Author's Note: I had a request for more of the child!Master drabbles. So, Anna-Saxon, this one is for you!
022. Prelude
or, The First Movement
The Master
He was the kind of boy who was not particularly noticed, nor who tried particularly hard to stand out. He was the background for a friend who was the center light – the blank spaces between heartbeats and the static between thunder and lightning.
And that was the way he liked it - for now, anyway.
He had a quiet kind father who was on his thirteenth try at Time, and a mother who swirled with the autumn winds. While not a Lady of Time, she could feel the prickle of it's first movements against her skin, and in her quest to hear the whole sympathy, she hears little else at all. The boy didn't mind the quiet home too much. In some ways it was a relief to the things that swirled around in his mind.
Once the suns were high in the noon sky, he would pad out to the silvery groves, and the mountain caves beyond that. His bare feet rustled against the cool stone in a trickling rhythm, and he tapped his fingertips against his thigh in time with it. In the back, where the shadows were all encompassing and the air was bitter sharp, there were wide glassy pools. If looked at from the right angle, with the right set of eyes, they showed the universe above.
And so he sat down – watching the spider web of stars dance with the river of planets. The cosmos was a violent thing, and Time was even more turbulent so. They sang as they twinned together through his mind – sharp staccato tumbling together with long chords and brilliant crescendo.
And he'd tap his hands in time to the symphony only he could here.