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elingregoryI had a bit of a grumble on Sunday that the logo for the Six Sentence Sunday organisation was both a bit girly and a bit modern for my taste, being a leggy lady in a miniskirt holding an automatic. Obviously for Sunday sixes I'll have to do the courtesy of using the proper logo but I've made my own blokey one just for fun anyway. So, any time you see a Sunday Six from me featuring Cynfal, Gwion, Aeddan etc just imagine this picture along side it:
At the bothy the two boys went straight to their blankets but Cynfal settled by the ashes of the fire and fed it a pine cone or two to give himself a little light. He could hear March and Pup whispering to each other, a laugh, Pup’s creaky giggle, the complaint of one of those already abed who had been disturbed. Aeddan was at the ditch, taking his time over pissing, but Cynfal figured he couldn’t stay there all night.
Eventually Aeddan gave in and ambled back to the fire. He belched and eyed the little flames with a contemptuous sniff. “You’ll need more fire than that if you want to spend the night out here,” he said. “You’ll freeze your nuts off else.”
“There’s enough for my purposes.” Cynfal looked up at Aeddan through the fog of his breath. “Want to talk about it? We’ll be going into battle come spring and I need to know if you’ve lost your nerve.”
”Me?” Aeddan stared at him, shock giving way to anger. “If anyone else asked me that he’d be looking for his teeth by now.”
“If it was anyone but you meithering on about ‘oooh the walking dead’ I’d think they were drunk, an old granny or soft in the head.” Cynfal gestured to the flap of his cloak he had laid out beside him. “Come sit and tell me - because even drunk you’ve never talked like this before and I know you’re not either of the other two.”
Aeddan’s furious expression eased and he flopped down beside Cynfal. “You are shit,” he grumbled. “Pig shit.”
“Likewise,” Cynfal grinned. “So tell me about it. What’s got you squealing like a girl with her first cramps?”
Aeddan punched him in the leg. “Am not. Fuck, now we sound like the lads. Right – you weren’t there, right? You didn’t see it. We’d thought we’d ride south and help drive cattle, load up a pony with kids, flirt a bit with the ladies. You know the kind of thing. Then we found we were riding into a war. There was smoke all along the horizon and not enough of us to make a difference but we went on anyway. Cynon was hoping to find his aunt and uncle – we didn’t. Instead we found Gwion strung up by the neck and his lover bubbling his life away wth a dagger in his lung. It just made a really bad day worse.”
“We’ve had bad days before,” Cynfal pointed out.
Aeddan nodded and poked the fire, rolling a pine cone over and almost extinguishing the little flame. “Arse,” he said. “Oh, there. It’s picking up again. Yes, bad days. You’ve seen people hanged. You know what they look like. Eyes popping all bloody, tongue out, cock hard in piss-soaked breeks. He was dead, I swear it. Cynon was sure - he cried as he cut him down. We put Gwion in Llif's arms and and he held him ‘til he stopped breathing, too. Then we decided to bury them together in this mound – an old one, already broken into. So a couple of us went inside and made a space then we lifted them down. We were going to put a shield over their faces then just pile the rocks in. There wasn’t time for anything else.” Aeddan glanced at Cynfal then away again. “Buddfan had just climbed out and I straightening the cloak over them, that kind of thing, when ...” he sucked in a shaky breath, “those red eyes opened and he ... he shrieked and spat blood in my face. No word of a lie, Cynfal, I damn near shat myself, I was so shocked. Just thinking about it now...” Aeddan gave a vast shudder and butted his head against Cynfal’s shoulder. “Every time I see the little bastard’s face I think of that all over again.”
Cynfal put his arm across Aeddan’s shoulders, hugged him then pushed him until he rolled onto his back.
“We need to take your mind off it then,” he said.
“Oh yes?” Aeddan grinned. “You offering? And I thought you liked to be the jug rather than the cup.”
“No, still the jug, thanks.”
“Then, no thank you kindly, unless we were talking about something different?”
“Something quite different,” Cynfal said with a chuckle. “I’m glad you told me. You see I reckon it was just one of those things. Gwion's hands were free I heard. Maybe he'd held himself up for longer than you all thought and had only just passed out. Odd things happen. Remember old Molwyn? That old man whose arm used to go in and out of his socket and he’d get youngsters to bump into him , pop his arm out and howl, and make them feel guilty enough to buy him drinks.”
Aeddan was snickering. “Yes, I remember him. That old fart. He must’ve had a couple of gallons of mead off me until I found out. Yes. So maybe it’s something like Molwyn – weird but something that happens sometimes?”
“That’s right,” Cynfal nodded. “So if he is just a normal lad who lost a lover and his home, and his voice as well from what I’ve heard, don’t you think it would be our bad luck to prevent him from having a chance of getting his own back?”
“I don’t know ...”Aeddan began but there was a tone in his voice that suggested he might be open to persuasion.
“Just think,” Cynfal murmured. “What if Troop Three had its own harper? One who can make songs for us to sing about the other troops. Also, Cynon might be grateful if someone promised to look after his cousin, make sure he came to no harm.”
“Oh yes?” Aeddan said again. “So, you’d be doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”
"Yes,” Cynfal said. “Kindness to him – and to me.”
Aeddan sat up, grinning. “You always liked ‘em dark,” he said.
At the bothy the two boys went straight to their blankets but Cynfal settled by the ashes of the fire and fed it a pine cone or two to give himself a little light. He could hear March and Pup whispering to each other, a laugh, Pup’s creaky giggle, the complaint of one of those already abed who had been disturbed. Aeddan was at the ditch, taking his time over pissing, but Cynfal figured he couldn’t stay there all night.Eventually Aeddan gave in and ambled back to the fire. He belched and eyed the little flames with a contemptuous sniff. “You’ll need more fire than that if you want to spend the night out here,” he said. “You’ll freeze your nuts off else.”
“There’s enough for my purposes.” Cynfal looked up at Aeddan through the fog of his breath. “Want to talk about it? We’ll be going into battle come spring and I need to know if you’ve lost your nerve.”
”Me?” Aeddan stared at him, shock giving way to anger. “If anyone else asked me that he’d be looking for his teeth by now.”
“If it was anyone but you meithering on about ‘oooh the walking dead’ I’d think they were drunk, an old granny or soft in the head.” Cynfal gestured to the flap of his cloak he had laid out beside him. “Come sit and tell me - because even drunk you’ve never talked like this before and I know you’re not either of the other two.”
Aeddan’s furious expression eased and he flopped down beside Cynfal. “You are shit,” he grumbled. “Pig shit.”
“Likewise,” Cynfal grinned. “So tell me about it. What’s got you squealing like a girl with her first cramps?”
Aeddan punched him in the leg. “Am not. Fuck, now we sound like the lads. Right – you weren’t there, right? You didn’t see it. We’d thought we’d ride south and help drive cattle, load up a pony with kids, flirt a bit with the ladies. You know the kind of thing. Then we found we were riding into a war. There was smoke all along the horizon and not enough of us to make a difference but we went on anyway. Cynon was hoping to find his aunt and uncle – we didn’t. Instead we found Gwion strung up by the neck and his lover bubbling his life away wth a dagger in his lung. It just made a really bad day worse.”
“We’ve had bad days before,” Cynfal pointed out.
Aeddan nodded and poked the fire, rolling a pine cone over and almost extinguishing the little flame. “Arse,” he said. “Oh, there. It’s picking up again. Yes, bad days. You’ve seen people hanged. You know what they look like. Eyes popping all bloody, tongue out, cock hard in piss-soaked breeks. He was dead, I swear it. Cynon was sure - he cried as he cut him down. We put Gwion in Llif's arms and and he held him ‘til he stopped breathing, too. Then we decided to bury them together in this mound – an old one, already broken into. So a couple of us went inside and made a space then we lifted them down. We were going to put a shield over their faces then just pile the rocks in. There wasn’t time for anything else.” Aeddan glanced at Cynfal then away again. “Buddfan had just climbed out and I straightening the cloak over them, that kind of thing, when ...” he sucked in a shaky breath, “those red eyes opened and he ... he shrieked and spat blood in my face. No word of a lie, Cynfal, I damn near shat myself, I was so shocked. Just thinking about it now...” Aeddan gave a vast shudder and butted his head against Cynfal’s shoulder. “Every time I see the little bastard’s face I think of that all over again.”
Cynfal put his arm across Aeddan’s shoulders, hugged him then pushed him until he rolled onto his back.
“We need to take your mind off it then,” he said.
“Oh yes?” Aeddan grinned. “You offering? And I thought you liked to be the jug rather than the cup.”
“No, still the jug, thanks.”
“Then, no thank you kindly, unless we were talking about something different?”
“Something quite different,” Cynfal said with a chuckle. “I’m glad you told me. You see I reckon it was just one of those things. Gwion's hands were free I heard. Maybe he'd held himself up for longer than you all thought and had only just passed out. Odd things happen. Remember old Molwyn? That old man whose arm used to go in and out of his socket and he’d get youngsters to bump into him , pop his arm out and howl, and make them feel guilty enough to buy him drinks.”
Aeddan was snickering. “Yes, I remember him. That old fart. He must’ve had a couple of gallons of mead off me until I found out. Yes. So maybe it’s something like Molwyn – weird but something that happens sometimes?”
“That’s right,” Cynfal nodded. “So if he is just a normal lad who lost a lover and his home, and his voice as well from what I’ve heard, don’t you think it would be our bad luck to prevent him from having a chance of getting his own back?”
“I don’t know ...”Aeddan began but there was a tone in his voice that suggested he might be open to persuasion.
“Just think,” Cynfal murmured. “What if Troop Three had its own harper? One who can make songs for us to sing about the other troops. Also, Cynon might be grateful if someone promised to look after his cousin, make sure he came to no harm.”
“Oh yes?” Aeddan said again. “So, you’d be doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”
"Yes,” Cynfal said. “Kindness to him – and to me.”
Aeddan sat up, grinning. “You always liked ‘em dark,” he said.
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-11 09:34 am (UTC)Smashing.
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Date: 2012-04-14 09:22 am (UTC)What does 'bothy' mean at Cochrane Towers? I'm just messing about with the limited vocabulary I have for the period. No idea if bothy is correct but I'm still having fun with them.
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Date: 2012-04-14 09:28 am (UTC)We also call toilets cludgies.