He lay awake for an eternity beside the fire. His mind drifted, churning up bits of flotsam and jetsam to the surface for him to peruse or discard at his leisure before being carried away towards the void in his mind where most thoughts go to sleep or to die.
He was teetering on the edge, that no man's land between consciousness and a dream when a boyish peal of laughter tugged him once again towards the surface. His eyes snapped open, at first convinced that some Prytt family or group of Prytt youth had stumbled upon them, drawn by the light of the fire or the smell of the smoke.
...in the fire…*
A woman's laughter now, and popping sounds, then the rougher, deeper tones of a male and a softer response.
...Don't encourage him Jack…*
Beverly's laughter. A much younger, less burdened Beverly. He closed his eyes again, trying to memorize the sound of her voice, wanting to curl up and forever exist in the carefree tinkle of her laughter, sat around a fire on Balfour Lake with her heart's happiness complete. The shadow of loss and loneliness, of death had not yet touched them.
Beverly…* a low male voice, but younger, just out of adolescence perhaps and the sound… He allowed his senses to open fully to her, to them, absorbing the smells and sounds and the touch of her dreamscape. Lightly touching, hands arousing, excitement and trepidation all mixed into one and far, far in the background the sound of laughter and the crackling of a fire. The smells of late spring or early summer, moist, fecund, life bursting forth. Verdant renewal. The odour of rich green and dark moist brown. He opened his dream eyes and found her eyes, pupils dilated in the low light cast by a large bonfire. Sand beneath his hands, his body shifting against hers.
Beverly, are you sure?*
Lips seeking, caressing, desire rising, hormones surging…
Yes…*
Beverly…*
Yes, Nana…*
We're going to need more wood. We'll collect some plants as well, but we'll need to help gather the wood.*
Yes, Nana.*
Kneeling on a rock in the early morning, hair flipped over her head, an old woman filled a battered metal cup, then emptied it over her. Mesmerized he watched the ends, then the length of her hair dipping itself in the water, the copper slowly staining a darker auburn.
The pungent smell of some soap or cleanser, the feel of gentle but firm hands scrubbing at her scalp. But, inescapable, all around them, on them, in the very air, was the heavy oppressive smell of smoke, of fire.
In the background the eerie morning silence was broken only by the snapping and popping of wood, branches, logs, kindling all turning to ashes.
As large, steady hands wrung out her hair, fingers combing through the tresses, he took in her too thin body, her ragged nails, and filthy matted clothing. Large blue eyes, haunted and far too serious for such a young child, turned towards him.
Will there be more burnings Nana?*
Aye, if we've enough wood.*
He opened his eyes now and turned to look at the woman asleep beside him. At some point she'd turned herself towards him. He stared openly at her features, a luxury he'd never before been allowed. He greedily took in her porcelain skin, her delicate brow and prominent cheekbones… However, what captivated him now, in this moment, was not visible in the dim light of the fire.
She'd lived an entire existence of which he knew nothing and the thought brought him sadness, but also anticipation. He could spend an entire lifetime exploring the many hidden depths of this woman, if she would but let him, if he could only find the courage. Sighing deeply he inhaled the scent of the smoke from the fire and willed sleep to claim him.