The weakness we left behind
seems to be getting stronger
Nathaniel was late. He might have made excuses — busy with his own small farm, ran into trouble on the way — but really he was not sure he wanted to come. He spent most of his life now staying out of the way, minding his own business. Helping people was the exact opposite of that. He never made much use or even drew much attention to his innate (lack of) talent. Preferred instead to pretend there was nothing at all special about him.
Nonetheless, he made his way up into the temple at a brisk walk, the sun well-faded outside the walls. He was aware increasingly of the number of Outlanders crowding them out of their homes. Outlanders getting into trouble. Causing problems for everyone else. He had never cared much about them, but for the other Naturals trying to keep things together, keep the Settlement safe?
Nathaniel kept his distance, but he worried.
So he stumbled into the room later than the rest. He was surprised to see so many, and then embarrassed by his surprise. As if he would be the only one to come? That was an egotistical assumption. His eyes scanned the small crowd, recognizing the Wordsworth girl, the Rathskeller’s ex-proprietor, and no one else. Though perhaps he had seen the white-haired man in the settlement — his appearance striking enough to linger in memory. Nathaniel knew none of them beyond vague recognition, anyway. He stepped into the room, feeling altogether too large, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Hi." With an aborted wave, he ducked into the nearest chair. "Nate. I — I have healing magic." He could feel his face reddening and felt suddenly very stupid. These people had to be much better healers than he, much more practiced. Even that baby-faced girl across from him. He swallowed, pressed the palms of his hands together, and pretended his heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of his chest.
"It's not much, but if it can help, I'm here."
Nonetheless, he made his way up into the temple at a brisk walk, the sun well-faded outside the walls. He was aware increasingly of the number of Outlanders crowding them out of their homes. Outlanders getting into trouble. Causing problems for everyone else. He had never cared much about them, but for the other Naturals trying to keep things together, keep the Settlement safe?
Nathaniel kept his distance, but he worried.
So he stumbled into the room later than the rest. He was surprised to see so many, and then embarrassed by his surprise. As if he would be the only one to come? That was an egotistical assumption. His eyes scanned the small crowd, recognizing the Wordsworth girl, the Rathskeller’s ex-proprietor, and no one else. Though perhaps he had seen the white-haired man in the settlement — his appearance striking enough to linger in memory. Nathaniel knew none of them beyond vague recognition, anyway. He stepped into the room, feeling altogether too large, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Hi." With an aborted wave, he ducked into the nearest chair. "Nate. I — I have healing magic." He could feel his face reddening and felt suddenly very stupid. These people had to be much better healers than he, much more practiced. Even that baby-faced girl across from him. He swallowed, pressed the palms of his hands together, and pretended his heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of his chest.
"It's not much, but if it can help, I'm here."
