[open] colours of the wind

[nightingale]

s h o u ld i g i v e u p o r s h o u l d i

just keep chasing pavements even though it

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.photobucket.com/albums/g79/Juliart/background_black.jpg');,true][cs=2] L E A D S  N O W H E R E

[atrb=width,240] Niamh's eyelids fluttered as she turned her head. She flicked a strand of hair from her face and then placed a delicate hand beside her lap. She stared at her hand. Upon her ring finger was the glint of gold she was so used to. She turned to stare at her left hand, bare like it had been for years. Sighing, she smiled as she stood. Niamh felt most at home in the garden. She loved nature. She ran her hand over the stem of a blooming flower. She almost felt sad when she snapped the stem of the lilac, and tucked it into her dress. She held her hands in front of her bodice, and rested them against the soft material. She walked around the gardens for a while, content in her own company in that moment, it wasn't often she was content to be alone. Soon enough Niamh was fed up of her own thoughts and she found a place to perch down again. She played with the skirt of her dress. Maybe she should go and see Cillian. He would be happy to talk with her and maybe she could persuade him to give her another fencing lesson. She smiled at the thought. She truly enjoyed fencing. It was fun and gave her a thrill when she was able to beat Cillian. Niamh almost chuckled aloud, she quickly lifted a pale hand to lips painted a deep red. The colour of her cheeks darkened into a deep red that almost matched her lips. Seeing a woman standing alone. Niamh decided to chance it, and stood for the second time, moving in the direction of the other. She knelt down when she was close to look at a bush of flowers. Playing with the petals, she stayed there admiring the beauty of the flower before she stood, brushed the dirt off of her knees and looked around. The woman had gone and Niamh was stumped. She was getting really bored of being alone now, she had probably only been alone for half an hour tops, but that was enough for the young lady. Niamh pondered for a moment, and sighed. Dropping her hands to her waist, she circled them around her slight body. She rolled her head from left to right before twirling around on her toes. When she spotted a second person alone – who looked somewhat approachable – she made note of the flower and walked over. “excusez-moi, mais savez-vous quoi est appelé cette fleur?” she asked pointing to the bush she had just been at, usually she was rather good with flower names but she couldn't recall this one. *Excuse me, but do you know what this flower is called?

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Combeferre strode through the park with the aimlessness that indicated he was there for leisure, and had nowhere else to be. He wore a forest green tailcoat, tan breeches, riding boots, and his flat cap. His hands were clasped behind his back as he meandered along one of the winding paths, taking in the sights and sounds of late spring. He walked like this as much as he could—mainly to keep in shape, since he was by no means an athlete and had no other outlet of physical activity, but also simply because he could admire nature. On the rare occasions he looked into the poems Jehan recommended to him, the ones he read always had something to do with nature.

Why was it that he was so fascinated with the trees and the birds and the flowers? Perhaps it was because they were uncorrupted by greed, and the state, and evil in general. Here was the garden of Eden, pure and tranquil. Here there was no war or revolution. His mind was still reeling from the death of the unknown gypsy at the parade turned riot. Luckily he had not been bothered by the police or the National Guard. His mother had written him hysterical letters asking about his well-being, having heard about what had happened and automatically felt a surge of maternal panic. He wrote back as quickly as he could, reassuring her that he indeed was alright, and that he hoped that she and his father were well. With her impeccable timing she wrote back, demanding to know how he was doing and what all he had been up to. He made the mistake of letting slip the incident with Marius’s friend—Eponine, he didn’t think he could forget her name if he tried after their conversation. He had not given her too many details, conveniently leaving out the fact that she had stolen his book and instead saying he had lent it to her. His mother’s reply had been merciless, asking him ridiculous questions such as ‘When will we meet her?’ and ‘Do you fancy her very much?’ He had blushed profusely and written back promptly that she was tentatively a friend—he did not even think that word was mutual—although belatedly realized he had not answered the second question. It made him blush to think of it now, for whatever damnable reason. It frustrated him to no end when he didn’t know what his own mind was doing.

He rubbed his temples, very aware that his cheeks were red because they were warm, and decided to focus on the flower bushes he passed by instead of his mother’s preposterous mind tricks. He could name them all from memory. There were some that his mother spoke of quite often—as she loved spending time in their garden at home. His father was always bringing home new flowers for her. He wondered if Eponine liked flowers—stop this now, Blaise. What the deuce was the matter with him?

He was so lost in his thoughts that at first he did not hear the female voice addressing him. He turned around and jumped a little when he saw the dark-haired woman standing before him. “Forgive me, mademoiselle, my mind was elsewhere. Let’s see…” He took his glasses out from his pocket and unfolded them before slipping them on, leaning down to get a good look at the bush. “It appears to be Anagallis-foemina—Mouron-bleu.” he answered with a slight smile. “Blue pimpernel is quite lovely—they first come into bloom in May, in fact.” He was for once glad of company, even if it was a woman, which made his particular issue by no means better. It gave him a welcome respite from the sometimes scary place that was his mind.