One would think that in a small society as this one, everyone would be familiar with just about everyone else, but that just wasn't the case. Enough people were living isolated lives focused around themselves and their own reality that many times, two persons could be neighbors for years and barely exchange two words. For Maea to not know Sam and the other way around might seem strange to an outlander, but as she lived so far from the settlement it would have been stranger if they had been friends.
The silence after Jigano left was awkward, Maea struggling just as much to find a topic even as the silence grated on her fraying nerves. Shadows crept back into her gaze, memories of sadness and loss crowding to overtake her thoughts... and the question did nothing to stave them off.
"I... used to be a hunter" the woman replied slowly. "Still am, I guess, but... I 've had to focus on the farm lately. My family, they..." Her throat constricted, could not release the words that crowded on the tongue. Begging to be set free. It would make all the sense in the world to tell him, tell anyone about it. Especially these people who were to be her friends and colleagues, and before the news reached them by way of rumors. It would be the polite thing, the correct way to do it.
But she couldn't, and turned away with eyes downcast, her thoughts a turmoil that manifested in a storm of pebbles, shooting off towards the growing pile.
Having something to do was nice. Having to make conversation was not.
"You live here, I take it. Writing books?"
The silence after Jigano left was awkward, Maea struggling just as much to find a topic even as the silence grated on her fraying nerves. Shadows crept back into her gaze, memories of sadness and loss crowding to overtake her thoughts... and the question did nothing to stave them off.
"I... used to be a hunter" the woman replied slowly. "Still am, I guess, but... I 've had to focus on the farm lately. My family, they..." Her throat constricted, could not release the words that crowded on the tongue. Begging to be set free. It would make all the sense in the world to tell him, tell anyone about it. Especially these people who were to be her friends and colleagues, and before the news reached them by way of rumors. It would be the polite thing, the correct way to do it.
But she couldn't, and turned away with eyes downcast, her thoughts a turmoil that manifested in a storm of pebbles, shooting off towards the growing pile.
Having something to do was nice. Having to make conversation was not.
"You live here, I take it. Writing books?"
