Other Tales of Rangforne

Quick As Quip

Quick As Quip
Quick As Quip, Sketch
Sketch, Quick As Quip

“It’s about making a web.”

“What do you mean?”

Trent stood there. Contemplating, a concern for proper communication was stricken across his features. Brow furrowed, mouth pressed together in a slight frown, not the kind out of frustration, but pure concentration. To truly and honestly express what he was thinking, that was his goal, to relay it in such a way it could forgo the misinterpretation that ensues the beginnings of any conversation, note, or gesture. He made a gesture toward Branch, then stopped. His mouth opened, nothing came out. Finally, he shouted something uni-syllabic, Branch didn’t understand, he made such a gesture.

“You just…” He moved his hand ambiguously, bringing even more confusion to the moment.

He laughed. That unfettered kind. Mouth open wide, great guffaws poured out. Branch kind-of watched in a weird fascination. His mentor might have lost his mind, well, if he hadn’t been his apprentice for a while, he would have certainly thought so. Instead, he watched, and tried not to laugh himself. A little piece of it escaped by accident.

Trent looked at him with a sudden fury. “Don’t laugh. Understand.”

Branch paled for a moment. Sometimes he missed the point, and it was fine. Sometimes he really missed it, which wasn’t as fine. This seemed to shift into one of those moments. It meant he had asked a really good question, one that Trent may have been trying to hint at for a long time. With the prospect of true teaching, he would light up, as if someone ran into a dark house and flipped all the lights on, blaring music and screaming the whole time.

Trent just stared at him. Was Branch supposed to have gleaned anything from this display? Obviously so. He had gained nothing. Only more of a fascination in the methods of Trent. He was brilliant, sure, one of the best mages around. Few could do a Shaping like Trent, or Illuminating. That was where he put his attention, in understanding how things were seen, he lived and loved understanding the light. Branch knew there were unfathomable things to learn from him, so he struggled through this moment.

Mainly Branch tried not to let the bubbling mirth, that grew from watching his mentor stumble all around the point he was trying to make, pop out again. Trent had to know he was twelve-layers of amused. Branch laughed.

“Branch! Damnit.” Trent fumed, Branch cursed himself, he knew better, but sometimes it was damn hard to not laugh. Trent continued, “When your ready to learn about how picking your ear is the same as itching your nose three times, which is also the same as crafting a Shaping that weaves the very essences of life, and how these all relate to the way the sun falls onto the tops of your hair, and where that energy goes, and how this is the same way an apple grows. And those are delicious.”

“Gods Trent, I just asked what you wanted for lunch.” Although Branch did pick at his ear, which led his thoughts in a tumbling logic to, an apple.

Trent stared flatly at him. “Well, obviously, I want an apple, what did you think I was saying?”

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Experimental Writer | Website

"Our journey here, it changes us. We are here and alive." Born in New England, Adam West decides to undertake the perspective of a stunned-into-his-father's-loss adult to help other never-grown-ups face and deal with post-traumatic situations like divorce, separation, death, accidents, and the likes. That "we all wander the wonderings of life" is clear to many but we all lack the sunbeam born on his hat and the shadow of his pencil for "a moment of clarity, to wake up" is often a moment when the writer achieves to put you "on pause." Into the woods of Writer of Age, the obvious simplicity is not simple at all. Adventure yourself and enjoy!

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