Love As It Was Made to Be: 5.
Mar. 24th, 2012 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyThey had to spend much of the next day in Uska, waiting for Hemlock’s new shoes (with which he was very pleased, saying they were shaped more like his feet than the last pair), but Cicatrix seemed well enough pleased by that circumstance. When they set out walking again, Journey understood why. They left the shadow of the buildings of Uska, then crested a hill that was comparatively free of trees, and the mountains rose before them.
Journey had to stop for a moment at the zenith of the hill, the breath knocked out of him by the sight. The mountains had always been there, to the north, a looming presence; but it had only ever been on the clearest, brightest of days that he had been able to see them. Now they rose as though directly in front of him, dark and jagged, piercing the sky. Today was a dim and dreary day, the clouds low, and they hung over the mountains so as to hide some of the highest peaks.
He glanced down to discover that Cicatrix and Hemlock were nearly halfway down the hill already, and hurried to catch up with them.
That evening they stopped in a little town that called itself Mountain Foot, and it was, truly, for the land to the north sloped up so quickly that Journey lost track of it in the trees.
Cicatrix appeared to have no curiosity about the upcoming terrain, but she did not give any evidence of experience with it either, so Journey took it on himself to find out what awaited them. He did so by ordering a strong, dark ale and sitting down at a table with four other men, rough-looking types of various ages but each with a visible scar somewhere on their bodies. They all nodded politely enough at him when he sat, but the graybeard to his left narrowed his eyes after a moment, then barked out a laugh.
Journey froze. He had forgotten, again, that he did not fit in. How could it change so quickly from a constant awareness to a distant memory? He wanted to look over his shoulder at Cicatrix for help, but doing so would betray his weakness quite thoroughly. He wanted to trust her Sight to know if he was in danger, but if she had been unable to tell him what weapon to look for, he did not know how reliable that Sight truly was.
He was tempted to snap back a defensive reply, but instead struggled to keep his face calm and his mouth shut, and let the other man speak first.
The graybeard took a long draught of his ale, dribbling some of it down into that beard, and finally spoke. “You look too young to be a bodyguard, boy.”
“Perhaps. But the Lady Cicatrix has hired me nevertheless. It’s true that I don’t have much experience, which is why I was hoping to learn some of your wisdom.” He tried to look confident but humble at the same time. Since he was still afraid, he was fairly certain he wasn’t succeeding. But at least he had been called “boy.”
“What makes you think we have any wisdom?” asked the man across the table, who had dark skin, a shaved head, and a low, rumbling voice.
“Well, you are all older than me, and you’re here. You’ve either lived near the mountains for some time, or you’ve just crossed them, or you’re about to cross them. Whichever it is, you must have all learned something to have survived. I’ve only just left my parents’ farm. I haven’t had a chance to learn much, and I’d like to have a chance to do so without dying, or letting my charges die.” It was an uncomfortably long speech, and all four men at the table were staring at him now, unmoving. But he’d wanted to cover all his possibilities without insulting them by calling them old. He took a drink of his ale, to show he wasn’t intimidated, and ruined the effect by choking slightly.
“You could just call us old,” said the graybeard. Then he grinned. “Well, I suppose you’re smart, for a boy about to cross the mountains for the first time. There’s plenty that don’t make it.”
Journey let out a sigh of relief, trying not to let it show. “Thank you, sir. I’m trying, at least.”
A thin, rangy man with a chunk taken out of his nose nodded towards Journey’s legs. That gave him another jolt of panic, until the man said, “Do you know how to use that thing?”
“Well enough,” Journey said defensively, his hand moving to tap the head of the war hammer. “At least, I hope so. I’ve had practice.”
“Good,” said the thin man. “That’s half the problem, up there. You’ll meet all kinds of things. Wolves, bears, cats, bandits, crazy folk. Most of the time a weapon’s all you need to handle them.”
“Be better if he had a bow and arrows, though,” said another man, with long hair and thick, rippling muscles.
The rangy man turned to him and began to argue. Journey wrapped his hands around his ale and sat back. Now all he needed to do was listen.
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Journey had to stop for a moment at the zenith of the hill, the breath knocked out of him by the sight. The mountains had always been there, to the north, a looming presence; but it had only ever been on the clearest, brightest of days that he had been able to see them. Now they rose as though directly in front of him, dark and jagged, piercing the sky. Today was a dim and dreary day, the clouds low, and they hung over the mountains so as to hide some of the highest peaks.
He glanced down to discover that Cicatrix and Hemlock were nearly halfway down the hill already, and hurried to catch up with them.
That evening they stopped in a little town that called itself Mountain Foot, and it was, truly, for the land to the north sloped up so quickly that Journey lost track of it in the trees.
Cicatrix appeared to have no curiosity about the upcoming terrain, but she did not give any evidence of experience with it either, so Journey took it on himself to find out what awaited them. He did so by ordering a strong, dark ale and sitting down at a table with four other men, rough-looking types of various ages but each with a visible scar somewhere on their bodies. They all nodded politely enough at him when he sat, but the graybeard to his left narrowed his eyes after a moment, then barked out a laugh.
Journey froze. He had forgotten, again, that he did not fit in. How could it change so quickly from a constant awareness to a distant memory? He wanted to look over his shoulder at Cicatrix for help, but doing so would betray his weakness quite thoroughly. He wanted to trust her Sight to know if he was in danger, but if she had been unable to tell him what weapon to look for, he did not know how reliable that Sight truly was.
He was tempted to snap back a defensive reply, but instead struggled to keep his face calm and his mouth shut, and let the other man speak first.
The graybeard took a long draught of his ale, dribbling some of it down into that beard, and finally spoke. “You look too young to be a bodyguard, boy.”
“Perhaps. But the Lady Cicatrix has hired me nevertheless. It’s true that I don’t have much experience, which is why I was hoping to learn some of your wisdom.” He tried to look confident but humble at the same time. Since he was still afraid, he was fairly certain he wasn’t succeeding. But at least he had been called “boy.”
“What makes you think we have any wisdom?” asked the man across the table, who had dark skin, a shaved head, and a low, rumbling voice.
“Well, you are all older than me, and you’re here. You’ve either lived near the mountains for some time, or you’ve just crossed them, or you’re about to cross them. Whichever it is, you must have all learned something to have survived. I’ve only just left my parents’ farm. I haven’t had a chance to learn much, and I’d like to have a chance to do so without dying, or letting my charges die.” It was an uncomfortably long speech, and all four men at the table were staring at him now, unmoving. But he’d wanted to cover all his possibilities without insulting them by calling them old. He took a drink of his ale, to show he wasn’t intimidated, and ruined the effect by choking slightly.
“You could just call us old,” said the graybeard. Then he grinned. “Well, I suppose you’re smart, for a boy about to cross the mountains for the first time. There’s plenty that don’t make it.”
Journey let out a sigh of relief, trying not to let it show. “Thank you, sir. I’m trying, at least.”
A thin, rangy man with a chunk taken out of his nose nodded towards Journey’s legs. That gave him another jolt of panic, until the man said, “Do you know how to use that thing?”
“Well enough,” Journey said defensively, his hand moving to tap the head of the war hammer. “At least, I hope so. I’ve had practice.”
“Good,” said the thin man. “That’s half the problem, up there. You’ll meet all kinds of things. Wolves, bears, cats, bandits, crazy folk. Most of the time a weapon’s all you need to handle them.”
“Be better if he had a bow and arrows, though,” said another man, with long hair and thick, rippling muscles.
The rangy man turned to him and began to argue. Journey wrapped his hands around his ale and sat back. Now all he needed to do was listen.
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Date: 2012-05-11 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-11 05:15 pm (UTC)