the narrator (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} a_shade_of_gray) wrote,@ 2005-08-25 01:54:00 |
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Middle part of chapter three. Raw, rough draft. Unedited like whoa.
The next couple of days were rocky; Brandon watched me with the wariness of a caged animal. He ate with a guarded caution, as if I would snatch his food away for the moment he paused to breathe between bites.
But, as the days slowly progressed into a week or two, I think he finally figured out that I wasn't going to suddenly pounce and shake some truth from him. He relaxed. We fell into a comfortable existence after that.
By Mysidian standards, Brandon was quite plain and boring. He wasn't a mage, nor a merchant dealing in magical items. In city whose main trade is magic, that can be quite the crime. But I liked him well enough. He was just shy and quiet enough to be sweet when he fumbled for words. I took a sort of motherly pride when he finally found his voice and confidence, and was able to speak to me without hesitating.
The Elder kept a skeptical eye on the boy, whenever he was nearby, probably still worried that Brandon was the source of our zombie attacks. It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I told the Elder, and he said nothing more about it, after that, but still had suspicion in his eyes when he looked Brandon's way.
---
There was certainly enough work to go around, and that kept us busy. Despite the restriction of the winter weather, there were plenty of things to be done indoors. Most of my days had me bent over a number of books, copying pages of passages onto fresh rolls of parchment. So many of the older tomes were fragile and crumbling -- too delicate to be in the hands of careless students.
Brandon's penmanship left much to be desired, however, so his tasks were divided between hauling stacks of books from one point to another, assisting with interior repairs of the few standing buildings, and similar physical chores. Occasionally, a hunting party would venture into the woods to look for winter buck, and Brandon lent his strong back and pair of hands to the effort of hauling the animals back, and cleaning them.
It was on one of these hunting excursions, actually, that it was discovered Brandon no skill with a bow. I borrowed one from the limited armory in town (what need to mages have of weapons? Staves, rods, and -fortunately- bows were among the selection) and spent a sunny afternoon with him and a target, and taught him the basics. While he'd never be a great archer, he had a clear eye and steady hand.
No zombies or evidence of them was found during these outings. The Elder made a point of telling me so.
---
I avoided anything directly magic related. I turned down another offer from the Elder -- a position of teaching white magic when the school finally opened. I left the infirmary to other, and in my opinion if not the Elder's, more experienced white mages.
I wanted nothing to do with it.
The Elder and I argued about it, as we occasionally did. It was a gift, he said, from the Crystals to be used to benefit and help everyone. As far as I was concerned, I'd done my part. Risked my neck, countless times during the Crystal War, all for the sake of those eight deities.
A hero, they called me. I paid my dues, and my reward was to settle down with Cecil, have children, have a life. And then they took it away, violently, when Cecil was killed.
I owed them for that? Hardly. The discussions usually ended with the Elder calling me bitter and selfish, and I couldn't really argue with that.
I would have liked to give up the white art entirely, but the Elder reminded me, infrequently, that if any undead were found venturing past the mountains again, he would send me out. I held fast to the conviction that the first occurrence was a fluke, and wouldn't be repeated.
---
Two months passed in this peace.
And then, the hunting party was attacked by a group of zombies. Between the general well aimed Fire spells (MY NOTE: FIX. missing sentence fragment here, what had I intended to write??), they managed the confrontation with little more than a few scratches. Brandon was white-faced and silent at the evening meal, and went to bed immediately after with barely a word.
The Elder had a chocobo ready for me the next morning.
The next couple of days were rocky; Brandon watched me with the wariness of a caged animal. He ate with a guarded caution, as if I would snatch his food away for the moment he paused to breathe between bites.
But, as the days slowly progressed into a week or two, I think he finally figured out that I wasn't going to suddenly pounce and shake some truth from him. He relaxed. We fell into a comfortable existence after that.
By Mysidian standards, Brandon was quite plain and boring. He wasn't a mage, nor a merchant dealing in magical items. In city whose main trade is magic, that can be quite the crime. But I liked him well enough. He was just shy and quiet enough to be sweet when he fumbled for words. I took a sort of motherly pride when he finally found his voice and confidence, and was able to speak to me without hesitating.
The Elder kept a skeptical eye on the boy, whenever he was nearby, probably still worried that Brandon was the source of our zombie attacks. It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I told the Elder, and he said nothing more about it, after that, but still had suspicion in his eyes when he looked Brandon's way.
---
There was certainly enough work to go around, and that kept us busy. Despite the restriction of the winter weather, there were plenty of things to be done indoors. Most of my days had me bent over a number of books, copying pages of passages onto fresh rolls of parchment. So many of the older tomes were fragile and crumbling -- too delicate to be in the hands of careless students.
Brandon's penmanship left much to be desired, however, so his tasks were divided between hauling stacks of books from one point to another, assisting with interior repairs of the few standing buildings, and similar physical chores. Occasionally, a hunting party would venture into the woods to look for winter buck, and Brandon lent his strong back and pair of hands to the effort of hauling the animals back, and cleaning them.
It was on one of these hunting excursions, actually, that it was discovered Brandon no skill with a bow. I borrowed one from the limited armory in town (what need to mages have of weapons? Staves, rods, and -fortunately- bows were among the selection) and spent a sunny afternoon with him and a target, and taught him the basics. While he'd never be a great archer, he had a clear eye and steady hand.
No zombies or evidence of them was found during these outings. The Elder made a point of telling me so.
---
I avoided anything directly magic related. I turned down another offer from the Elder -- a position of teaching white magic when the school finally opened. I left the infirmary to other, and in my opinion if not the Elder's, more experienced white mages.
I wanted nothing to do with it.
The Elder and I argued about it, as we occasionally did. It was a gift, he said, from the Crystals to be used to benefit and help everyone. As far as I was concerned, I'd done my part. Risked my neck, countless times during the Crystal War, all for the sake of those eight deities.
A hero, they called me. I paid my dues, and my reward was to settle down with Cecil, have children, have a life. And then they took it away, violently, when Cecil was killed.
I owed them for that? Hardly. The discussions usually ended with the Elder calling me bitter and selfish, and I couldn't really argue with that.
I would have liked to give up the white art entirely, but the Elder reminded me, infrequently, that if any undead were found venturing past the mountains again, he would send me out. I held fast to the conviction that the first occurrence was a fluke, and wouldn't be repeated.
---
Two months passed in this peace.
And then, the hunting party was attacked by a group of zombies. Between the general well aimed Fire spells (MY NOTE: FIX. missing sentence fragment here, what had I intended to write??), they managed the confrontation with little more than a few scratches. Brandon was white-faced and silent at the evening meal, and went to bed immediately after with barely a word.
The Elder had a chocobo ready for me the next morning.
