She pleas for aid. Say true, words often prove to be empty and easily twisted, but a soul can't hide when set to judgment. Unflinchingly I look to her eyes, attempting to separate falsehoods and truth; I'm also trying to sooth the sudden rise of uncertainty and agitation. One gem is paled by battle and now sits as a useless, unseeing orb; the other is a dull gilden hue... the shadow of former pride. I see nothing but shame and desperation. Yar, this spirit had been brought low.
Whatever malice was held against her, it'd weathered misfortune. There is nothing I can see, nothing to warrant turning my back. Africa mentions their meeting in the volcanic caverns during the sickness which took pleasure in driving us underground. She also asks why I'm pressing for information. This is not the place to answer so I merely glance her way and slowly shake my head.
As our debated company rises; I'm caught between wary wisdom and a solid almost instinctual drive for compassion. Fina looks on. Quickly passing judgment and siding with the notion of playing it safe by driving this beaten soul from our land. Her curt and often inconsiderate pressing does little to alter a decision that was made moments ago. "Aye," I whisper in agreement when Confutatis vows to be no trouble, "Ye shall not." Memories stir of a time long ago when Seele came home, fresh wounds, the title of her infliction mark by mark had been she who stands here now.
"Thee name has made tongues in Helovia wag with gossip and rumor." I'd heard little, only whispers and none that hint toward facts. Vocals are softer. Reasonable, though I'm unable to hide mistrust, "A week," I breath, jaw sets itself in a rigid line, "Africa," gazes shifts to the healer and softens. I pray she isn't cross, but perhaps later we would break words on her question, "Will ye tend to her?" Basin is not so kind to simply release their prizes, to Confutatis I ask, "Does Basin hunt ye?" By the pitiful state of the masked mare, I could only guess she'd escaped torture. Whether or not that pain was deserved, yar, only a god could judge.
MIDAS |
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