Citizen 783 Lyricist

A tittering hum escaped from his dark muzzle as Lyricist paced around his home; straightening out the décor or blowing away the occasional dusty corner as he went. Although this is where the furred rexal slept and lived, he didn’t spend nearly as much time here as his studio. On a usual morning he would already be packed and headed towards the other building; a mind full of ideas & his trusty writing equipment in tow. Today however, the sky was a pale gray and a cold humidity hung in the air; the sweet siren-song of a lazy morning too tempting to resist, he found himself puttering about while waiting for the pot of water to warm.

He gathered his ingredients for tea, taking note of what he would need more of later, before tossing them into the pot and setting the lid slightly ajar so it could simmer.  Still stuck in their mind, they found themself looking out the stone-framed window. The view of his small yard and studio at the top of the hill was washed in blue-gray light, reflecting the cloud cover hanging above it. The mindless hum he was still carrying began to find a tune as they found themself reminiscing. His elbow on the counter in front of him, he leaned his furred cheek on the pads of his forepaw and found himself slouching into a resting stance. He recalled being just a pup at Canto’s; his first steps out of the hatchery were into cold, white snow. The young lacuna rex had loved it; bounding excitedly into snowbanks much taller than he was and having to be scooped out by kind passerbys. The dragging of paws through the fields to leave trails which turned into drawings of flowers (or sometimes vulgar, childish jokes) when looked at from atop a hill or tree. It wasn’t long after though that he had grown ill, possibly from getting a wet chill one too many times, and had to spend the remainder of that winter in the confines of the hatchery. 

Although being stuck inside for so long with the sniffles would likely drive most rexes crazy, it was in his warm room in the hatchery where he found what he loved most about the snow - watching it. He could spend lifetimes witnessing it slowly dance down from the clouds, imagining patterns and figures swirling within the particles. With enough time and creativity, he would imagine each snowflake falling as a note; playing the corresponding one on his lyre. The minutes would melt into hours as he would get carried away into the song, sometimes accompanying the strings with his voice or tail thumping rhythmically against the floor. It was distant, but memory pulled at a few notes of one snowy day’s song, and he silently lamented that he didn’t have the mind then to write it down. Shaking his head, he recalled how the smells of dinner downstairs always found its way to coax him out of his wintery song before anything could be completed, but it was a welcome invitation. He could almost smell the warm herbs and spices now…

Suddenly remembering why he could smell them now, he snapped up from the window and turned to the pot behind him. Carefully grasping the handle and pouring some of the liquid warmth into a mug, he let out a breath over it before taking a sip, watching the steam rise into the air as he swallowed. Blowing the steam from it once again he watched it dance in the air, swirling a moment, before lowering his cup and placing it on the counter beside the window. Intent on returning to his daydreaming; he returned to his relaxing lean and took another sip before gazing outside once more.

To his surprise, his next exhale left a puff of breath visible in the air. Figuring it was remnant of the warm tea he just sipped he took a deeper breath in; feeling the cold air fill his lungs and send a shiver down his spine. He exhaled again, a larger plume of breath escaping him and floating into the air above him. Repeating this process a few times over, he found himself humming once more, the swirls of air an entertaining trick. He watched with quiet wonder at his own breath as something further outside suddenly caught his eye. They held their breath a moment, letting the air clear of their flumes to get a better look and watched as the first few specks of white began to fall from the sky.

Gently stepping outside, Lyricist stood in awe as snow began to gently fall around him, thinking to himself with a smile that the Elders must have thought it appropriate to bring his day-dream to life. Watching the flakes fall a bolt of inspiration shot through him; turning back inside to gather his lyre and writing tools before pulling out a clean looking cloak from a dusty trunk. Placing the hood over his head and making the last minute decision to bring his mug with him as well, Lyricist set on his way to the studio; the memory of his snow-song coming into clarity as he hummed. Lazy day it would be not - but with a spring in his step and a song in his heart, Lyricist knew it would be a good one.

Author: BrokenRhymes