Shahar pulled Yvex into the cave and set him down on one of the softer portions of floor, somewhat confused as to what else he might do. It had brought him no pleasure to separate the man from his pet, and he felt that he should at least try and make sure he was alright.
“Yvex,” Shahar said. “Your Flint is fine. He will find his mate and they will find a territory. I will make sure that they are safe.”
“Why did you take him?” Yvex rasped, too grieved to be angry.
“I did not take him. I simply allowed him to leave. You captured him, I freed him.”
“He left because you let him.”
“He left because he is a wolf. That is what wolves do.”
“But he can’t!” Yvex shouted, taken by a sudden bout of energy. “I need him! He’s the last one who knows how to see like I do! He needs to carry on the magic!”
Shahar tilted his head in bemused curiosity. “Then perhaps you should have taught a dog instead of a wolf.”
“My father taught his magic to a wolf. The wolf never left him. My mother taught hers to a hawk.”
“Where are the animals now?”
“Dead.” He shook his head. “They’re all dead. And I’m not much better.”
“Your strider?”
“Dead. The storm of 512.”
“Do you have any relatives?”
He shook his head, vehemence painted in the lines of his body. “No! There are none! They’re all dead! Storm, plague, siege; it’s taken them all, one by one.”
Something resembling pity stirred in Shahar’s heart. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said with a degree of concern. “Does anyone know where you are?”
“Not anymore.” The admission seemed to take the life out of him in one great breath. He sank into the floor, staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes. “No one’s left to care. It’s done. Flint is gone. The Windrivers are gone. There’s nothing left anymore.”
Shahar knelt beside him, peering into those brilliant orange starbursts. “Endrykas is due south,” he said. “If you keep a steady pace, you can make it back by nightfall.”
Yvex looked away, to the wall of the cave, and said nothing.
“You should go, before the grasslands take you. It is safer there.”
Again, there was nothing.
“I cannot stay. I have business elsewhere. There will be nothing to protect you.”
Silence.
“The decision is yours, then.”
He could not remain and look after the man, as sad as he felt forcefully parting him from his Flint; there was still work to be done, and the grasslands would not wait.
“Yvex,” Shahar said. “Your Flint is fine. He will find his mate and they will find a territory. I will make sure that they are safe.”
“Why did you take him?” Yvex rasped, too grieved to be angry.
“I did not take him. I simply allowed him to leave. You captured him, I freed him.”
“He left because you let him.”
“He left because he is a wolf. That is what wolves do.”
“But he can’t!” Yvex shouted, taken by a sudden bout of energy. “I need him! He’s the last one who knows how to see like I do! He needs to carry on the magic!”
Shahar tilted his head in bemused curiosity. “Then perhaps you should have taught a dog instead of a wolf.”
“My father taught his magic to a wolf. The wolf never left him. My mother taught hers to a hawk.”
“Where are the animals now?”
“Dead.” He shook his head. “They’re all dead. And I’m not much better.”
“Your strider?”
“Dead. The storm of 512.”
“Do you have any relatives?”
He shook his head, vehemence painted in the lines of his body. “No! There are none! They’re all dead! Storm, plague, siege; it’s taken them all, one by one.”
Something resembling pity stirred in Shahar’s heart. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said with a degree of concern. “Does anyone know where you are?”
“Not anymore.” The admission seemed to take the life out of him in one great breath. He sank into the floor, staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes. “No one’s left to care. It’s done. Flint is gone. The Windrivers are gone. There’s nothing left anymore.”
Shahar knelt beside him, peering into those brilliant orange starbursts. “Endrykas is due south,” he said. “If you keep a steady pace, you can make it back by nightfall.”
Yvex looked away, to the wall of the cave, and said nothing.
“You should go, before the grasslands take you. It is safer there.”
Again, there was nothing.
“I cannot stay. I have business elsewhere. There will be nothing to protect you.”
Silence.
“The decision is yours, then.”
He could not remain and look after the man, as sad as he felt forcefully parting him from his Flint; there was still work to be done, and the grasslands would not wait.