[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by AP. RENATA on November 4, 2008, 12:10 pm
172.162.61.174
“Yes,” she answers boldly, although she is little doubtful now that he is here with his pine-and-stone smell, with his dark horn and his tiger-striped legs. He makes her think of the deepest icy caverns, of night and starlight and cold, cold water. “I do,” she insists, taking a step forward, her head lifted earnestly; “I do.” There are lines on his chest, three of them, and this, she thinks, must be where the Shard lies.
“You are Stelios,” she says, as if it is not obvious; she knows of the Wolf-King, because even someone as sheltered as she has heard of him and his horn and his strange markings, all combined to make an intimidating package in the dark of night. “I’m Renata,” she offers, attempting to level the playing field at least a little, smiling a bit sheepishly as if caught at some hobby she knows better than to be doing.
She wonders what he, this ominous creature with his spiraling horn a striped legs, and the scar splashed boldly across his chest (for she sees that now, pale in the moonlight but there nonetheless), feels about his Shard. And she hopes that he does not take offense to her questions, because they are not meant to cause harm, only to further the knowledge she feels she sadly lacks – her eyes, full of a woman’s secrets, are apologetic; I’m sorry, they say, if I hurt you. “You have a Shard,” she murmurs, her eyes on his face; she had already noticed the pale curved lines on his chest, and she wonders vaguely if it hurt. “I don’t want to make you feel like a sideshow – that isn’t my intent, and please, tell me if I do. I only have a few questions for you, and then I will leave you alone,” she says, her head tilted slightly to one side as she peers owlishly up at him. “I’m a Scholar,” she adds, sheepish again, as if this explains things.
She doesn’t know how he came to receive the Shard, just knows bits and pieces of the story – not the whole, but these pieces are enough to keep her from asking how he came to be a child-King and a Shard-Keeper. Her eyes drop to the ground for a moment as she tries to find perhaps the least painful of her questions; she doesn’t feel like making an enemy simply because she’s too damn curious for her own good, and while she thinks he could handle anything she could throw at him (he must, to be a King) she does not wish to push that far.
“What is it like,” she asks somberly, “to have It inside you? Can it talk? I know that they are said to be things of destruction, of madness, but here you stand, and you don’t look mad to me.”
and hear the ground beneath you, yet you still refuse to see .
the seed's guardian2
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