—
Caspian walked until the long salt-wild grasses gave way to the smooth hills dotted and warm with wildflowers, and the hills gave way to scattered houses, and the houses began to cluster and grow larger, and he was at last in the city.
He did not look like a city-creature, with plaited hair and a groomed coat and money in his pocket like a boast. The boy’s hair was windblown and caught with a burr or two, his coat half-shed with enough dirt visible his mother would surely have chastised him if she’d had the chance. Nor was he particularly self-conscious; there was that familiar twist of jealousy, and a little of awe, but Caspian knew he was better, smarter, more resourceful than they. And one day he’d be richer and more powerful, too.
Though he’d come to visit his sister, he could never resist a stop by the marketplace. He was always interested in seeing the wares, some familiar (he passed by but so much as trade glances with a buckskin selling some liberated casks of wine Caspian had helped him hide last week) and some delightfully odd and curious. Best of all were the wares from far continents, smelling sharp and bitter of spice and adventure, or curved knives with embedded jewels glittering like eyes. But Caspian did not have the money for such treasures, and the sellers knew it, and he never lingered long at their tables.
Today it was no foreign object that stopped him, but a sight so familiar it was jarring to see it out of place. Caspian drew nearer, dark blue gaze scrutinizing. There on an old driftwood table were shells of swirling purple and pearl and seafoam green, all in spirals as tight and perfect as unicorn’s horn. Common turret shells, save for the color - those patterns and hues he’d only seen in one place.
He was wearing a shy smile when he glanced up, hiding the keen curiosity he felt. Her eyes were a startling blue, large and clear against her soft features and coloring, but what struck him most is that he didn’t recognize her at all. And he should have, if she was hunting for shells in Dead Man’s Cove.
“There are beautiful,” he said, and though he made his voice doe-soft there was at least no lie in the words themselves. “Where’d you get them?”
@Saphira
He did not look like a city-creature, with plaited hair and a groomed coat and money in his pocket like a boast. The boy’s hair was windblown and caught with a burr or two, his coat half-shed with enough dirt visible his mother would surely have chastised him if she’d had the chance. Nor was he particularly self-conscious; there was that familiar twist of jealousy, and a little of awe, but Caspian knew he was better, smarter, more resourceful than they. And one day he’d be richer and more powerful, too.
Though he’d come to visit his sister, he could never resist a stop by the marketplace. He was always interested in seeing the wares, some familiar (he passed by but so much as trade glances with a buckskin selling some liberated casks of wine Caspian had helped him hide last week) and some delightfully odd and curious. Best of all were the wares from far continents, smelling sharp and bitter of spice and adventure, or curved knives with embedded jewels glittering like eyes. But Caspian did not have the money for such treasures, and the sellers knew it, and he never lingered long at their tables.
Today it was no foreign object that stopped him, but a sight so familiar it was jarring to see it out of place. Caspian drew nearer, dark blue gaze scrutinizing. There on an old driftwood table were shells of swirling purple and pearl and seafoam green, all in spirals as tight and perfect as unicorn’s horn. Common turret shells, save for the color - those patterns and hues he’d only seen in one place.
He was wearing a shy smile when he glanced up, hiding the keen curiosity he felt. Her eyes were a startling blue, large and clear against her soft features and coloring, but what struck him most is that he didn’t recognize her at all. And he should have, if she was hunting for shells in Dead Man’s Cove.
“There are beautiful,” he said, and though he made his voice doe-soft there was at least no lie in the words themselves. “Where’d you get them?”
@Saphira
