Like a night wisp caught between twilight and absolute darkness I search for something that constantly eludes me. I have become a seeker of reason, and reason avoids me like the plague. Still, my heart lives a secret life, one inspired by hope.I am not a woman who mingles, that social function having been disabled at some point in my life. I don’t approach people, and for the most part, people stay clear of me. I don’t make friends easily, and I especially don’t usually find friendship in men. If anything, I usually try to remain invisible around them. But today, that was not to be.
The arena is not a place I frequent. I seldom visit public places where there might be crowds. Too many people make me feel uneasy and I especially do not like bumping into them, touching them. The arena however today, was practically empty, save for a few souls in quiet conversation and the skeleton crew of slaves that were cleaning for the coming night’s event.
I was leaning over the railing, watching the slaves rake the sands, eavesdropping on a conversation that was currently being whispered back and forth between a man and a woman about the murders that have been taking place in the city. Morbid fascination had me glancing back and forth between the two. Apparently, one had been murdered nights prior in one of the private boxes that over look the sands. Brave, stupid, or simply someone who wanted to get caught.
I had seen him earlier upon his entrance, a man cloaked and hooded in black, and now, this same man, was heading in my direction, determined to catch the object which was currently being denied him. A writing stick. He dove and slid, his arm reaching out, and as if he knew exactly where it would be.. at that exact ihn, it bounced towards him, off the foot of another, his fingers curling around it, saving it from falling into the sands.
While his concern was for the implement of his.. affection, mine was for him. He hadn’t come near to hitting me, but he did seem caught within the railing that over looked the sands. I spoke the first words, asking him he was alright.
That was the beginning..
At first there seemed to be a nervous, unknown agenda between us. He kept staring at his pack, one that he had left alone when he had chased the writing stick only moments before. He showed me what it was that he had been chasing, a beautiful cylinder that housed the coals he wrote with, coals, that when he tipped it towards me, dropped out into the lap of my robes. He grabbed my upper arm and forced me to stand. I was so shocked at this action I didn’t realize until I followed the path of his eyes that he was saving me.. or rather my robes, from the stain of charcoal.
I gave him my name and we started to talk. Yes, I struck up a conversation with a man I’d never met before. But that was only the start of a day that was so very uncharacteristic of me.
We spoke at length, until lar torvis had submitted to moons of three, and even then, I found I did not wish to go, and if my perception was right, he didn’t want me to go either.
He seems to have a fascination with numbers and calculations, percentages and averages. He held his hand up to cover my eyes a mere ihn before a slave in the sands, who had been seeing to the care of weapons, was injured. It was done as a protective measure, so that I wouldn’t see. Had he only known that I had seen much worse. He did this again as we were leaving the arena, holding me back moments before a chained reaction of events sent a cart wheeling out of control just outside the entrance, where we had been meant to part ways. That wasn’t at all how it was though. Instead, I followed along with him to the library.
In his pack he carries all that is dear to him. A map, notes, books, all with a purpose, a very specific purpose in mind.
This is where the interconnecting twine.. twists. He’s looking for something, an amulet, not unlike one that I once searched for. One that did me little good, a journey that led to nothing but heartbreak.
I have become immersed in a pool of purpose, my flesh dampened with intrigue, my thoughts drowning with what ifs, all while my emotions run ramped as to where this might go.
