#apollo01

Inari had laid down the chairs in front of the lake. He had stopped and looked at it for several moments, watching how the low sun reflected off the water. It was dim, and surrounded everything with a reddish hue, dull pink smudges across the sky. He supposed it was representative of Apollo himself; the sun God had never shined less, and Inari couldn’t feel as much warmth as usual. Inari sighed softly, forlornly, at the thought. He wanted to see the sun high in the sky again, hot and bright. He supposed you never realised how much you needed something after it was gone. He needed Apollo, Greece needed Apollo, just as much as Apollo needed Greece.  It was cold still, though warm enough for the lake to have defrosted, and the fish swimming. It was a good time to fish. He nodded to himself, and his robes fluttered elegantly behind him as he turned, and walked up to his house.  It was very modest. Achingly so, made of organic material, stone steps up onto his little porch. It had only two rooms, the living quarters that was both a dining room and a storage room, and his sleeping room, which is also where he did his calligraphy. He slowly stepped in to his house, greeted by the homely smell of the tatami. He crouched in front of the rice that he’d had cooking in the centre of the living room, draining it and putting it into a bowl, and took a spoon. Then, he quietly slid the door open to his sleeping quarters. Of course, it was usually empty, and to have a guest was usually a wonderful occasion, but seeing Apollo wrapped in blankets was something Inari didn’t like seeing. The reason for Apollo’s stay wasn’t a happy one, but he’d like the stay itself something at least bearable.  Inari crouched down, and he took his friend’s shoulder, slowly shaking it. “Apollo,” he said softly, running his fingers through Apollo’s hair. “Dearest Apollo, wake up. You have to eat. I have you some food now, but we will have to fish for more.” @mpxapollo