Unexpected Inspiration - Short Stories

"Mile Long Cow"

Some myths and legends go back centuries. 
This one goes back five minutes and you'll probably want that five minutes back.  

(The basis for this story was a prompt calling for a fairytale and this was as close as my characters wanted to get. This story takes place during book 1 of my "Unexpected Inspiration" series, so it could be considered a deleted scene from that book.)  

Adair groaned a sound that was closer to a whimper, not that he would admit it, as a flash of light made its way to his eyes. He clenched his jaw and repositioned his forearm to block out as much as he could. Sol was tinkering away at an invention, which meant he needed light. When Sol needed light, he didn't do it in half measures. The interior of the wagon-house was lit like the beacon of a lighthouse and didn't help the throbbing pain inside Adair's head. Despite the groaning and grumbling, Adair knew it wasn't overly bright. It was just the headache making his sight much more sensitive.

Not to mention his hearing. Sol's hammering wasn't helping, either. Adair could ask him to stop, but if Sol wasn't actively working on a project, he'd be actively talking. That wouldn't be an improvement. Adair moved the pillow from behind his head and dropped it over his face instead. He didn't need to breathe if it meant the light and noise were lessened, right?

It took a few moments for him to notice the lack of hammering. This relief was short lived when he felt Sol sit next to him. Oh no. Maybe he'd think Adair was asleep and-

No such luck. Sol lifted the pillow partway from his face. "'Less your hands have noses, this is a bad idea."

At least the room was back to being lit by only the two lamps. Sol must have pulled his weaving from the three balls of light because they no longer floated around his head like curious glowing hummingbirds. Sol himself still possessed the ever-present glow that marked him as a Weaver to Adair's arcane sight. While it wasn't blinding, it was enough for Adair to fumble for the pillow so he could put it back over his face. He answered Sol's comment with a halfhearted grunt.

"Oookay. Breathing through your hands it is. Let me know if you need anything? By like talking through your knees or whatever?" Sol asked as he stood. His bare footsteps were light as he crossed the wagon, but he didn't return to his project.

Adair grimaced, this time not from the pain. Sol was rapidly becoming one of his closest friends and Adair knew he valued when people treated him with respect. A lot of people didn't. They took Sol's silly, lazy grin and unorthodox way of talking to mean he was simple. The fact that Sol was built a little like the mountains he came from probably didn't help. He towered over everyone in Concordia.

With a sigh, Adair pushed the pillow aside and sat up. The wagon was dimmer than he'd thought, so Sol must have adjusted the lamps. Now he really did feel guilty; Sol, as a Lightweaver, needed brightness and fire the way Adair needed paint and ink as a Colorweaver. Adair cautiously inched his way across the cluttered floor to where Sol sat on his bed.

"Sorry I snapped. I didn't mean-" Adair caught sight of what Sol was holding in his glowing hands. "Why do you have my sketchbook?"

Sol gave him a wide smile that meant Adair was forgiven. "Just wanted to look at the pictures. You draw some weird things."

Adair sat next to him and leaned over to see what he was talking about. "Oh, those aren't weird. They're from a study I did of the Muses."

Sol gave him a blank, bemused smile.

Adair rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. Was he really going to have to explain the whole mythological history to someone who had never heard it before? Sol had lived in this country for years. Surely he knew what the Muses were! "The Muses. You know, the constellations? That the months are named after? It's said they came down from the stars to teach the old artists their secrets."