The Sound of Grey

‘Sometimes I wonder ha it would be like if every color had a sound.’  Reev smiled. ‘I think pink would sound like Mum’s laugh.’

‘For ha so?’

‘Because it was so gentle – like the roses Faedr gave her on her birth day.’

‘And blue?’

‘Ha sort o’ blue, though? There are so many blues, you know. I think the dark kind would match Rystal’s eyes. They’re that grey-ocean-hue that comes just ere a storm will strike upon the waters.’

‘Ha for the light hue?’

‘Like rain.’

‘Aye. And green?’

‘You ask too many questions, Oris.’ A tiny giggle like the rustling of falling leaves sputtered forth, and she pointed to the tree. ‘The wind in the boughs.’

He snorted. ‘Everyone says green looks like the forest, or grass, or leaves, or trees, or all the merry-go-lundry vales they find in paintings and tales, and so on. If you’re going to give it a sound, for ha not be a little more original, then?’ Truth be told, he had of mind her deep-green eyes (like the moss covering a thousand years of secrets wrapped inside a tree, he thought) but loth was the lad to admit it. She quietly pondered the question, pondered again, and spoke. ‘The sea.’ His eyebrows built into a dark arch above silvery-black eyes, and all he replied was, ‘The sea isn’t green, lass.’

‘Some parts of it are. Some waters are grey. I think the sea contains more hues than we think.’

‘You traveled to the sea once.’

‘Aye, but I found out many little things from the waves.’

‘You’re quite the dreamer.’

She gave him a knock on the arm, lightly. ‘And ha’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. Dreams are nice. Hope is better.’ There was a moment of silence. He turned to her. ‘Ha of hope? It’s color, I mean?’

‘I suppose it depends o’ th’ which you’re hoping in. For ha so many questions?’

His gaze moved to a trembling blade of grass. ‘And grey? How does it sound?’

‘Death.’ The answer sent a pang all through his arm and shoulder and up to his jaw.

‘Death is silent.’ His voice was quiet.

‘Perhaps for us who have not heard it yet,’ she replied. ‘But funny how something so silent can have the loudest voice of all.’

‘Then ha’s hope if death is loudest?’

‘Hope is….’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘You’re so confusing, Oris. I don’t want to think. Help me.’ She demurely raised a white hand towards him. Her upturned face didn’t catch the sun’s light in quite the right way, really. He stood.

‘I can’t.’

Then, turning about, he walked down the hill.

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