@avaere said: it's always a matter of where with her dear friend, never quite when or how, certainly not on days where no lectures are waiting for them and the majority of the people that still reside in this remote, quite village has yet to realize how much manpower they truly need to bring this year's harvest off the field. one wouldn't find him here, nor there, not in between the pillars of the abode belonging to an all too dear teacher and certainly not in the market fixing what he had already taken care of on a whim the week before, and were one to listen to the calls of a mother looking for him then there'd be nothing but silence and a sigh.
her clue, her invitation to set out on the pursuit she has done far too many times. up into trees that she's now capable of reaching with her hand, below branches and through bushes that no longer fit their statures – there's not a single nook in this town that they haven't fled to in pursuit of peace. they have been everywhere, all at once in the memories of their younger selves when aedes elysiae still seemed so large and so vast, full of wonder that would shrink over the years they spent running down the same paths. less wonder, less marvel – but still home, the one place where the both of them truly belonged.
this time, thankfully, there are no branches to climb nor any bushes to crawl under, no. it's a trail they have walked before, and it doesn't stray half as far as concerned parents would think. strands of wheat take turns in whisking against her, crunching beneath steps cyrene tries to soften in her sneaking approach. they have played tag here far too many times, hide and seek as well, often resulting in them being chased out by a farmer not quite willing to have ruthless children stomp on their harvest. and yet, it didn't quite seem to matter. the farmer could chase them, and they would laugh, once again seek refuge in this little corner of aedes elysiae whenever they needed. him more than her, and it was a strange sight as always. hidden within the tall, flickering golden sea of wheat, one wouldn't have to look too far to spot a strange formation causing a dip in the fields. too large for a deer, too small for a horse. just about right for –
"you are horrible at hiding," cyrene comments there she makes her way over to the dip in the wheat field, leaning over so that she can steal a glance of the all too comfortable phainon. a laugh slips out of her as a hand reaches over, a strand of wheat pinched between fingers as it dips down to torment his face with gentle taps. "are you ignoring the sweet, gentle cries of your mother, phainon? from what i heard ... there were rumors about some chores you had neglected to keep up with? dishes? sweeping?"
the strand wouldn't cease it's torture for a little moment, only lifted away as she'd lean back up and move so that she could take place next to him in the field. placing the strand within her lips, she'd chew on it as eyes gazed up on the skies above them. "the mighty deliverer, hero of aedes elysiae ... you would think he could hang his own laundry , right ?" a friendly jab, one offered with a nudge of her foot against his.
" what are you daydreaming about today ? are you longing to head back to okhema already ? we only got back a couple of days ago. surely you don't miss the baths so soon ?"
The wheat sways gently in the breeze over his head and around him; and for a moment, as he keeps his eyes closed, Phainon almost feels as though he is lying in a boat of hay swaying on a barely disturbed lake. The sounds of the village feel so distant, its smells and sights near but just out of reach while the sun warms his slumbering body. Aedes Elysiae was the village he was born in, and the village that has borne him through a life full of strange twists and turns. Today, it is a cradle he returns to, away from the curious crowds and their questions, away from the material. Nothing but the feeling of home seeping through every pore of his body, welcomed back in the arms of a place the earth of which he might as well have been carved out from. Oh, how he had missed this village, this land, those fields, the murmur of the sea licking at the shores and the soil breathing beneath his back.
That is, until the crunch of footsteps rouses him from his near-slumber, and a tickle at his nose make him scrunch his face and reluctantly open his eyes. "I'm not hiding!" He protests, trying (and failing) to swat away the stalk of wheat mercilessly attacking his face. "And I am not neglecting my chores, I am... taking a break! The floors that I need to sweep are not going to run away in the next hour, are they?" Finally, Cyrene relents and abandons his torment, and takes her place at his side - much better, thank you kindly. With a sigh, Phainon rises on his elbows, and takes a deep breath. The smell of wheat is still the same. The scent of the sea nearby remains. They are well and truly home. Even with his eyes open.
Sometimes, Phainon isn't entirely sure he can truly trust what he sees when his eyes are open.
Cyrene's sing-song voice is real, too. He knows, because she never sounds quite the same in his dreams - as though his imagination could never fully capture her and do her justice, no matter how long she has been an indelible part of the tapestry of his life. He lets out a chuckle at her question. "No no - I do love the baths, but I'll tell you a secret I'll trust you won't repeat to Lady Aglaea... I still prefer the sea here in Aedes Elysiae." He hums, content. He has missed his home. And yet, for all his contentment, he can never seem to help the strange feeling of muted melancholy that seeps into his heart - paints cerulean eyes with a faint, resigned sorrow he can never explain either.
Homesickness is the strangest of feelings - and even at home, it never seems to quite go away. Perhaps because he knows he will have to leave again - sometime, somehow.
" ... I was thinking about how strange it is to return to a place that seems to have not changed at all, when we seem to have changed so much. Everything in the village is exactly as I remember it... the fields, the oikos, our old classroom, the orchards... even mom and dad... but us? Obviously we've grown up, but there's more to it, don't you think?" It is difficult to articulate - even for two proud students of the Grove of Epiphany. Phainon sighs again; and decides to shift on his elbow and let his head come to rest in his friend's lap. She can at the very least grant him this, for so mercilessly interrupting his daydreaming. "Sometimes, I feel like I've lost something I can never fully grasp at again, even when it seems right within my reach. I know, it's ridiculous, and it is the natural course of life for people to change, but... is it such a ridiculous thing to wish that the happy, carefree times had lasted just a little longer?"
