Shadows of the Scriptures

FOUR: The Stallion that Strode

Exhalation made her feel like a wolf separated from its pack. A wolf who ends up befriending the sheep around it and dies, peacefully, of hunger.

Addie reached with the Wolf's paw - and directed her Skill towards the argonz knife.

The unorthodox thing rammed itself into the base of the mat with a lurch no human hand could have provided. A thin slice of bark crunched, and the lichen contrived.

As the garden of her brain filled itself back up again with vines, Addie grinned to herself and started sauntering over to her companion on near-prostrate legs. Any normal blade might require sharpening or oiling, but not hers. The knife disappeared into her cloak.

Halfway down the mound, a white-orange blur burst out from the sward of dead grass to her right, running hard.

Its whiskers and haunches and hackles trembled alike when its gold-glitter eyes saw Addie. Paws paused. The fox growled, a low, rumbling sound, as if it could sense the rogue behind her helpful facade.

A Skiller, those eyes scoffed. An aspiring Jen. You should surrender yourself to the House Of Ations, foolish girl, and exeunt my woods! Your likes are unwelcome here. Your likes are unwelcome everywhere. There is enough to brood about for us in the wild, anyway. So go, go, you bothersome woolheaded - !

Addie feigned throwing a rock, and the animal darted, back to being a blur.

Shaking the burning image of its eyes off her head, she went to Nayari. She had always thought she could understand animals, far back as her memory went. Lately they had been acting petulant.

"Arm."

"What is that?" questioned Nayari.

"Avren lichen."

"And what is that?"

"That which will maintain your tongue wet so you can keep asking your silly questions. Hold still."

Nayari, with the hand of her unhurt arm, held the repugnant thing over the gash, setting aside the honeysuckle stalk reluctantly. Addie sewed away, intent yet casual. She did wish for a thimble, but hardly thought she'd have one. From time to time the pale-haired woman whistled from between her teeth. Once she flinched but Addie ignored it.

When this happened a second time, she said, "Might as well use that tongue of yours now. Keep your mind off the pain. This'll take some patience. And leeway."

"Patience?" the regarded tongue set to work. "My daughter is dying!"

"Glioma doesn't assure death, merely poses the threat of it." Eyes fixed on the needle cutting delicately through a film of skin, string in pursuit, Addie reconsidered. "That is not to say I don't understand your worry. But Aeri will be fine. We will reach her in time. She will not get the disease. She's a strong girl."

Nayari's face lit up marginally, but it made her look five years younger. "She is. Her father always says - said - she would make a great Ardaunt."

"Ardaunt!" Addie made a noise which could be taken as a snort or a laugh. "They're all genderless, or haven't you heard?"

"I know," Nayari said indignantly, forgetting the pain. "As a matter of fact, I saw one once. In Gard Wyvan."

"Gard Wyvan. Now what would you be doing that far from Dassan, good lady?"

"My husband had patrol duty there, during the spring festivities. You know how high farmers leap when they see a pebble to jump across."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess they do. There was a saying amongst the folk where I come from: a farmer's enthuse is like the mood of a cat. More prone to turbulence than a carriage in the Soonlands."