Dear Readers: So how does Clotho choose to deal with darkness in the hearts of humankind?... Maybe one heart, one man, at a time ;)
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Scene 11: Virtue
2020 B.C.
She awoke, to a sight that made everything worth it.
Well—perhaps that was a stretch, she silently chided herself, remaining motionless awhile upon the earth where she had slept.
To watch him for a few moments more, where he stood at the far end of the tent, risen from bed but not yet dressed. His back to her, just as last night when she’d first marveled at the sight. The broad shoulders… the lean lines of his torso narrowing down toward the hips… to frame that fine and firmly rounded royal ass…
Not beautiful enough to be worth risking Mother’s life, of course. No bodily beauty ever could be. But the soul… she had to hope, had to believe the human soul could be worth something, if not everything.
That blind belief was the basis on which she’d made her decision, after all. To pull her thread along into the next day, without lifting it from the Loom. So that she would wake up in Rider’s tent, her mortal body having never left. Rather than venturing elsewhere on earth.
His mentor had remarked that Cloe wished to change him, make a better man of Rider. Before she’d even realized that desire in herself. Funny, just how fatefully correct Dictys had now turned out to be.
Rider seemed to be running a small blade down his face and neck, holding in front of him a shard of some reflective metal to guide the razor’s path. She wasn’t sure whether it was customary, in these parts of the world, for men to shave their facial hair. Her guess was that it wasn’t, judging from the beards she’d seen on most men in this camp.
“Good morning to you, too,” Rider suddenly uttered, startling Cloe from her curious and captivated trance.
What, had he seen her open gaze reflected in his makeshift mirror? But why would he be looking at anything other than his own face, in that surface? The reflection didn’t seem distinct enough, besides, for him to glimpse her from this distance. Maybe he truly had eyes in his backside, just as she had pondered last night.
Rider was finished shaving. Tucked the razor and mirror away. “I thought that you might stay.”
“You made that clear last night,” she muttered.
A smile entered his voice. “Glad you chose to prove me right.”
She lifted her head, shifted her weight onto one elbow. “Must you claim victory in everything?”
“Only when I’ve won it,” he replied, glancing at her over his shoulder, with a bright grin in his bay-blues, before getting dressed.
Cloe sighed and sat up. “Did you sleep well?” she queried politely.
“Very,” Rider answered, visibly amused by the innocent question. It felt a bit unnatural, for her tone toward him to be anything other than confrontational. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Well, you left the tent naked last night.”
He raised half a brow. “What of it?”
“Just a strange thing to do, before going to sleep.”
“And why do you care where I sleep?”
“Never said I do,” Cloe contended. It was true, she thought to herself—in any event, it wasn’t so much about where as who with.
There was a smirk upon his shaven face. That same usual smirk, suggesting that he read her mind. Or worse yet, her body. Well, shit.
“And you?” he sportively returned the question. “Did you sleep well, till waking up to watch me shave?”
She scowled defensively. “Another strange habit of yours.”
His face lit up in silent laughter. “The ladies seem to like it.”
Cloe rolled her eyes, rushing to unpleasant conclusions. “So that’s where you slept…” she grumbled.
Another laugh from Rider, audible this time. “Don’t pretend to know,” he challenged. “There are a lot of women in this camp.”
“Maybe with all of them, in one night.”
“Well… clearly, not all,” he contested, his smile sharpening yet softening, as his blue eyes stared her down. Bored into her as if she were the only soul on earth. “Not yet.”
In the pounding pause that followed, Rider started to pack up the few things that he had in this tent. “We’re breaking camp,” he told her. “Setting off this afternoon.”
Cloe realized that she was still wearing his cloak, after having slept in it. It was much too warm for a cloak at this hour of the day.
She removed it, stood up and crossed the space toward him, to hand him the cloak as he packed. “Where to?” she asked.
He folded the coarse cloth, shoved it forcibly into a sack that was already full. “Patience is a virtue. Wait and see.”
“What do you know of virtue?” she snorted.
“That it’s important to you.”
“And why do you care?”
“Never said I do.”
She raised a brow. “You don’t, then?”
In his silence, she claimed victory. And it was very sweet.
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... #Cloder, anyone? :)
Next scene, we're back with Atria in Ancient Mesopotamia...
P.S. Any Lachesis/Lacey fans out there, don't fret - there's a reason we're not seeing much of her just yet! I certainly haven't forgotten about her ;)
And if you liked this scene, please don't forget to vote! :)