The sports field sat empty this morning, most of the students in their classes. Of course, there were half as many not in class, the invisibles and such. Fading white lines and peeling goals decorated the otherwise-unrecognizable field, grass just as long as the rest about it. Someone needed to take an interest in grounds care.
Anyone but Grayson, of course.
Little brown paws thudded in the singular path of semi-wet dirt on the right hand side of the field, the over sized ears and paws of a rottweiler pup. He was the latest in Locke's several dogs, getting a new one just as the last one dies. It bounced happily in the thick mud, pushing around a soccer ball in its attempts to bite the round, black speckled foe.
On the sidelines stood a figure whose appearance dated somewhere between old england and present times. Worn jeans, canvas slip-on shoes, blue-gray shirt, a black umbrella, a yellow-gray scarf, and a black sportscoat that seemed to be made of a material that felt like the child of felt and velvet. The body was youthful and toned, figure straight. The only thing about him that seemed old about him besides his clothes was the gray tipped hairs on his temples.
He thrust his umbrella into the air with a whooping laugh as the pup pushed the ball into the goal. The pup was startled, jumping and running towards the source of the racket with loving, hugging intent. Spotting this immediately, the youth placed a shoe between himself and the mud-sodden beast with adorable eyes and too-big ears.
“No you don't, buddy.†He laughed, bending down to scratch the pup behind the ears.
Anyone but Grayson, of course.
Little brown paws thudded in the singular path of semi-wet dirt on the right hand side of the field, the over sized ears and paws of a rottweiler pup. He was the latest in Locke's several dogs, getting a new one just as the last one dies. It bounced happily in the thick mud, pushing around a soccer ball in its attempts to bite the round, black speckled foe.
On the sidelines stood a figure whose appearance dated somewhere between old england and present times. Worn jeans, canvas slip-on shoes, blue-gray shirt, a black umbrella, a yellow-gray scarf, and a black sportscoat that seemed to be made of a material that felt like the child of felt and velvet. The body was youthful and toned, figure straight. The only thing about him that seemed old about him besides his clothes was the gray tipped hairs on his temples.
He thrust his umbrella into the air with a whooping laugh as the pup pushed the ball into the goal. The pup was startled, jumping and running towards the source of the racket with loving, hugging intent. Spotting this immediately, the youth placed a shoe between himself and the mud-sodden beast with adorable eyes and too-big ears.
“No you don't, buddy.†He laughed, bending down to scratch the pup behind the ears.