bølgenes sang || seongsang

「chapter 8」 : sang om regnet

Lost in his thoughts, Mingi stared at the ceiling. It had taken him a little while to get used to the soft eiderdown he currently lay on, as his usual bed could not in the slightest compare to the sheer downiness of the elves' sleeping accommodation; now however, he found himself quite enjoying laying on top of or beneath those fluffy blankets. They smelt fairly complacent too, though he did not have the slightest idea of what this smell was. It fit the ambience the room, with its gentle scent.

In the back of his mind, he noticed the rain drops hitting the window weaker and weaker, until eventually they entirely subsided; just like the last thunder had faintly reached him hours ago. The siren could not recall when exactly he had retreated to his chambers, but it had to have been some minutes after the short elf had left them. He had been quite surprised at how competitive the elf was, not expecting a creature that held itself so gracefully nearly losing his mind over a simple card game. He resembled Wooyoung in that.

Despite having excused himself with tiredness, Mingi had retired to his chambers in order to play in favor of his best friend. Even though he tried to, San had never been able to make a secret out of his quite possibly unrequited feelings for Wooyoung; miraculously, only the receiver of the affection that resulted from those feelings never caught on. Worlds would shift before the short siren would ever catch on.

Hence Mingi had left the two to spend time on their own, which would have escalated into almost dangerous tomfoolery by this time, had they been at home. He knew that San would be telling him all about what had happened tomorrow.

With a deep sigh, the siren heaved himself into a sitting position. His lazy gaze wandered over to the windows, his eyes once again losing focus as he stared outside. With a shake of his head, he collected his lose thoughts into a neat bundle and climbed off the bed, heading towards the windows to open them. The air in the room had become quite stuffy in the past hours.

Once all three of them stood wide open, he leaned onto the wooden windowsill of the middle one; closing his eyes, he let the slight breeze of the clearing sky brush over his skin. It brought the heavy scent of rain with it, filling his lungs with crisp air. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he inhaled deeply, cherishing nature's breath in its full glory. A gust of wind ran through the forest, the leaves' shivering sounding up to the siren.

Indistinct chatter interrupted his peace, causing him to open his eyes and lower his gaze. With slight interest, he watched a group of young elves gather on a small square; their worn down clothes oozed water and mud, their hair wet and barely held by lazy braids, their bare feet brown with mire, yet their faces radiant with smiles. Their laughs echoed up to him as they formed clumps with the sludge of the ground, squealing when they got hit by someone's missile of filth.

Just as he snorted at their intensifying battle, a door opened somewhere above him. As a heel met marble floor, the clock of the Alchemist's Tower far north announced the beginning of the 21st hour of the day. The laughter of the young elves died down, them shushing each other as they continued to giggle. All around the square elves opened windows and leaned out of them, more and more filling the square; he noted that while the elves in the houses eyed the ones on the square with displeasure, the considerably poorer folk on the streets happily conversed with each other in shushed tones.

As he began to wonder what this commotion may be about, someone cleared their throat on a small balcony few meters above him. Any conversation that had taken place down on the streets or in the houses ceased immediately, all eyes fixated on the person on the balcony. Not one of them spared him a single glance, despite his rather uncommon looks for elven standards.