Post by neekolas on Feb 21, 2011 1:16:34 GMT -6
Luke sat in the warm sand as the sun set over the sea, idly tossing rough-cut hunks of meat in a halved tree nut shell. Little rockfish, the other half of the whitefish Brouhan was gnawing on at his side. Juice from half a citrus.
He took out a small handful of the mixture and, leaning his head back, dropped it into his mouth. He barely bothered to chew before swallowing, smacking his lips and causing Brouhan to look up from his own meal in curiosity. Good stuff.
He switched the bowl to the other hand (didn't want to get hair in his fish, you see), and patted his furry companion.
"Don't choke dere, Brou. Watch out for dem little bones," he advised in his family's rough drawl. Poor fellow tended to let his appetite make him forget about the sharp little horrors all up in the ribcage. It was a shame, really. Ruinous little cutspears in an otherwise perfect food.
The proper way to live, this. Out in the sand and surf with a good friend, good food, and a knife in the sand. Watching the sun go to bed for the night. He liked to do this at least once a week, more if he could. Take the end of a day to just relax. No work, no thinking. Just watching, waiting, eating.
He popped another hand-full of the fish mixture into his mouth (not forgetting to switch hands again), chewing a bit slower this time as the last sliver of the sun's red light disappeared under the horizon.
He finished his meal, scooping out a few bites of the white meat from his bowl before tossing it to the sea as he made his way to it to rinse his hands. Brouhan was curled up next to the remains of the fish, ready for bed himself. Samuel strode over, tapping his companion lightly on the ear with his foot.
"C'mon, ya little glubba." It took a bit of convincing, but the dohg knew a warm spot in the hold was better than sands that got cold at night. And he was napping where tide was about to come in, that'd probably ruin his night.
The two made their way back to the hold, Samuel with his hands jammed in his pockets, kicking sand at Brouhan every so often as he whistled a nonsensical tune.
He took out a small handful of the mixture and, leaning his head back, dropped it into his mouth. He barely bothered to chew before swallowing, smacking his lips and causing Brouhan to look up from his own meal in curiosity. Good stuff.
He switched the bowl to the other hand (didn't want to get hair in his fish, you see), and patted his furry companion.
"Don't choke dere, Brou. Watch out for dem little bones," he advised in his family's rough drawl. Poor fellow tended to let his appetite make him forget about the sharp little horrors all up in the ribcage. It was a shame, really. Ruinous little cutspears in an otherwise perfect food.
The proper way to live, this. Out in the sand and surf with a good friend, good food, and a knife in the sand. Watching the sun go to bed for the night. He liked to do this at least once a week, more if he could. Take the end of a day to just relax. No work, no thinking. Just watching, waiting, eating.
He popped another hand-full of the fish mixture into his mouth (not forgetting to switch hands again), chewing a bit slower this time as the last sliver of the sun's red light disappeared under the horizon.
He finished his meal, scooping out a few bites of the white meat from his bowl before tossing it to the sea as he made his way to it to rinse his hands. Brouhan was curled up next to the remains of the fish, ready for bed himself. Samuel strode over, tapping his companion lightly on the ear with his foot.
"C'mon, ya little glubba." It took a bit of convincing, but the dohg knew a warm spot in the hold was better than sands that got cold at night. And he was napping where tide was about to come in, that'd probably ruin his night.
The two made their way back to the hold, Samuel with his hands jammed in his pockets, kicking sand at Brouhan every so often as he whistled a nonsensical tune.