Ranger's Apprentice One Shots

One Shots: Relax

An inhale.

Hold.

Slowly exhale.

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

His breath tickled his shirt, the neck hanging low, and the air brushing his bare chest.

His long brown hair, obscured his eyes, but no worry. There was no need to open them.

An inhale.

Hold.

Slowly exhale.

He felt his body loosen, his back stretch. It tingled gently, like waters rippling in a lake. It relaxed, like air brushing across leaves. He felt like Summer's day, fresh, bright, and smooth. He felt open, a flower that bloomed.

His fingers moved, gently playing the floor, reaching out as far as possible. In his neck, he felt that familiar pain, but he acknowledged it, letting it go.

An inhale.

Hold.

Slowly exhale.

Thoughts passed his mind, making their way like leaves down a stream, carriages down a road, and he watched them pass, no judgment on them. Let them be. Let yourself be.

A noise from the kitchen.

Acknowledge, accept, let it go.

He released this stretch and slowly straightened up, sitting on his knees.

He heard the wind outside.

The horses' whinnies.

The birds' song.

An inhale.

Hold.

Slowly exhale.

Will opened his eyes.

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Stars twinkled above head, blinking at him, winking encouragement, safety, and hope. Millions of them, flashing above. Lights of warmth.

The crickets chirped loudly, and the cicadas tried to rival. No birds were around now, only the owls, hooting loudly. Their cries echoed in the silence. The moon drifted between thin clouds, more like dark streaks in the sky. It didn't worry the young man watching silently. It was the air and stars that calmed him, more than anything. Somehow, the air was fresher up here, he thought, lying on the tiled roof. He felt he could breathe, like he could forget his problems on the ground, and up here, just accept. Yes, he had problems to solve. But he'd solve them like puzzles. Some just took more time than others. Some had more pieces than preferred. But they would all be solved.

The porch door opened, the screen door squeaking on its hinges, then slowly waved shut, clapping in the silence. Will didn't move from his perch, lying on his back, his jacket tossed over him like a blanket and his mandola resting by his chest. He heard the so-familiar grunt of his older mentor and smiled. Halt had come to join him.

Seconds later, an older man, perhaps forty, had climbed up, swinging up above the gutter easily, and dropping to his knees. Will barely moved his head, looking at him through the very corner of his eyes.

Without speaking, Halt slid forward like a cat on a log, laying two mugs of steaming coffee between Will and himself. Will grinned, and gratefully took one, nodding. He sipped, turning his attention back to the stars. He wondered what it'd be like to visit them, millions of miles away from earth. Away from stress. Away from issues. He wondered if there were other life forms up there, waiting to be discovered. He wondered if he could drift off for miles, watching stars erupt into showers of colors, and planets spin on their axis'.

Halt laid down beside him, holding his mug on his chest. Will watched it for a moment, seeing it move rhythmically up and down. He moved closer to Halt, and Halt stretched an arm out, allowing Will to place his head in his crook. Will obeyed, without any words spoken between them. There was no need.

Time passed. Stars drifted. The moon spun.

Both men fell asleep like that.

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He blinked the moisture, meaning to blink it away, but it only brought it faster, tears forming in large lumps and falling down his cheeks. He did not typically show emotion. He had no time for it. Emotion was a luxury he did not have. To show it meant to open up, to become vulnerable. To open up meant talking and comfort. Comfort meant healing. And healing meant time.

But he could not resist the fall of the tears, now. Not when he saw the flowers she loved. Not when he heard about the unborn baby.

Horace cleared his throat, coughing slightly at his thoughts. He loved his wife. He was overjoyed at the news of the baby. But he couldn't imagine raising the child without his mother.

He knew his mother.

He knew her smile.

Her smell.

Her favorite flower.

That was all he knew. She lived only a short time longer than his father, raising him until the age of three, but that's all it takes for a mother's imprint on a child.

How could he raise the baby without his mother?

He looked out, beyond the fields, and beyond the lake, watching the low sun float it's way down. The pink and orange exploded from the clouds, illuminating the sky in a certain way that the sun didn't do. Birds raced against the bright backdrop, flying in their V-formation.

Horace pulled the cloak closer over his shoulders, breathing out slowly. He would manage. He would manage because he had Cassie. And Will. and Halt. and Duncan. And all the other people that loved him. He had a family.

He would manage.