Kal
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 3, 2013
- Messages
- 10
- Reaction score
- 0
He rubbed his grey-green eyes as he walked into his kitchen. The bare soles of his feet slapped the cold stone floor as he walked to the cafmaker and started the fresh pot of liquid sunshine. The scent of wood smoke from the kitchen fire from the day before still clung to the air as he dug through the cupbords for a mug. This was how his days started, simple, quiet, and altogether different from the image others seemed to have of the aging man.
The small light on the caf maker turned green and he walked back with a mug in hand. His thick trousers and long sleeve shirt well suited to the cool morning air inside the Yaim. The pot lifted in his thick fingered hand and he watched the deep brown caf spill into the plain white mug. A yawn broke his silence as he carried his cup to his door and placed it on a shelf as he began putting on socks and boots. His thick fingers ran through his short brown hair as steam quietly rose from the cup and he began to put on his armor.
He didn't wear it all around the farm, just his grieves and chest plate more often than not, but that was his way. He took up the mug again and sipped the dark liquid loudly before opening the door and stepping out into the cold morning air. Just another day, he'd check pens first, then feed the animals, then probably haul the plow to the back forty and get ready for sowing. What an exciting guy.
The small light on the caf maker turned green and he walked back with a mug in hand. His thick trousers and long sleeve shirt well suited to the cool morning air inside the Yaim. The pot lifted in his thick fingered hand and he watched the deep brown caf spill into the plain white mug. A yawn broke his silence as he carried his cup to his door and placed it on a shelf as he began putting on socks and boots. His thick fingers ran through his short brown hair as steam quietly rose from the cup and he began to put on his armor.
He didn't wear it all around the farm, just his grieves and chest plate more often than not, but that was his way. He took up the mug again and sipped the dark liquid loudly before opening the door and stepping out into the cold morning air. Just another day, he'd check pens first, then feed the animals, then probably haul the plow to the back forty and get ready for sowing. What an exciting guy.