Unmoving as he tucked the flower behind her ear, she felt smaller than usual at the gesture. A little rose-thorn prick of joy and sorrow, because once again he'd done something that reminded her of Noah. How often had the brother decorated her with flowers? With little crowns of woven grass or branches, of braids and ribbons before his lovers hair began to hold more sway... As though to remind her that she, at least in his eyes if no one else's, was pretty. Worth something. Even in the midst of her bewilderment about gods and magic and elating adventure, it was a gesture that went straight to her heart. And perhaps it was a fortunate thing indeed that it was a brother that came to mind when Maea looked at the bard, and that he was already spoken for, because the sweet warmth in her chest could very easily have been mistaken for something else entirely.
A stillness settled over the fields as Jigano quieted. Maea considered him, even as milky fingers sought out the delicate petals of the rose, holding the lily gentle in her spare hand. She saw his joy and his pain, the dizzying depths that just opened before his feet, and the plunge he may or might not try to take. It was a precipice on which she'd lived her entire life, a ropewalk she still balanced along even now. Power or the grace of the gods? Hubris or humility? The lines that crossed the many opposites were thin and hard to see indeed.
Humming in quiet introspection, she reached out for the night around them. Water whispered a sweet tune in her ears as she gathered the dew from the grass, from the few lingering puddles, from the beading mist and the moisture of her hem. Drawing it close in quiet welcome, the droplets coalesced and took on a shape of their own, a swarm of translucent butterflies glinting in the white glow of the lantern.
"I could use this water to put out a fire," she mused aloud, as she let the magic dance around them. "I could spend it to water a field, wash clothes or fill a glass to drink from. Or - " she continued, voice hardening a little; the butterflies suddenly moved faster, swarming around Jigano in a frenzy of wet wings, to brush against his face and coming dangerously close to his mouth, his nose, his eyes... " - I could drown someone with it. With some practice, who is to say I couldn't reach for the blood in your veins, control your movements and make you act against your will."
The glittering water eased off without delivering on any such promise, perhaps leaving only wet kisses on his cheeks as she let it disperse into mist.
"But in the end, I could do most of that with my hands. The magic only makes it easier. It's only a tool, Jigano. It is not the magic that makes you who you are. The gods take issue with it, and therefore it is a curse to those of us who desire their love and acceptance, but... would you be less yourself if you lost your healing touch or your flowers again? Perhaps it could let you help Amalia, perhaps not... but what if what happened to her was meant to be so? If perhaps Vi has a plan for his daughter, that we just cannot see yet?"
Wrapping the shawl more tightly about herself, Maea smiled at him, a mute apology in her eyes in case she'd taken her little demonstration too far.
"Why do you want to find the mageglass? Is it to seek more power for yourself? To be the hero Safrin claims you are not?"
A stillness settled over the fields as Jigano quieted. Maea considered him, even as milky fingers sought out the delicate petals of the rose, holding the lily gentle in her spare hand. She saw his joy and his pain, the dizzying depths that just opened before his feet, and the plunge he may or might not try to take. It was a precipice on which she'd lived her entire life, a ropewalk she still balanced along even now. Power or the grace of the gods? Hubris or humility? The lines that crossed the many opposites were thin and hard to see indeed.
Humming in quiet introspection, she reached out for the night around them. Water whispered a sweet tune in her ears as she gathered the dew from the grass, from the few lingering puddles, from the beading mist and the moisture of her hem. Drawing it close in quiet welcome, the droplets coalesced and took on a shape of their own, a swarm of translucent butterflies glinting in the white glow of the lantern.
"I could use this water to put out a fire," she mused aloud, as she let the magic dance around them. "I could spend it to water a field, wash clothes or fill a glass to drink from. Or - " she continued, voice hardening a little; the butterflies suddenly moved faster, swarming around Jigano in a frenzy of wet wings, to brush against his face and coming dangerously close to his mouth, his nose, his eyes... " - I could drown someone with it. With some practice, who is to say I couldn't reach for the blood in your veins, control your movements and make you act against your will."
The glittering water eased off without delivering on any such promise, perhaps leaving only wet kisses on his cheeks as she let it disperse into mist.
"But in the end, I could do most of that with my hands. The magic only makes it easier. It's only a tool, Jigano. It is not the magic that makes you who you are. The gods take issue with it, and therefore it is a curse to those of us who desire their love and acceptance, but... would you be less yourself if you lost your healing touch or your flowers again? Perhaps it could let you help Amalia, perhaps not... but what if what happened to her was meant to be so? If perhaps Vi has a plan for his daughter, that we just cannot see yet?"
Wrapping the shawl more tightly about herself, Maea smiled at him, a mute apology in her eyes in case she'd taken her little demonstration too far.
"Why do you want to find the mageglass? Is it to seek more power for yourself? To be the hero Safrin claims you are not?"
