coprime_recs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coprime_recs) wrote2004-07-09 05:28 pm
coprime_recs) wrote2004-07-09 05:28 pm
Entry tags:
Dark Is Rising: Summer's Men by Kest
Summer's Men (Will/Bran | PG | 6,379 words) is Will and Bran, several years after the books have ended. This story catches the tone of the books-- slightly wistful and subdued-- quite well.
Excerpt:
"Will." His name was spoken in a gentle lilt that always sounded to him like it contained a question. He turned and there was Bran, closing the sheep gate behind him---like and not like how he remembered. He was taller, but so was Will. Thin, with the tell-tale crop of white hair grown longer now, falling untidily down over the curve of his forehead. Bran brushed it back in a gesture Will remembered, his pale eyes searching out Will's in mild query.
"I wrote to tell you I was coming," Will said.
"I know. It's just startling to see you." Bran hesitated, then came forward, reaching around him to hug him tight. Will felt soft wool under his hands; he could smell it and the faint scent of sheep and dog and soap that had settled in the weave of cloth.
There were several things that he could say--"you look well," "I'm sorry about your father"--but they were not things that he would ever say to Bran. Instead he knelt down to where a rust-red sheepdog crouched calmly and curiously by Bran's feet.
"You got another dog."
"Lloegr." The dog looked up at the sound of his name, and Bran smiled with only the faintest trace of grief. He cleared his throat. "'England,'" he translated, and his smile grew into a grin. "It seemed fitting."
"Ah," said Will. "So I am not completely forgotten." He said it lightly, but there was an undercurrent to the words that he had not been aware of when he spoke.
Excerpt:
"Will." His name was spoken in a gentle lilt that always sounded to him like it contained a question. He turned and there was Bran, closing the sheep gate behind him---like and not like how he remembered. He was taller, but so was Will. Thin, with the tell-tale crop of white hair grown longer now, falling untidily down over the curve of his forehead. Bran brushed it back in a gesture Will remembered, his pale eyes searching out Will's in mild query.
"I wrote to tell you I was coming," Will said.
"I know. It's just startling to see you." Bran hesitated, then came forward, reaching around him to hug him tight. Will felt soft wool under his hands; he could smell it and the faint scent of sheep and dog and soap that had settled in the weave of cloth.
There were several things that he could say--"you look well," "I'm sorry about your father"--but they were not things that he would ever say to Bran. Instead he knelt down to where a rust-red sheepdog crouched calmly and curiously by Bran's feet.
"You got another dog."
"Lloegr." The dog looked up at the sound of his name, and Bran smiled with only the faintest trace of grief. He cleared his throat. "'England,'" he translated, and his smile grew into a grin. "It seemed fitting."
"Ah," said Will. "So I am not completely forgotten." He said it lightly, but there was an undercurrent to the words that he had not been aware of when he spoke.