Waiting for word

[cian_oneill]

He was usually good at waiting. Patience had been a virtue he had learned through the disciplines Annie had taught him. But it was being stretched thin, and he was starting to feel the strained smile was getting moreso as another day came to a close. Wiping his hands on a towel he stared out the window of the workshop, the dark outside almost impenetrable, even to his eyes.

He'd applied for a week's annual leave, the boss had approved it, given it was the quietest time of the season for them, and Cian tidied up the workshop, everything where it should be before he stripped off his overalls and hung them on the hook where they belonged.

Back as the cabin he'd already packed two small bags, each fit in a pannier on either side of the bike. Wearing full leathers he pulled his helmet on, made sure his wallet and sunglasses were in his pocket, and swung his leg over the seat of the bike. He pressed the start and the motor fluttered to life instantly, the hum reassuring and the soft sound of gears slipping into place the signal to his foot to lift from the dirt where it had been resting.

Without even a look over his shoulder the dark figure rode into night, no headlight to illuminate a road he could clearly see unaided.