good care of him, for your love is great and your word is kind," she said and smiling, looked at the dumbfounded young handsome man standing before her. Francis answered her smile and went back to the hilltop. "There you are!" he heard Arthur yell from the doorstep. "Come down, I was just about to come and look for you!" the Brit called and went back inside. Francis hastily went back down and entered the house.
"You were gone for so long I thought you got lost, Francis," Arthur chuckled when his friend joined him in the living room. "Pardon, didn't mean to make you worry," the Frenchman said and sat next to Arthur on the small couch, their shoulders touching. Soon they were accompanied by the rest of the Kirkland siblings and for about half an hour they just spent chatting and joking, until Margaret stomped to the living room. "Off your bums, all of you! Don't you have work to do?! I know I do and even though your father said some of you are going to help me tidy the house, I'm not going to allow it! You'll just make a bigger mess! So out! Out of the house, now!" she said sternly and afraid of what might come next, the young men fled in terror. The rest of the day was spent just as Joseph had said it would be - doing work - and when the Sun started to finish it's way to the west, they were done with all their chores. "Arthur, go get the horses from the meadow, there's a nip in the air - I think tonight's gonna be cold and I want them to stay at the stable," the old man told his son, who was currently playing football to pass the time with his brothers and Francis. "We'll come too, I haven't ridden in such a long time!" Wallace said, pulling William and Scott by their arms. "Come too, Francis!" Arthur smiled and the Frenchman nodded. They went to the meadow, meddling around. "Have you ridden a horse before?" the Brit asked from his friend when they took the harnesses off the tree he had hung them to. "A few times, but never bareback," Francis replied and caught the harness Scott threw at him. "Then you should go with Borain, he's the calmest," Arthur said and brought him to the huge horse. He helped him attach the leather straps to it and nodded, once done. "Hop on," Arthur said and twined his fingers so Francis could step on them and climb Borain. "You're serious?" he asked, looking up to the animal, his head reaching its back. "Can't I go with that one?" Francis pointed at the pony to which his friend laughed. "She'll be coming too, but I'll tie her to you, so no - you can't ride with her," the Brit grinned. With a sigh, Francis climbed on top the horse with Arthur's lifting help and when sitting on the massive beast, he felt he was too high above the ground. "Relax, we're not going to gallop or even trot," the Brit said and brought Janey to tie her up. After he had helped his brothers get on top the other tall stallions, he swiftly jumped to Aini. "Well, let's go," he said with a smile and they set off. Francis felt awkward and unable to guide his horse, but luckily Borain understood that he wasn't experienced with riding such big horses without saddles and obediently followed the other riders. Soon Francis was quite comfortable and the rest of the ride was spent well. "'Ey, we're ridin' off t' the sunset," Scott laughed when he noticed they went west, towards the setting Sun. "You know what that reminds me of? "Django"," William laughed and the rest followed. Arthur pulled a lot of air to his lungs and started to sing loudly:
"Django!
Django, have you always been alone?"
The others laughed and soon, while riding off towards the sunset to go to the sauna, have dinner and then to rest, they all sang:
"Django!
Django, have you never loved again?
Love will live on, oh oh oh...
Life must go on, oh oh oh...
For you cannot spend your life regretting.
Django!
Django, you must face another day.
Django!
Django, now your love has gone away.
Once you loved her, whoa-oh...
Now you've lost her, whoa-oh-oh-oh...
But you've lost her forever, django.
When there are clouds in the skies, and they are grey.
You may be sad but remember that love will pass away.
Oh, Django!
After the showers, the Sun.
Will be shining...
Once you loved her, whoa-oh...
Now you've lost her, whoa-oh-oh-oh...
But you've lost her for-ever, django.
When there are clouds in the skies, and they are grey.
You may be sad but remember that love will pass away.
Oh, Django!
After the showers, the Sun.
Will be shining...
Django!
Oh oh oh, Django!
You must go on,
Oh oh oh, Django..."