Coming to Terms
Posted: Fri Nov 24, 2006 8:42 pm
He awoke, startled. Sunlight was barely on the horizon, peeking into his tent, grating his eyes like shards leftover from a newly forged knife. He shifted slightly, cursing under his breath the rocky ground. A screech came....a hawk....probably what had awakened him in the first place. Christophen slowly sat up, his breath forming a small cloud in the early morning air. He coughed, clearing the thick yellow from his lungs...he prayed it would soon pass. It seemed one always vows to not forget what being healthy feels like, when one is sick. He spit, the yellow flying out of the tent and onto the ground. He slowly clambered out of the tent, and begin the process of clearing any signs that he had been here.
Lost. He knew where he was....but still...lost. Belara and Gratlan were gone. He would never see them again. The slavers could have gone in any direction, after they left the desert. He had searched for weeks along the edge, hoping to regain the trail...but to no avail. He could never go back home. They were lost, probably rowing on a ship, or even worse, taken under to the dark skinned. Lost.
He slowly tied the canvass bundle to his back. It had not been his choice...this place. But now it was necessary. The people here eyed him askance....he would be glad to move again. He frowned. The taker of children kept him...those that had forced him to stay kept him. He looked forward to getting his belongings back...it wasn't a question of if...but a question of must.
Slowly striding away from the Teshmere, he looked over his shoulder at the tree. He snarled slightly...to think that one could be thinking of home...he began to mutter to himself. "Home...en ere be othas taken frem eres...but all ey do es sit aroond an wait fer em ta strick agin...helpless buncha...." Images raced through his head. He was not liked, but he was not here to make friends. He had business here, which must be done. Mismanagement, she had called it.....he laughed quietly to himself. That was understating the mess he had witnessed. Partly his own fault...but he had been under the impression that these...elves..knew what they were about. He couldn't count all of the mistakes made on both hands. He strode onward toward White Chalk.
No signals...the other two had been deaf as a dwarf during Sheildmeet. At least the prankster had good ears, and enough sense to follow what she heard....the others just busied themselves with ransacking the camp. Blind...they didn't see that the camp wasn't going anywhere...
He frowned. No sense in blame. It was done. Not to be repeated...even if he had to take them by the scruff of the neck. He frowned deeper....the braided one used magicks. And liked to push her weight around. Telling him to cushion his words, to coddle them like babes in a crib. The truth was the truth....friends? Down in his core, he knew he could not afford them...every friend he had ever had had been taken before their time. Because he HAD been soft on them.
He peered at the wolf, clambering down a slope, in search of it's morning rabbit. He smiled softly...nature was a hard mistress....no forgiveness and lessons taught with pain. But then, someone who had had their nose in a book all of their life wouldn't begin to understand. There was no room for niceties...it surprised him that she was ranking in the malitia....was the rest of the malitia as soft? As easily offended? Who were their superiors, the ones whose job it was to instill a backbone?
He passed the small pond where he often sat. A bluebird chirped, bobbing its head and looking down. His mistakes....were plentiful. But he was quick to learn...he would need light. This wasn't the snowlands he was used to...or the desert for that matter... this place required light in the dark... his failure.
He stopped, making his mind up. She would not like him. She did not need to. He was not here to be liked. He was here to do a job....a job the rest of them seemed happy to ignore. He wound his way toward the walls of White Chalk....to once again scout the surrounding countryside, looking for fresh tracks....no one else would.
Lost. He knew where he was....but still...lost. Belara and Gratlan were gone. He would never see them again. The slavers could have gone in any direction, after they left the desert. He had searched for weeks along the edge, hoping to regain the trail...but to no avail. He could never go back home. They were lost, probably rowing on a ship, or even worse, taken under to the dark skinned. Lost.
He slowly tied the canvass bundle to his back. It had not been his choice...this place. But now it was necessary. The people here eyed him askance....he would be glad to move again. He frowned. The taker of children kept him...those that had forced him to stay kept him. He looked forward to getting his belongings back...it wasn't a question of if...but a question of must.
Slowly striding away from the Teshmere, he looked over his shoulder at the tree. He snarled slightly...to think that one could be thinking of home...he began to mutter to himself. "Home...en ere be othas taken frem eres...but all ey do es sit aroond an wait fer em ta strick agin...helpless buncha...." Images raced through his head. He was not liked, but he was not here to make friends. He had business here, which must be done. Mismanagement, she had called it.....he laughed quietly to himself. That was understating the mess he had witnessed. Partly his own fault...but he had been under the impression that these...elves..knew what they were about. He couldn't count all of the mistakes made on both hands. He strode onward toward White Chalk.
No signals...the other two had been deaf as a dwarf during Sheildmeet. At least the prankster had good ears, and enough sense to follow what she heard....the others just busied themselves with ransacking the camp. Blind...they didn't see that the camp wasn't going anywhere...
He frowned. No sense in blame. It was done. Not to be repeated...even if he had to take them by the scruff of the neck. He frowned deeper....the braided one used magicks. And liked to push her weight around. Telling him to cushion his words, to coddle them like babes in a crib. The truth was the truth....friends? Down in his core, he knew he could not afford them...every friend he had ever had had been taken before their time. Because he HAD been soft on them.
He peered at the wolf, clambering down a slope, in search of it's morning rabbit. He smiled softly...nature was a hard mistress....no forgiveness and lessons taught with pain. But then, someone who had had their nose in a book all of their life wouldn't begin to understand. There was no room for niceties...it surprised him that she was ranking in the malitia....was the rest of the malitia as soft? As easily offended? Who were their superiors, the ones whose job it was to instill a backbone?
He passed the small pond where he often sat. A bluebird chirped, bobbing its head and looking down. His mistakes....were plentiful. But he was quick to learn...he would need light. This wasn't the snowlands he was used to...or the desert for that matter... this place required light in the dark... his failure.
He stopped, making his mind up. She would not like him. She did not need to. He was not here to be liked. He was here to do a job....a job the rest of them seemed happy to ignore. He wound his way toward the walls of White Chalk....to once again scout the surrounding countryside, looking for fresh tracks....no one else would.
