Reaper's Crown

Ch. 5 - The Wall of Life and Death

Paladians are known for having a pretty strange meal schedule. The first thing they typically grab upon waking up is leftovers from last night's elusive supper, which, when served on a little plate while overlooking the stretches and intricate beauties of Lignoria, works as a pretty hearty breakfast. They usually skip dinner (or simply eat something really small in between meals), as they tend to wake up much later than other races, with the sun nearing its highest point.

Paladians sleep for about nine to twelve hours each day (and snore really loudly), so they don't necessarily have much time or interest in preparing something creative. It's usually botched, glazed, chopped meat from the farm animals, a big campfire for three families and roasted meals ending up in their hands, filling their stomachs before a good night's sleep.

Some would deem such feasts as wild or without manners, but even those royals living in Saphrith seem to favour these methods. Except, there, they don't have campfires, turning to these big, dark, stone ovens that each house is equipped with, heating up bread or minced parts of beef served with a side of a typical Lignorian salad (apples combined with wunia leaves and cooked carrots) or rice.

Going back to the methods mostly seen in more open places such as Prope Portam, some people use the eventful supper as an opportunity to strike.

Strike, as in, perhaps confess their feelings while looking at the dirty and greasy lips of the person sloppily eating the sauced porkchop. I guess that both love and fire create sparks, so I'm not one to judge when and why it happens.

More importantly, I think it's worth mentioning that such intricate moments usually occur outside of the enclosed and well-known night fires of Prope Portam, further away from the palm trees and even stepping outside all the tree houses near the forest. After all, the city is built into a lot of things, mountains, woods, near rivers and it even reaches a beach on the other side.

Looking into the shallow firsts of Orawood, a couple would place stones in a circular pattern, coat uncooked meat in the nearby tree sap, light a fire with willow logs and watch as the sun sets over the clear sky, perhaps holding hands and reminiscing the time they spent together.

The cracks of the fire often overtake any sound coming from the far distance, turning it into a crackling silence.

"I remember that night so well, my dear Pastia." A voice spoke, and his eyes squinted, brows relaxed and lips pursed into a smile. His tight squeeze over Pastia's hand hardened, and the girl he just mentioned looked into his dark eyes.

"Of course, Roser. I recall it too." She reached her hand out into the sky. "The setting sun painted the sky. It was full and basked with the colours we still see to this day."

"Orange," Roser muttered as an orange elm leaf dropped by the side. "Pink." he looked at the slight tint on Pastia's lips. "...and red." A maple leaf landed on his head, and Pastia giggled a bit, before brushing through his dark, thick hair.

Roser flushed, fixing his linen brown shirt and groaning.

Pastia breathed out, and her falling black locks flew with the calm wind.

"M-May I?" Roser asked, a beam tugging on his lips. Pastia simply nodded. The boy placed his hand near her dressed thighs and leaned in, presumably, for a kiss.

The cracks of the fire, however, didn't turn a nearby sound into yet another sparkle. Their moment halted with a loud laugh, followed by a screech in the distance. Roser gently pushed Pastia away, with a sigh. "It's them." his eyes fixated on a pebble on the ground.

"Pff." Pastia chuckled again. "They're probably just jealous."

"It's our moment." Roser stood up. "I won't let their stupidity take it away," he vowed, before angrily stepping into the coated darkness of the Orawood Forest.