Doting mother hen and his baby bun [bl]

Chapter 8: My Saviour?

A beacon of light pierced through the mullioned panes of glass, bathing the polished wooden tiles on the floor in a crisscross of iridescent colour; illuminating the darkened room.

The sun streams in like a flamboyant guest, not waiting for an invitation. The sunlight beamed through the white blinds, presenting the morning sun against Ying's sculpted face.

The morning sun had kissed him awake. Slivers of light peeped through the drawn blinds, casting thin golden stripes across his angelic peaceful face.

He opened his eyes and slowly, drowsily. All the memories of just before came rushing back like a wave. His eyes snapped open. Panic evident on his face.

Ying finally let everything sink in, his eyes wide open, every thought in high definition. His eyes take in every ray of light and without a doubt he knows he has slept too long. The more anxious he became the more pronounced became his intellectualization of the whole process.

He rationalized and viewed the problem from different viewpoints. He took in a deep breath, trying to assess his situation.

The small cottage was perched on the plain near the woods, so old and poor that it was surprising how it was still standing. And yet it seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rising from the old chimney.

The walls were made of the same wood and the roof was clearly stone, so old that it was a wonder how it did not yet cave in. The cottage was the only thing there. There were no other houses around it, and this one would have looked abandoned if not for the smoke.

Although the outside looked shabby the interior was simply gorgeous. It is as if they had purposely made the outer walls look wrecked as to not attract attention. The place was isolated, a large pond was near the small shack. It was simply genius.

On the veranda sat plants that reached up past the cedar railings and branched out gleefully into the sun, enjoying their fair-weather home.

Every one of them had a pleasing shape and glazed in the same vibrant shades of blue he accented his home with. Some were like snapshots of midnight and ribbed like waves.

Others were classically smooth, widening to a rimmed top, brilliant cyan glaze clinging to them like animal skin and dripping down the sides to add just the right dash of chaos.

Against the deep browns of the wood, these simple pots were stunning just as he knew they would be when he stood in the store. They were simply gorgeous.

The river is a slice of mellow harmony amid the fragrant leaves. It flows like time, always onward, always toward its destiny.

One day these placid waters will enter that great ocean, each drop a vital part of what becomes the mighty aquatic world. In the shade of the boughs we wade in, feeling the welcome kiss of coolness, watching the eddies that swirl and disappear. The water surface is livened by brief crescents of white that are fish arcing as they swim.

His eyes travels downstream, caressing the dapples that bring the shine of the water to a hue so homely. Ying was looking out the window in a daze.

His mind drifting off like a cloud. Trying to figure out what he was going to do. It seems he would be stuck here for a while.

For some reason his body was in responsive and he couldn't mood. The phoenix he had summoned before apologized profusely just as Ying had awoken.

It was perched outside as it couldn't fit in the tiny house. Ying found it rude if he just got up and left. The wounds that littered his pale body were all bandaged. Ying wanted to express his thanks.