Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on May 22, 2010 16:55:37 GMT -5
It seemed like forever since Dare had done this. He looked up, then scanned the immediate area before turning his gaze back out over the water. He was surprised he'd been alone this long, but so close to N.E.W.T.s he supposed he should have expected everyone to be holed up in the library.
Maybe that was part of why he was out here. It was ridiculous to try keeping his stress level down so close to N.E.W.T.s and so close to graduation, but the nurse told him he wasn't improving quickly enough. He was still too thin, and at his height, it showed.
He'd decided studying could wait. He had a long lunch period, and he needed the quiet, so he'd gravitated out here, close enough to the forest's tree line for some cover, but not so close that shadows fell over the page in front of him.
He shifted slightly on the grass, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook balanced in his lap. So far, so good. The weather was nice, and his fingers hadn't forgotten how to work the pastels. It still felt natural, despite how long he'd been stuck on color pencils. But for this, he'd needed something softer and less precise. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was drawing, but he knew the mood of it. Soft.
His art box was open to his left, and a tray of pastels waited, minus the one he was moving in arcs across the page and the three tucked between his fingers for quick access. He glanced up at the lake again, hard-pressed to make sense of his thoughts no matter how intently he drew, then shook his head and returned his attention to the patches of blues, greens, and violets developing on the page.
Maybe that was part of why he was out here. It was ridiculous to try keeping his stress level down so close to N.E.W.T.s and so close to graduation, but the nurse told him he wasn't improving quickly enough. He was still too thin, and at his height, it showed.
He'd decided studying could wait. He had a long lunch period, and he needed the quiet, so he'd gravitated out here, close enough to the forest's tree line for some cover, but not so close that shadows fell over the page in front of him.
He shifted slightly on the grass, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook balanced in his lap. So far, so good. The weather was nice, and his fingers hadn't forgotten how to work the pastels. It still felt natural, despite how long he'd been stuck on color pencils. But for this, he'd needed something softer and less precise. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was drawing, but he knew the mood of it. Soft.
His art box was open to his left, and a tray of pastels waited, minus the one he was moving in arcs across the page and the three tucked between his fingers for quick access. He glanced up at the lake again, hard-pressed to make sense of his thoughts no matter how intently he drew, then shook his head and returned his attention to the patches of blues, greens, and violets developing on the page.
