"Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you."
All rights reserved.
An original story by Bi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
________________________________________________________________________ England, May 1415 A.D. - Royal Forestof Dean, WestGloucestershire
Jimin wipes his sweat drenched forehead with the just as wet collar of his blouse, the golden, tanned young skin shadowy with the darkness of night.
The two males have been digging into the muddy soil for days now, expecting for ''it'' to appear around this time. They even received the order to stop farming and concentrate on its research instead. Hoseok stops a second with both hands on the shovel, his sweaty naked torso glistening in the light of the lantern attached on the chestnut tree, above their heads. The younger lifts his face, the orangy color of the candle glowing onto his complexion, and seeing the other is taking a second of pause, he takes a breath and speaks up.
>>I'll try digging more towards the cherry tree now<<
The elder nods, waving him off. The other male, permission given, walks towards said plant, shoving the digging tool into the ground and beginning again.
It has been a long day for both, the sun shone until eight o'clock, they're sweaty, famished and tired, but this job has to be done and as quick as possible. They have to find ''it''.
The boy's eyes widen as he feels something very different in consistency being hit by his shovel, halting immediately and looking down. Said male lets out a quiet gasp, so attracting his companion's attention in the quietness of that nightmare-like evening.
>>Did you find anything??<<
The elder demands as the other crouches down, starting to dig with his hands, the dust and dirt accumulating under the non-sailed nail, between his calloused fingers and the ruts on the tips of those as well. The latter hums
>>I believe so<<
He turns his head to the other
>>Come give me an hand kindly, Hobi<<
The elder reaches the other's position, he too kneeling down and starting to grab handfuls of dirt, throwing it to the side.
>>You hurt ''it'' with the shovel<<
The elder mutters, seeing the dirtied, bloody cut on their finding.
>>I know, I am sorry<<
The two fall silent, continuing on with their work, until what they were searching for is clear and bare in front of their eyes. The elder shakes its shoulder, but ''it'' won't budge. Concern builds into the elder as he exchanges a quick glance with the other.
