MABEL
Her fingers dipped and slid lightly over the old, yellowed pages, before turning another, silent as she perused and read. Her attention was half on the tome and half on him, sporting nearly an airy indifference to the latter. In truth, nothing would likely change her mind; not after all her family had gone through. He could have his weapons and shifts and healing – the Voice performed immortality – a way to ensure their souls never had to pierce and leave and worry about rudimentary means and measures of survival again. No longer would she have to stare over crops and worry about rainfall. No longer would she have to plant year after year after year, to watch the soil remain barren. No longer would she have to watch her family slowly wither and die.
Because there were none left.
And he could have his questions too – and the blunt simplicity of it all unfurled from her frame, casual, precise, concise. “Curiosity.” And to wonder what the true nature of the Old Gods were. How they picked over their favored ones.
Disgusting.
How quickly would Safrin just throw him away, if he crossed her? Fickle. Mercurial things.
Because there were none left.
And he could have his questions too – and the blunt simplicity of it all unfurled from her frame, casual, precise, concise. “Curiosity.” And to wonder what the true nature of the Old Gods were. How they picked over their favored ones.
Disgusting.
How quickly would Safrin just throw him away, if he crossed her? Fickle. Mercurial things.
If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see
You will find things that you don't want to see
