You're Abandoned?!
Hush, one of them had said, hush, no one is Abandoned anymore. A mixture of mockery and fear and reverence; so easily someone had come into their lives and changed things, said that this was how it was, and people listened. Everyone for their own reason, but everyone heard it, everyone knew it. Some cared. Some didn't. Some embraced it. Some didn't.
Rory! Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? And his wolf's eyes sliding sideways, a pack member shamed, ears back, trying to restore some form of peace.
This was the part he hadn't anticipated: that in his anger over having his label changed he had revealed to the whole town what he truly was. His entire life had been lived with one (well, two) lies—a ruse, a sham, that Rory was merely an Accepted who chose to not leave his path.
(But if he had truly been Accepted, there was no way he could not have chosen.)
And now .. the truth was out there: Rory was Abandoned. Rory wielded magic. Was this the reason he never spoke of encounters with Safrin, with Ludo, with Frey? Oh yes, baby, because that's why we're Abandoned.
He didn't say that part out loud, though.
Instead he found himself patiently explaining that he had wanted to avoid the social stigma of it, and that his magic had never been very useful either, so what was the point of telling anyone? Wearied by the encounters he went back to the farm, sat in the cool early hours of the night and watched as a small flame flickered and danced above his outstretched hand. It lived on nothing but his intention.
He wasn't sure how he felt about it. With a sigh he allowed it to go out, and later retreated to bed, sliding into the sheets. Sleep came quickly, as it always did, a dreamless bliss.
[ forJigano, set after his shrine visit! ]
Hush, one of them had said, hush, no one is Abandoned anymore. A mixture of mockery and fear and reverence; so easily someone had come into their lives and changed things, said that this was how it was, and people listened. Everyone for their own reason, but everyone heard it, everyone knew it. Some cared. Some didn't. Some embraced it. Some didn't.
Rory! Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? And his wolf's eyes sliding sideways, a pack member shamed, ears back, trying to restore some form of peace.
This was the part he hadn't anticipated: that in his anger over having his label changed he had revealed to the whole town what he truly was. His entire life had been lived with one (well, two) lies—a ruse, a sham, that Rory was merely an Accepted who chose to not leave his path.
(But if he had truly been Accepted, there was no way he could not have chosen.)
And now .. the truth was out there: Rory was Abandoned. Rory wielded magic. Was this the reason he never spoke of encounters with Safrin, with Ludo, with Frey? Oh yes, baby, because that's why we're Abandoned.
He didn't say that part out loud, though.
Instead he found himself patiently explaining that he had wanted to avoid the social stigma of it, and that his magic had never been very useful either, so what was the point of telling anyone? Wearied by the encounters he went back to the farm, sat in the cool early hours of the night and watched as a small flame flickered and danced above his outstretched hand. It lived on nothing but his intention.
He wasn't sure how he felt about it. With a sigh he allowed it to go out, and later retreated to bed, sliding into the sheets. Sleep came quickly, as it always did, a dreamless bliss.
[ for
