It had been too much for him to hope that Tim might finally understand his perspective, but Hirem had a nurtured a quiet belief in the aftermath of his thunderous declaration that the boy might buckle and admit that he was wrong to judge the gods. For we cannot guess at their motives, cannot understand their plans, cannot demand an end to their silence. To do so is to overstep our boundaries and pretend that we are far greater than we really are. It is arrogance, pure and simple... and I know too well the price of such arrogance. In the little boy's eyes, Hirem saw a younger version of himself staring back, inquisitive and filled to bursting with grand designs for the world. Any man that thinks himself right to challenge a god, or else believe that he understands their will, is making a mistake that will harm everyone he comes into contact with. I made that mistake, and there is nothing I can do to change that... but if I can at least prevent Tim from that fate, that will be good enough for me. The boy must be taught respect for the gods, not bitterness. He must understand humility, and not take pride in his decision to abandon the Ukalas.
But it was clear that the only thing Tim saw was a bully, pushing him around and demanding obedience. "What have the gods ever done for you?" He asked incredulously, and Hirem noted with a twinge of regret the small laceration on the child's right hand. I was too rough with him, he thought, then immediately rebuffed the feeling. No, I have been rough enough. He must understand that these questions of his, these little remarks of his... they cannot stand. They must not stand. Tim continued to speak ruefully, finding himself a seat on the ground. "I don’t see them, I don’t hear them…" Sighing, Hirem sat down opposite the boy and laid his branch across his lap, nodding quietly as he tried to figure out how to reassure Tim of the god's presence. For it is no easy thing to trust something that isn't there, cannot be there, when we feel the need to call it... but that is the essence of faith. In offering our trust so freely to a god that we cannot understand, we draw strength from that belief. The act itself grants power, not just the god. Smiling then, the Benshira prepared to offer this convincing argument to the child...
and was instead accused by the vile little boy. “You’re jealous,” Tim said, drawing an outraged cry from Hirem. "Jealous?!" He growled, resisting the urge to throw himself up to his feet. Easy, easy... no need to scare the boy. You should not be so easily provoked by such a small remark. Yet fury boiled within him as Tim continued to speak - “You’re jealous that some people don’t need the gods to do great things." - and Hirem ended up strangling the branch with white-knuckled hands in order to release his hold on that anger. Of course, it was a ridiculous suggestion, completely unfounded and vulgar in its implications. He knew that there was no reason he should be considering Tim's words seriously, since he was so young and ignorant of the world's ways... but there was a seed of doubt silently blooming within. Am I jealous? Could I be envious of those that have not fallen sway to a god's influence, and instead brave their lives as their judgement dictates? Could I imagine living such an existence, free of any compulsions to serve Yahal or Nysel or any one of the many gods a man is expected to worship in this chaotic, violent word...? Perhaps. But I cannot afford such jealousy.
Letting out a quiet groan, Hirem made to push himself to his feet, but was stopped by the little boy, he had yet more to say. Or, more precisely, show. At first, the Benshira did not realize exactly why it was that Tim held in his grasp, but eventually made the connection. The little shykestain! Snatching the discarded carving from the ground, Hirem bit his lip and fought, fought terribly hard, to to prevent himself from immediately reprimanding the boy. You must remain calm... you must remain calm... But he could not stay his tongue. "What did I say?!" The man demanded, rising to his feet and towering above the boy. "What did I say? I told you, boy, that you would not steal again. I told you that because I wanted to save you from ending up dead in an alley somewhere, the victim of some twisted revenge. I told you that because you deserve more than becoming just another hopeless benachag that frequents places like the Rat Hole! I told you that because... because you shouldn't steal!" Nearly crushing the carved trinket in the rage of his emotions, Hirem threw his hands up in the air and shrugged. "This is what happens when you act without respect for the gods! You fall astray."
He was tempted to storm off and leave the impudent child alone in the woods, but Hirem managed to keep his feet locked in position. Bowing his head, the Benshira closed his eyes and tried to take charge of his whirling, complex feelings. And what was that about magic? ... Is Kavala teaching Tim how to use magic? As troubling as the thought was, it wasn't nearly as pressing as the fact that this boy was infuriating him, completely and utterly. But I cannot give up hope. I cannot give in to despair. "You have lived for a very long time in the darkness, Tim," Hirem murmured, clutching firmly on his wooden stick. "And now, you have finally been given a chance to bask in the light... I won't let you waste this opportunity. I won't let you go astray again. With the gods themselves as my witness, I will see you become everything you ever wanted to become. You have my word." He forcibly handed Tim back his pretend sword and then dropped into a combat stance.
"Now, prepare yourself. Knights don't go home. Knights do not retreat. They fight until their last breath." Gritting his teeth, the Benshira launched himself at Tim.
But it was clear that the only thing Tim saw was a bully, pushing him around and demanding obedience. "What have the gods ever done for you?" He asked incredulously, and Hirem noted with a twinge of regret the small laceration on the child's right hand. I was too rough with him, he thought, then immediately rebuffed the feeling. No, I have been rough enough. He must understand that these questions of his, these little remarks of his... they cannot stand. They must not stand. Tim continued to speak ruefully, finding himself a seat on the ground. "I don’t see them, I don’t hear them…" Sighing, Hirem sat down opposite the boy and laid his branch across his lap, nodding quietly as he tried to figure out how to reassure Tim of the god's presence. For it is no easy thing to trust something that isn't there, cannot be there, when we feel the need to call it... but that is the essence of faith. In offering our trust so freely to a god that we cannot understand, we draw strength from that belief. The act itself grants power, not just the god. Smiling then, the Benshira prepared to offer this convincing argument to the child...
and was instead accused by the vile little boy. “You’re jealous,” Tim said, drawing an outraged cry from Hirem. "Jealous?!" He growled, resisting the urge to throw himself up to his feet. Easy, easy... no need to scare the boy. You should not be so easily provoked by such a small remark. Yet fury boiled within him as Tim continued to speak - “You’re jealous that some people don’t need the gods to do great things." - and Hirem ended up strangling the branch with white-knuckled hands in order to release his hold on that anger. Of course, it was a ridiculous suggestion, completely unfounded and vulgar in its implications. He knew that there was no reason he should be considering Tim's words seriously, since he was so young and ignorant of the world's ways... but there was a seed of doubt silently blooming within. Am I jealous? Could I be envious of those that have not fallen sway to a god's influence, and instead brave their lives as their judgement dictates? Could I imagine living such an existence, free of any compulsions to serve Yahal or Nysel or any one of the many gods a man is expected to worship in this chaotic, violent word...? Perhaps. But I cannot afford such jealousy.
Letting out a quiet groan, Hirem made to push himself to his feet, but was stopped by the little boy, he had yet more to say. Or, more precisely, show. At first, the Benshira did not realize exactly why it was that Tim held in his grasp, but eventually made the connection. The little shykestain! Snatching the discarded carving from the ground, Hirem bit his lip and fought, fought terribly hard, to to prevent himself from immediately reprimanding the boy. You must remain calm... you must remain calm... But he could not stay his tongue. "What did I say?!" The man demanded, rising to his feet and towering above the boy. "What did I say? I told you, boy, that you would not steal again. I told you that because I wanted to save you from ending up dead in an alley somewhere, the victim of some twisted revenge. I told you that because you deserve more than becoming just another hopeless benachag that frequents places like the Rat Hole! I told you that because... because you shouldn't steal!" Nearly crushing the carved trinket in the rage of his emotions, Hirem threw his hands up in the air and shrugged. "This is what happens when you act without respect for the gods! You fall astray."
He was tempted to storm off and leave the impudent child alone in the woods, but Hirem managed to keep his feet locked in position. Bowing his head, the Benshira closed his eyes and tried to take charge of his whirling, complex feelings. And what was that about magic? ... Is Kavala teaching Tim how to use magic? As troubling as the thought was, it wasn't nearly as pressing as the fact that this boy was infuriating him, completely and utterly. But I cannot give up hope. I cannot give in to despair. "You have lived for a very long time in the darkness, Tim," Hirem murmured, clutching firmly on his wooden stick. "And now, you have finally been given a chance to bask in the light... I won't let you waste this opportunity. I won't let you go astray again. With the gods themselves as my witness, I will see you become everything you ever wanted to become. You have my word." He forcibly handed Tim back his pretend sword and then dropped into a combat stance.
"Now, prepare yourself. Knights don't go home. Knights do not retreat. They fight until their last breath." Gritting his teeth, the Benshira launched himself at Tim.
