loud thunder heavy rain - chapter 16
this fic is now complete!!
The summer afternoon lay heavy with muggy air as the sun baked in wavering ripples over the rambling land of Morhen farms. The maple and beech windbreak swayed along the ridge behind the worn farmhouse, and the willows rustled above the cool banks of the creek. In their neatly-divided kennels, speckled dogs snoozed in warm piles, their noses twitching, and in the dusty back corner of the empty garage, lambs bounced through fresh-laid hay while their mothers lounged to chew their cud.
On the crooked front porch of Eskel’s trailer, Geralt and Yennefer laid down cards on a wobbly folding table, instructing Coen on the finer details of the obscure and horribly nerdy card game that they were so taken with, cackling as Coen crossed his eyes and swore, complaining that he was simply too much of a dumb hick for this shit. The ostentatious truck sat squarely in the drive, twin flags catching a swelling breeze as the line of the horizon darkened into a smear of bruising.
From the depths of a brown river, somewhere beyond the farm, the warped eyes of blunt-headed carp gazed up at fresh, pink marks on a rough concrete wall above the trickle of a spillway. The cicadas nestled in the crooks of the trees swelled a repeating note as tumbled clouds crept along the blue expanse of the sky. The crickets perched on cinderblocks and tucked in patches of clover and hollows of rotting logs creaked an echoing song.
The cows that stood belly deep in the rustling pasture grass flicked their ears against the touch of flies and strode with slow purpose into the shelter of the trees, their hides twitching as they folded their legs and settled.
Their dull eyes blinked in animal simplicity at the dust cloud still fading from the tires of a truck settled at the pasture gate. The men that rose together from cab of the truck bore no buckets that promised corn or pellet feed, and so the herd did not bother to approach the fence, watching blankly as the men moved to a soft swale of ground bare of grass and lay down together.
A poor place to lie, thought the cows bedded down under the willows, especially with the pressure in the air bottoming out and tickling their fly-bitten skin.