Home is Where Your Shyke Is [private]

[Sondra]

Sondra’s indistinct gaze flitted briefly to Cathan when he spoke. She had a queer look on her face, unfocused and troubled, as if she was watching the world suddenly lose color. “No, not really,” she said dazedly. She rarely knew what to do in the wake of her sight. Should she let her subject know what she had disentangled from the Chavi or let the memory lie and continue to let them think they could keep secrets? Thus far she had done a terrible job of being discreet. The Konti shifted, moving near her bed. Sighing, Sondra sat on the edge, her hands dangling between her knees. She smiled sadly at Cathan, a struggling pity in her liquid eyes. “It’s not fair really. I can put rough hands in the tender places and splay them open for my consideration. All without earning the right.” Often without even trying. The Konti wished in vain for a swig of something burning and numbing. Her recent state of relative sobriety had its drawbacks. “It kicks up dust and unburies memory. That’s what you might be feeling. I know this only because I am not immune to my own gift. When I clasp hands or touch my face… I get to watch my own regret over again.” Her low laugh was full of rue. “I like gloves.” Realizing her speech may have turned cryptic, Sondra tried to speak plainly. Cathan was better acquainted with honest description. It was painful to slowly acknowledge what she could and had done. “The boy. Why, Cathan?” her voice was surprisingly soft, but her grey eyes had the terrible edge of knowledge. “I have no right to ask, but I hope for some consolation in the reason.” She could hazard a guess, but the sight was imperfect. Everyone had a ‘why’ but she rarely got more than the what and the how. “It just—“ She bowed her head, unable to complete the sentence. This sin was affecting her more than most. Both the child and the obedient Kelvic had their own innocence, but it didn’t protect either.

[Cathan]

At first Cathan was unable to make the connection.

His mind worked straight forward, was, to a large degree, focused on cause and consequences, on action and reaction. The idea his unbidden recollection of the past could, in anyway, be linked to the Konti’s sudden unease did not occur to him. And at first her words did not make any sense to him either. They might not have even had she laid out her gift before him in all its detail. He might have accepted an explanation if given, the way he accepted magic without further understanding, but he would not have been able to fathom the said.

Magic - and it would surely have sound like magic to him - had always been a little beyond him.

Golden eyes resting on her he rose half, then hesitated. Slowly the Kelvic sank back to the floor where he came to squat on his haunches. It was more instinct than her words which let him keep his distance.

“The boy. Why, Cathan?”

For the first time he flinched. Someone more focused would have wondered why the woman knew what he had been thinking about moments ago - and feared what else she might be able to see - the shapeshifter was more concerned about finding the answer to a question he had avoided half a dozen times in a mere few weeks.

“I could say I did not know any better back then.” The Kelvic studied the water drying up on the floor before him. “But that would be a lie.”

As wolf you killed for food or to defend yourself, but you did not do so for revenge or joy. Slaying the boy had made as much sense to him as getting set against dogs and wolves and Kelvics he was not allowed to eat in the end: none. He had done it still, for the appreciation of a man he felt to deserve his loyalty and devotion.

“I knew it was wrong. But I chose to... not care.”

He looked up, making no move to close the distance between them. His brows furrowed, but his expression was absent.

“Did you ever know a person you wanted to think highly of you? A person you would do everything for just to see him or her happy?” The man rose a shoulder. “Garkin was no kind man, but he was no worse than any of the other dog and Kelvic owners at the pit. It was just... he was never pleased with what you did. When you fought well, you were told you could have done better and when you lost - well, it was worse. After a while you started to ask yourself if it wasn’t all your fault and you just had to give... more, to get better.”

He looked down on the floor again. “I knew it was wrong. And I did it because it was wrong.”

Falling silent Cathan wondered if his words made any sense to anyone save him. He doubt it. “A soldier goes were he is ordered to go and in the pits a dog fights who it is told to fight. It is expected. Nothing special. Doing the wrong thing however was... a chance. It should have proven my willingness to do more than what was expected, that I would do something for him although it was wrong and hurt. I believed it would mean something to him, knowing I only did it for him. I wanted to do it right. Just... once.”

Back in the day he would have given his own life just as willingly. Now he was uncertain if even that would have awarded him more than a annoyed grunt or a mocking laugh. Cathan looked up.

“It did help the boy was a thief. It was a good excuse, knowing the guards might have killed him even if I had not. And in the end it made more sense to bring down a thief robbing my master than a group of dogs for the amusement of a drunken crowd.

“But the truth is, I did not kill him because he was a burglar. It had nothing to do with him at all.”

[Sondra]

Sondra visibly flinched when Cathan asked if there was anyone she would have given the world for, but held her tongue until the end of the sad explanation. “Though it may mean nothing and come too late, I think you have done many things right. “ These Kelvics were tools meant to be wielded by a good hand, she thought. They were desperate as any dog for approval from the master, yet they were more than trained wolves set on bait. Cathan had some of a man’s understanding and the ability to deceive the eye. Not for the first time, Sondra had the feeling Kelvics were dangerous creations. “I had a man who I loved and served for years,” she finally said, “But the difference between a Kelvic and a Konti…” Sondra smirked, “I left him in the snow when he asked too much. So I guess you’ve got me beat on devotion.” But then Cathan’s master was gone and the wolf roamed free. Perhaps he had finally devoured the hand that leashed him. She had learned a lesson over the years, a painful thorny principle that kept her in a halo of loneliness. It was one Cathan had likely begun to understand. “I would rather be isolated and broken than live under the weight of a careless master.” And she had been good to her vow. Her family was a distressing thought in the back of her mind. Her friends were less than a hand’s count and their depth of connection frustratingly shallow. The Konti had wandered and ruined herself for lack of a true center, but she showed no sign of bending or going home to look for the guidance of her sisters. She would damn them all and keep cracking sinners’ skulls wide open. This call into Syliras was a mad gamble, yet the Konti was ready to return to purposelessness should a weak master appear and ask for her obedience. Her grandmother would argue Sondra’s life could only improve at this juncture, as long as anyone but Sondra held the reins. “In the end,” she said slowly, “I wonder who will be held accountable for the boy.” The conversation made her uneasy. She vacillated between heartbreak and anger over the boy and pity for Cathan. How did he live with such terrible need for completion? Sondra’s hand was quick as she grabbed for Cathan’s wrist. “Promise me, Cathan.” she asked plaintively, “A good master or none at all.” The second half of the phrase was a threat in her eyes as to how far she would go should he break it.