20 Spring 516
Around the 11th Bell
If only the paper weighed as lightly on his mind as it did in his hand. His thumb traced its folded edge as he made his way through unfamiliar streets, clutching the sheet, stained and weather-worn, in one hand. In the other he swung a woven basket loaded down with enough preserved food to sustain him for a good many days. The burden of it, paired with the straps of his backpack digging into his shoulders, was enough to strain the ligaments in his arm. Yet it was the letter that caused Retic the most discomfort.
He didn't have to open it to know what it contained -- he'd written it himself countless days ago, when he thought he'd had a plan. It was the very fact that it remained unopened after all this time that wore on him. Still, he had to consider it some great stroke of luck that the courier he'd sent it with had arrived at all, greater still that the same man had somehow recognized him, and greatest of all that he'd kept the letter all this time for the sole purpose of returning it to the sender. Some part of Retic always had the energy to devote to wondering; and now, the small part that was not wondering what he was going to do couldn't help wondering at the capabilities of such a memory.
But that wasn't important. At least, not as important as the fact that his uncle was no longer in Lhavit, and not as important as figuring out where that news left Retic. What had become of his uncle was a mystery, but not one quite so pressing as the mystery of what he was supposed to do with himself now.
There were a number of things he'd have to accomplish before nightfall, decisions and preparations to make. But for now there was plenty of time to mull it all over, wasn't there? It hadn't been so very long since he had returned to the land of the living, let alone a place as splendorous as this. The vibrancy of the city extended even beyond the aesthetic realm. It was almost as if the essence of life permeated the very air -- or perhaps he was simply still readjusting to seeing warmth in the cheeks of strangers he passed.
Whatever the case, it was enough to make Retic slow his pace and take in his surroundings. The thin sheaf of paper clutched tight between his fingers still evoked a sinking sensation in his chest and a downward slant in his lips, but every so often it was lifted by the levity of a song on the wind or a shimmering rooftop caught by the sunlight. There was a faint curiosity in the faces of passers-by who met his eyes and distinguished him immediately as foreign. Part of him imagined almost romantically that it was because they could sense death clinging to his clothes, but while his fashions no doubt factored into their assessment, it was more likely due to their rugged simplicity. The loose black cloak draped across his shoulders stood out among closely-tailored and brocaded coats, and the uniformly close shave of his hair was enough to draw a quirked brow or two. His luggage completed the foreigner's look, of course, while Fawz, who never strayed too far from his heels, attracted more than a few gazes herself.
The desert dog hadn't handled the boat trip terribly well, but neither did she appear to be much more comfortable on land. Not this land. The thin air made her head hurt and left her muscles feeling weak. The signature spring in her gait had become something more loping, and there was a ringing in her broad ears that she could only match with a few quiet whines of her own. And down every road Retic took them, every bend, was either a cliff or a wall which left her feeling no less trapped than she had felt on the ship here.
If Retic hadn't been so preoccupied, he might've noticed just how unhappy Fawz was with this whole situation. Instead, when he stopped to get his bearings and she nudged against his knees, he only knocked her away with his own distractedly firm push as his gaze swept down the road. He didn't like to believe he was lost; such an admission was largely subjective. He couldn't be lost if there wasn't a particular destination he was headed towards, but he could have sworn he'd passed this same set of buildings three times already. While he tried to mentally retrace his steps, his companion grew increasingly impatient. With a glance upwards and a huff in her supposed master's direction, Fawz turned away and slinked into the nearest open door, hoping, at least, to escape from the constant stream of strangers along the streets.
Having determined that he'd made a habit of taking too many right turns, Retic started forward once more, only to sense the sudden lack of his dog's presence on his heels. Flexing his fingers against the handle of his basket in exasperation, he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of dappled fur in a doorway. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from spitting a curse as he chased after her, rapping a sharp pace against the stone.
But as he shouldered his way past the door, the sight of the room beyond stopped him short, his boots scuffing against wooden floorboards in the silence. Nearly wall to wall, displays of various oddities and trinkets, some things he couldn't have identified if he tried, littered shelves, blanketed with a layer of dust that suggested not abandonment, but comfort. It looked the picture of a collector's refuge, and for a moment Retic felt a pang of guilt as if he were intruding on a person's home. Yet the positions of the counters led him to believe this had to be a shop, and, tentatively, he stepped further in, finding himself drawn immediately to a small skeletal set on the nearest table.
If he had been looking for someplace in particular, he thought, this would have been it. Retic shoved the letter he held into his belt pouch with distracted disregard and brought up his hand to linger over the table in a kind of gentle reverence before he remembered just why he was here. He lifted his head, peering narrow-eyed around a shelf, but as far as he could determine, he was alone. "Fawz?" he whispered, almost scared that if he were too loud the delicate goods stacked along the displays would turn to dust.
Around the 11th Bell
If only the paper weighed as lightly on his mind as it did in his hand. His thumb traced its folded edge as he made his way through unfamiliar streets, clutching the sheet, stained and weather-worn, in one hand. In the other he swung a woven basket loaded down with enough preserved food to sustain him for a good many days. The burden of it, paired with the straps of his backpack digging into his shoulders, was enough to strain the ligaments in his arm. Yet it was the letter that caused Retic the most discomfort.
He didn't have to open it to know what it contained -- he'd written it himself countless days ago, when he thought he'd had a plan. It was the very fact that it remained unopened after all this time that wore on him. Still, he had to consider it some great stroke of luck that the courier he'd sent it with had arrived at all, greater still that the same man had somehow recognized him, and greatest of all that he'd kept the letter all this time for the sole purpose of returning it to the sender. Some part of Retic always had the energy to devote to wondering; and now, the small part that was not wondering what he was going to do couldn't help wondering at the capabilities of such a memory.
But that wasn't important. At least, not as important as the fact that his uncle was no longer in Lhavit, and not as important as figuring out where that news left Retic. What had become of his uncle was a mystery, but not one quite so pressing as the mystery of what he was supposed to do with himself now.
There were a number of things he'd have to accomplish before nightfall, decisions and preparations to make. But for now there was plenty of time to mull it all over, wasn't there? It hadn't been so very long since he had returned to the land of the living, let alone a place as splendorous as this. The vibrancy of the city extended even beyond the aesthetic realm. It was almost as if the essence of life permeated the very air -- or perhaps he was simply still readjusting to seeing warmth in the cheeks of strangers he passed.
Whatever the case, it was enough to make Retic slow his pace and take in his surroundings. The thin sheaf of paper clutched tight between his fingers still evoked a sinking sensation in his chest and a downward slant in his lips, but every so often it was lifted by the levity of a song on the wind or a shimmering rooftop caught by the sunlight. There was a faint curiosity in the faces of passers-by who met his eyes and distinguished him immediately as foreign. Part of him imagined almost romantically that it was because they could sense death clinging to his clothes, but while his fashions no doubt factored into their assessment, it was more likely due to their rugged simplicity. The loose black cloak draped across his shoulders stood out among closely-tailored and brocaded coats, and the uniformly close shave of his hair was enough to draw a quirked brow or two. His luggage completed the foreigner's look, of course, while Fawz, who never strayed too far from his heels, attracted more than a few gazes herself.
The desert dog hadn't handled the boat trip terribly well, but neither did she appear to be much more comfortable on land. Not this land. The thin air made her head hurt and left her muscles feeling weak. The signature spring in her gait had become something more loping, and there was a ringing in her broad ears that she could only match with a few quiet whines of her own. And down every road Retic took them, every bend, was either a cliff or a wall which left her feeling no less trapped than she had felt on the ship here.
If Retic hadn't been so preoccupied, he might've noticed just how unhappy Fawz was with this whole situation. Instead, when he stopped to get his bearings and she nudged against his knees, he only knocked her away with his own distractedly firm push as his gaze swept down the road. He didn't like to believe he was lost; such an admission was largely subjective. He couldn't be lost if there wasn't a particular destination he was headed towards, but he could have sworn he'd passed this same set of buildings three times already. While he tried to mentally retrace his steps, his companion grew increasingly impatient. With a glance upwards and a huff in her supposed master's direction, Fawz turned away and slinked into the nearest open door, hoping, at least, to escape from the constant stream of strangers along the streets.
Having determined that he'd made a habit of taking too many right turns, Retic started forward once more, only to sense the sudden lack of his dog's presence on his heels. Flexing his fingers against the handle of his basket in exasperation, he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of dappled fur in a doorway. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from spitting a curse as he chased after her, rapping a sharp pace against the stone.
But as he shouldered his way past the door, the sight of the room beyond stopped him short, his boots scuffing against wooden floorboards in the silence. Nearly wall to wall, displays of various oddities and trinkets, some things he couldn't have identified if he tried, littered shelves, blanketed with a layer of dust that suggested not abandonment, but comfort. It looked the picture of a collector's refuge, and for a moment Retic felt a pang of guilt as if he were intruding on a person's home. Yet the positions of the counters led him to believe this had to be a shop, and, tentatively, he stepped further in, finding himself drawn immediately to a small skeletal set on the nearest table.
If he had been looking for someplace in particular, he thought, this would have been it. Retic shoved the letter he held into his belt pouch with distracted disregard and brought up his hand to linger over the table in a kind of gentle reverence before he remembered just why he was here. He lifted his head, peering narrow-eyed around a shelf, but as far as he could determine, he was alone. "Fawz?" he whispered, almost scared that if he were too loud the delicate goods stacked along the displays would turn to dust.
"Common."
"Ancient tongue."
"Arumenic."
"Ancient tongue."
"Arumenic."
