never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
The Thief’s inquiry went unanswered. Lena approached as a shifting shadow amidst the darkness, her footsteps light against the grass. Roland’s questioning gaze fell upon her, expecting to find some indication of catastrophe within her expression, a hint of what news she carried. But instead of a warning, she withdrew from his sight, recoiled as if burned from the weight of his stare alone. Roland might have believed she had mistaken him for someone else and was turning to leave, if he had not heard her call his name. It only served to coax the anticipation burning in his chest to a larger flame, for he had never seen her like this, so hesitant and insecure, no longer bestowing upon him her vibrant smiles and jubilant laughter, the trademarks he had grown so used to. Instead there was a tense reluctance about her, something almost hidden, furtive, but there was no mistaking the discomfort in her shuttered stance, the avoidance of her gaze.
And yet her words did not insinuate rejection, or the prelude to some imminent disaster. What she divulged was just a hint, a fraction, of what seemed to Roland an excusable mistake. He tilted his head as he listened, though the dilemma came no clearer to him. Why might she have come to him for guidance? He would happily aid her in any way he was able, but it would be a poor comfort when so many could offer her more. The Thief knew how to damage, deceive, and manipulate, but if she sought direction then he worried he would be little help. Shifting uneasily upon his feet, he swallowed a feverish demand of what have you done? After all, how could Lena, always insightful and astute, be reckless?
The quiet of her voice carried a dejected, worried note as she explained further, and the disconnect between them made the Thief wish she would meet his gaze. He could not read her emotions when she hid her face from view, ducked back into the shadows as if already refusing his counsel. But her fragmented answers were not substance enough, and a plethora of questions still clamored inside his head, all demanding solution. At a loss, Roland moved closer to her, grass and wildflowers tugging at his knees and hocks, until he could stand before her and lower his head in a cautious attempt to meet her gaze. She moved of her own accord, finally lifting an auburn stare to meet his worried frown. Was she troubled by something the Sun God had requested of her; had she angered him in some way? Certainly things were not as bad as they seemed. The Thief was determined to believe it, even if he did not often adopt an optimistic outlook. Where was the misfortune she spoke of within her tale? What evil waited upon the trailing ends of her confession?
“You cannot be faulted for wanting to find ways to protect our family,” he consoled quietly, almost afraid to raise his voice. Whatever plague itched along the edges of their society seemed more terrifying, more corrupt and nefarious, than whatever curse had brought the wraiths into their threshold, and he was loathe to disturb it. There was a certain false safety to be found in denial, and the Thief was quite comfortable, to a degree, in his ignorance. “What is troubling you? ”
@[Lena]
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[P] there’s fantasy, there’s fallacy, there’s tumbling stone
