"Yeah, yeah." Kit said, rolling her eyes, not missing a beat. She had been called worse things by kids she considered close friends. Kit stood up, turned back to the brazier and held out her hands, opening and closing her fingers to better spread the heat. "You sound like a foreigner." If everything she's said before had been a game, this wasn't. This was an accusation.
Alvadas was her life. Her feet knew the ways along the streets. She had seen Ionu's handiwork written on the stage of the Playhouse, in the places where hte street shifted and pitched into something different, in fantastic skies that warped into something curious and wrong out of this world. If someone couldn't see that and understand what Ionu really meant, if someone couldn't walk these streets and know . . . Kit realized she had no desire to keep up her talk with the altar boy. It wasn't fun anymore.
Trickster spare her; was the warmth really worth this? She sighed, turned her head longingly toward the big door out. If she went, would she be able to find her way home before the chill got past her cloak and into her bones again? Not likely, not likely; if the snow was still falling Kit had little doubt that she'd be frozen fast. All the same . . . If she stayed inside, the snow would likely just pile higher, the air would likely just get colder. And now, she had no interest in staying till the storm subsided. "Clearly I'm not welcome," Kit said.
She wrapped her cloak firmly around her little body and marched toward the temple doors. Kit raised a hand and pushed them open, little snowflakes dancing in through the door, a little glimpse of blinding snow visible through the crack in the door. "Fall into the Void," she said over her shoulder, almost in afterthought, and marched outside into the cold, the door slamming shut behind her like the end of a sentence.
Kit squinted into the snow as it coiled and whirled around her, stronger and colder than before. Again, she had to tell herself to trust in the streets, and the god whose whim moved them. She made her way deeper into the mad city and prayed for home.
Alvadas was her life. Her feet knew the ways along the streets. She had seen Ionu's handiwork written on the stage of the Playhouse, in the places where hte street shifted and pitched into something different, in fantastic skies that warped into something curious and wrong out of this world. If someone couldn't see that and understand what Ionu really meant, if someone couldn't walk these streets and know . . . Kit realized she had no desire to keep up her talk with the altar boy. It wasn't fun anymore.
Trickster spare her; was the warmth really worth this? She sighed, turned her head longingly toward the big door out. If she went, would she be able to find her way home before the chill got past her cloak and into her bones again? Not likely, not likely; if the snow was still falling Kit had little doubt that she'd be frozen fast. All the same . . . If she stayed inside, the snow would likely just pile higher, the air would likely just get colder. And now, she had no interest in staying till the storm subsided. "Clearly I'm not welcome," Kit said.
She wrapped her cloak firmly around her little body and marched toward the temple doors. Kit raised a hand and pushed them open, little snowflakes dancing in through the door, a little glimpse of blinding snow visible through the crack in the door. "Fall into the Void," she said over her shoulder, almost in afterthought, and marched outside into the cold, the door slamming shut behind her like the end of a sentence.
Kit squinted into the snow as it coiled and whirled around her, stronger and colder than before. Again, she had to tell herself to trust in the streets, and the god whose whim moved them. She made her way deeper into the mad city and prayed for home.
