The TwiceBorn

A Life Of Restlessness

         "Tame the tiger, swallow fire, Tip-toe 'cross the tightrope wire"--Aoife O'Donovan

Just tell me why." Gre's voice was hushed, and he shot a quick, hunted glance at Aubery. There had been a time in the very recent past when Aubery would have been a little worried about ol Gray getting to his feet after a face-off that had been building ever since they'd left the settlement but Aubery appeared to not have a care in the world. Gre watched him as the boy settled himself in front of the small fire Islinn had managed to get started.

Who was Aubery now?

He sure wasn't the go-to-ground boy anymore, fighting like a cornered weasel, with one eye cocked towards Behrin to see if his shining devotion to the cause had been noted. No longer the boy who occasionally cried in his sleep and pissed his clothes and then cried harder when the other men noticed. The boy who cared about nothing more than killing and a quick jerk and snooze to round out another mindless day.

All of that had changed with the death of The Twiceborn. And while he had stopped the boy from taking her head or her sword...there was something else that...just maybe...belonged more to that demon whore than the other two combined.

"Just...tell me WHY?" He said in a savage whisper. Islinn continued to gather wood and Gre wiped a shaky hand across his mouth, hard. There was Aubery lolling by the fire and here was Islinn, nonchalantly gathering wood and had what had just happened really happened?? Gre thought he might be losing his mind. His hand darted out and grabbed her arm.

She paused and looked down at his hand with a detached interest then slowly raised her eyes to his own.

"Why, what, Gre? What is it you want to know?"

He gaped at her. Again, that weird sense of time passing and something occurring that only he knew about broadsided him again and,on some level, he vaguely wondered if he'd maybe should have listened to the roadside ale brewers' warnings a little more closely about all the pig swill he'd been pouring down his gullet.

Had he somehow imagined it??

But...no. He remembered the feel of his blade in his hand, his sense of finally being done with the entire arrangement, that sense of bone-weariness at everything that had gone on from the time he'd swung up on his grulla's back to now, sitting and crying like a little pecker-snot in front of Aubery, of all people.

Sullen anger moved through him and tightened his features. He studied Islinn as she gazed placidly back at him. Everything stilled.

"So...tell me...Islinn...why did you save his life? Was that you? Or was it something.... else...that protected him? Tell me that." His voice sounded small and frightened in his ears.

Did he truly want to know the answer?

A tiny smile hung by one lip as Islinn studied him. She turned to glance at Aubery, gave him a measured stare that he didn't notice, then looked back at Gre.

"You think there's more to me than what you're seeing, Gre?' She asked, her voice filled with such raw hurt that he took a step back. " That...there's something...in me...that made me protect Aubery, after what he did? No. I hope to watch him die, Gre, and I hope to watch him die hard. But it won't be by your hand."

She turned and presented him with a stiff shoulder as she resumed gathering wood. Gre watched her and a small voice inside his head piped up with "She could be lying. Something could be making her lie."

He hated that voice and it usually only came around when he was sober. A hot and miserable sense of shame engulfed him and even though he'd never been a knee-bender, a small shining part of him rose up and rebelled at the thoughts he'd had about Westerfox being less than a miracle.