Throes of the Morn [ Open ]

[Peyton Camille]

WORD COUNT eh TAGGED @open NOTES rambley post say what

BECAUSE THE WIND, THE WIND, WILL CARRY ME AWAY FROM HOME The air smelt of home, like the fresh sea of the harbor, and the oak and other woods that made up the docks. Workers, crew members, and other citizens moved throughout the docks, picking at things here and there. Bangs, crashes, and other curious noises echoed, and the water, most of all, lapped away at the wooden bars holding up the walkways. It was early in the morning, early enough that the sun was still low in the sky, and the cool breeze bordered on being cold. People bustling by held coats and other pieces of fabric close around their shoulders. Peyton, on the other hand, felt no reason too. He was warm, as would be expected. He had, after all, been working since before that sun had even peaked up above the horizon. There was dangers to the docks. Many people tended to dismiss them. How nails can catch under skin, leading to nasty infections. Bars, unstable and prepared to fall at the slightest notice. Crates, laid on top of other crates with little care for how balanced they were. Peyton had been working here since he had turned fifteen, and there had not been a day when he hadn't dreamed, disillusioned by the sea around him, what it would be like to finally, finally escape Flora, and maybe never come back. Yet it was also that sea that terrified him. It was that sea, when he looked at it, that he pictured rising up with a mighty storm, and washing away his mother. Sometimes he imagined that he could still smell her, like baby powder and lilacs, but small memories like that from a childhood he had left behind wouldn't last. The sea had taken her from him, just like it had taken everything. If Peyton feared the unruly waves, enough that he had never even learnt how to swim, than his father hated it. It had sucked the joy right out of the cruel man, and left him with a heavy dislike for the 'son' that he had never asked for. Peyton may hate the dock work most days, but at the very least it gave him a reason to escape his fathers household, and just run away. A crate in his arms, it was almost as big as the small boy. Heavy, filled with different food supplies from the numerous ships that had docked last night, he carefully was working on balancing it on top of the other loads that were being taken off. It was marked fragile, which is what Peyton usually worked with. The carts that other dockworkers pushed crates on and other small supplies weren't his job. He hadn't earned the easier part of the work, and for good reason. He was just some thick headed kid as far as his boss was concerned, but at the very least if he kept his head down then no one was going to look too closely at him.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS & THQ