The Weaver's Source

Part Two: Chapter 16

Red faced, I glanced about the large stagecoach and at the other two passengers sitting quietly with me. While the elderly man was asleep, the middle-aged woman was giving me a strange judgemental scowl. My face grew even redder with embarrassment and I turned to gaze out of the window fixatedly. I had a horrible feeling I was moaning suggestively in my sleep.

I tried my best to ignore the hot throbbing between my legs and the strange ache of my breasts. It was hard. Even pressing my legs together wasn't helping much and it was difficult keeping my hands under control. I let them grasp my pack hard, hoping that would keep them happy.

The dreams had returned and were even more graphic and lewd than before. With Grigore, my Weaver, now away from me, it was apparent my magic called to him in my dreams once again. This time though I remembered my Weaver and I recognised his face in both sleep and consciousness. He wasn't simply a faceless man anymore when I dreamt, filling me with this strange shyness whenever I faced him and his apparent need for me. Because of this I had no doubt now that Grigore was my Weaver. It also left me utterly bewildered as to why he was so convinced that I wasn't his Source, something I was determined to get an answer to when I finally caught up to him. He must know. Maybe not in the same way I did, I hoped he didn't know the same why I did, the thought he'd dream of me in that manner or taste my magic like I did him just made me hide my face, but he must have some kind of hint. A connection, a sense of familiarity. But my curiosity had to wait. I had to find him first.

So far my journey had gone okay. After getting to our destination in the late evening, Otto and I had spent the night at the city, a strange, loud bustling place which overwhelmed me. I had never seen a city before and was a shocked at how much stone there was and how many people there were. I didn't believe Otto when he told me this was a small city and quietly dreaded discovering what a big city was like. We stayed at an inn where I ate and watched the people surrounding me. The city folk were a lot more audacious and noisy, even flirtatious as I watched some of the men loudly talk about and whistle to a barmaid. She didn't mind it, if anything seemed to enjoy the attention. I found it odd. 

After an almost sleepless night, first because the customers in the inn apparently didn't sleep and then the return of my embarrassing dreams, I left the inn at dawn with Otto in search of my Weaver's trial. It took an hour but eventually I scented the addictive scent of woodsmoke and tasted honey. After I had told Otto, he sought out a stagecoach heading east, where the trail slithered away to, and bundled me on. I was to remain with this stagecoach, ridden by a mean looking driver and two guards, and only leave it when I reached another town where I could find another going in the same direction as the scent. I was to never travel the road on my own, he warned me firmly. I had promised, partly because I wanted to be with a guarded group of people without the possibility of getting lost. With a warm farewell, he let me go. I watched him stare after me as the carriage rolled away down a sloped path until all I could see were naked trees and rocks.

So here I was, sitting in the stagecoach near the end of the first day of being alone. We had passed through a couple of villages but, after wandering around at the first stop, I felt the trail was continuing along this route. I twisted my fingers with anxiety. I wasn't sure how long I would be on my own for until I found Grigore. I wasn't even sure I would find him or survive this hunt.

I sighed and glanced down at my hands. I hoped I would find him. Now that the realisation of Grigore's departure had sunk in, I missed him, despite barely having the chance to get to know what sort of man he was. I knew he was duty bound as he finished off his job despite not wanting to use magic, thus making that task of hunting the asrai a lot more dangerous. I also knew he was short-tempered and proud but not much else. We had so few interactions.