Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20160726000337/@comment-28358106-20160727011718

The sound of crickets is the only thing that creeps through the mist. The air is filled with the scent of pine and maple, the oakish bite of a morning fireplace punctuating everything else. It comes and goes, soon to be followed by the smell of baking bread, the clarion call home for breakfast.

But now, before the sun glinted off its glass smooth surface and burned the mist away, a bobber splashes down on the lake, its ripple spreading gently.

"Hmm, good cast."

Ibrahim baits his hook as he looks up at Praetor, who has climbed up on top of a rock and is perched there, holding his long pole. He speaks quietly. "I'm going to warn you, though,  that I can't fish worth a damn.  I just come out here when things get a little too philosophical.  Frankly..."

He grunts as he climbs out onto a fallen tree hanging a few feet out into the lake. "...I do it just for the sake of it." He whips out his own line and settles it.

He is quiet for several minutes. Then, "I'll bet you never thought you'd be doing this.  There's no better cure for what ails you than relaxation.  Bedrest isn't for me, unless I have a cold." He nods to Praetor's newly bandaged side. "How's the wound?"