I could tell the stranger was on edge and it made me on edge. But why was he so unnerved? There was nothing in the clearing but a girl, a wolf, and a heaping dose of magic. And sunflowers. They laughed and reached for me playfully. Their petals were soft and warm against my skin. It made me think of a comfortable dream, the sort you grasped for upon waking, the sort you didn’t want to end.
I listened thoughtfully when he claimed the flowers were lying. I didn’t think he was right. But I also didn’t think he was trying to deceive me. He just didn’t understand, and there was something about that which softened me to him. “Hmm…” I murmured, clearly unconvinced. “Other things talk, you know. Like you and me, it’s just no one else can hear them.” I eye his cloak, wondering what tales it could tell me. “It’s only people that lie.” And maybe fairies-- I couldn’t be sure. My experience lay in the realm of what others considered “unliving”. Tables, walls, carpets. Earth, rock, water.
I was happy to listen to the other man. I liked listening more than talking. And I was genuinely interested in his stories. Papa didn’t like to talk about his scars. Sister and I could tell it hurt to remember, so we had long ago stopped asking about them. We learned from mom that most of his scars were from other people. Some of them were even from friends. Like Seraphina and Asterion-- these names brought a smile to his face. I think there were some memories he was grateful to wear on his skin, even if no one else knew what they meant. Knowing well the parts of myself that came from him, the deeper the secret the more personal the story.
So I listened to the tall man’s tales with something close to reverence. I breathed in sharply with awe at the word “manticore,” and I laughed softly at the tale of blundering into a stake. The only scars I had were from skinned knees and scraped shins. I fell down, hard and often, whenever I spent too much time inside. But I never learned a thing from it, except that it was safer for me outside where there were less things greedy for my magic.
He asked me if I considered this place safe. I had a feeling there was something else he was trying to get at, but I wasn’t sure exactly what. So I considered the question for a long time before shrugging. “Safer than most strangers, don’t you think?” I tried to hide the proud smile that rose at my own cleverness. Of course, I failed miserably. I admired stoicism greatly, in no small part because of how terrible I was at it. Furfur huffed softly, unimpressed by whatever it was I found so funny.
I relaxed then, although my wolf didn’t. I probably would not have been so carefree as a girl if I didn’t have a wolf always by my side. “I’m Aspara. Are there really manticores in Novus?” I was skeptical, but deeply curious. And, because I was cursed with an overabundance of trust, I believed everything the stranger said. I thought they were mythical creatures, although my parents had ingrained in me a deep-seated belief in the unbelievable.
I had almost forgotten about the sunflowers, which began to sway as though there was a breeze. But around us the air was cold and still as death.
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@Sarkan psh. like beloved, sorely-missed friends <3
