Like living stormclouds, the hawkzile formations rise and spread out, until the blue of the sky is obscured from view. There is a breathless, anticipatory silence all around him; the boy at his side--with Japan's angled eyes and his own solid jaw--looks up at him with such guarded hope that weighs in his bones. He wonders if old man Rome felt like this, at the end.
"Father?" the boy says. "Is this acceptable?"
He folds his hands behind his back (because he doesn't know what he'd do otherwise: backhand the child, perhaps, or draw him close) and stares at the filling skies.
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Date: 2009-08-05 04:07 am (UTC)Like living stormclouds, the hawkzile formations rise and spread out, until the blue of the sky is obscured from view. There is a breathless, anticipatory silence all around him; the boy at his side--with Japan's angled eyes and his own solid jaw--looks up at him with such guarded hope that weighs in his bones. He wonders if old man Rome felt like this, at the end.
"Father?" the boy says. "Is this acceptable?"
He folds his hands behind his back (because he doesn't know what he'd do otherwise: backhand the child, perhaps, or draw him close) and stares at the filling skies.
"It's something," he says, and leaves it at that.