notes: fakiru week 2014 is here! this is my very short entry for green.
Green
During the cold long months Ahiru was separated from him every year, Fakir's writing became barren and dead, just like the winter.
He would walk through the snow-spotted woods, feeling nothing in his hands or his heart. Usually a peaceful promenade through the wilderness would be able to spark a small ounce of inspiration in him, but it simply wasn't to be, for those days. What hope was there without his muse?
Ahiru was naturally a duck, and he couldn't keep her from her instincts. Every winter she would fly off on a random date as if on autopilot, leaving him to gaze at the sky and mark the days before she returned.
His breath would puff out in a white mist as he wandered aimlessly through the worn-down path, boots crackling on twigs and slush. The air was silent around him, all signs of life either hibernating or far away to escape the cold. Sometimes he'd wish he could do the same, if only to shorten the length of time they were separated.
But eventually he would always find what he was looking for. Crouching along the edge of the path, he'd cup his hands delicately around a small, green sprout, almost insignificant when compared to the rest of the scenery. The first sign of spring, of life returning. In just a few short weeks the forest would be covered in the color again, but for that moment Fakir's eyes were fixated on the tiny plant, fighting to stay afloat amongst the splotches of snow.
And for the first time in months, he'd feel that emotion of hope Ahiru always lit in him.