Hard to Be Soft

[Mereus]

Winter 15th, 512 Mid-afternoon. Life is about a balance of compromises. Perfection is never attainable. Happiness is a delusion, an unreachable prize lying at the end of an endless road. Few seemed to realize this as Mereus had, and so pursued this inane reward believing they would one day grab hold of it. Mereus knew better. It was never possible to be someone, or find something, and have it be everything one had ever dreamed. There was always a catch. Always a compromise. All his life, Mereus had hated sand. Sand was a point of fact in the desert. An inescapable grit, much like life's daily struggle, that managed to seep into every happy crevice. As fortune had it, there was no natural sand in Avanthal—just miles and miles of wet snow and freezing winds. It was miserable, cold, and heavy. It absorbed all sound like a sponge, turning the Vantha city into a silent palace of ice. But at least it wasn't sand. And here, there were no birds. Compromise. A compromise was never a happy bargain, however. Just a tolerable one. Mereus had traded his miserable life in the desert for a slightly less miserable one in the tundra. But like birds, misery followed him like an obedient wife. Most of the time, he could turn his back and shrug her off. Today, she would not be ignored. Mereus had not wanted to visit the market today. He had underestimated the fierceness of Avanthalian winters, and so went outside as seldom as possible. However, his pantry had become as empty as his stomach, and he had been forced to choose between starvation and the cold. On the downhill slope of a bells-long ordeal, the human was finally returning to the Warrens from an afternoon of shopping at the Frozen Falls Market. In one arm, he carried a burlap sack filled with two loaves of bread, jars of cold stew, an assortment of jerky and lastly a bottle of wine. He didn't particularly like wine, but the color looked attractive. It could taste better than other wines he'd had. It was a little reward for making himself brave the snows of Avanthal. With one gloved hand, he pulled the wine from his collection of goods and began to study the color again. It looked nearly black in this light, but in the neck of the bottle it shone as a deep red. It was an import from somewhere, but there was no label, and he had not been paying attention to the seller. As he wondered at the wine's origin, Mereus' thick woolen cap blocked out his peripheral vision. He did not see the art easel until he was physically walking into it. Crying out, Mereus stumbled over the wooden contraption and easily fell forward, the object jabbing him in his ribs through his fur-lined cloak. The bottle of wine fell out of his hand and buried itself in a snowbank while Mereus himself collapsed in a heap nearby. The snow absorbed him painlessly, but conformed to his body shape and clung. For a moment his limbs fought with the air as he struggled to get up. Finally, Mereus managed to roll out of the snow and clumsily stumble back to his feet. Dark, slate eyes—clearly not a Vantha's—aimed themselves at the easel's owner. His pale features were rose hued from the cold. As he picked up his bag and straightened his hood, his mind clawed at the ether to recover his heart's lost dignity. He scolded the woman in Common. It carried a harsh, sharpened accent not native to Avanthal or any Talderan cities. His warm voice thrust misty clouds into the air. "What the Hai were you doing?!" Mereus struggled to hide the embarrassment on his face with a mask of ire. It was not altogether convincing. With a snow-caked glove, he batted at curling strands of black that managed to escape his hood. "It's ridiculous how careless it is for you to be out here with that. Someone could have been hurt!" Someone like him, for instance.

[Nira Skyglow]

N i r a _ S k y g l o w Winter 15th, 512 Mid-afternoon. Compromise… What in the world is that? For only 16 years Nira had the thumb of her father pushing her down into place. To be the perfect little girl and to be an example for all the surrounding young women. There was no compromise, only perfection. Speaking of perfection, if there was anyone that could argue that it did NOT bring happiness it was this girl. She’d sometimes just be a single point away from a perfect score or grade but that one missed point was her complete and utter downfall. At least, that’s what her father always made it out to be. Repeat something enough to a kid and they’ll begin to believe it. Though the man never meant it to be understood that way, Nira never once felt like she amounted to anything. She was the girl that would forever be second best. There was no compromise, only unattainable perfection. It was impossible for any natural born citizen of Avanthal to hate snow, maybe prefer not to be cold all the time, but regardless… never hate it. To anyone that lived in a region long enough, to hate something about it was completely silly and un-rational unless of course said people planned on relocating. This poor girl never once thought of moving, this was going to be her life and someday she’d have her father marry her off to the highest and most successful bidder. Then for the rest of her second –best days she’d be a working mother. Doing her best to keep her family happy. In reality it was her greatest hope to bring even greater happiness to her future husband and children than she could ever bring her father. To be perfect was the only way she knew to be… The tears she had cried earlier on in life now frozen and forgotten. This was the way it was and would be until the day she died. As the days of the week pressed on, she was busy practicing her art as a busker. This time however she had tried to pick a place out of the view of many passerby’s and set up “shop” on a side-path. Though to give herself the illusion of always being watched she spoke at a whisper to herself as she described what she did, and related a made-up story along with it. To be honest, she felt the story, and her drawing was ridiculous. It wasn’t perfect… thus she hated it. Well to be honest it wasn’t really because she wanted practice, but rather, space away from her controlling father. Since the day Nira was born her mother was simply a physical care-giver. Not once giving any real hugs or signs of affection like most mothers would. Her father would scorn her in secrete that it would breed weakness within their dear child. It was a sacrifice, a compromise they’d have to make to create a product worth being proud of. Children were of the future, they could be pampered and treated with misguided illusions or be set on the path to truth and success. Two hours had passed since she’d planted herself in the snow, the mark upon her neck made the snow almost unnoticeable with the layers she wore. Finding a seat in a nearby snow bank was not only convenient but almost comfortable. The easel was pushed out into the walkway as she kept her nose buried within the canvas. The charcoal as she held it in one hand floated across the page, creating directionless lines as her imagination begged for a vision. So far nothing… and just a scrawl of lines were to be seen. Nobody would be able to make out anything. Plenty of times this had happened, and anyone that looked would comment her abstract art. Which she hated… ”Abstract art is not art… it’s a fools excuse to having no talent or even the eye for craftsmanship!” she would often times argue to herself or only close friends. Pausing she stood from her station and began to stretch. Turning away from her frustrated easel the small woman t jumped over the small snow bank her bottom had made and began to crawl around the snow. Half deep in thought and half paying attention to what she was doing, Nira was going about quite strangely a search for some inspiration. Let it be finding amusement in her current situation or staring into the blank snow in hopes that an image would magically appear. Pausing she looked up at the blotch in the sky that would make up the sun beyond the thick gray clouds, ”What if I were to draw…” Nira mused to herself, ”a bunch of lines, and connect them.” resting on this for a moment she shook her head, ”Oh! Hey Nira!” she teased, ”Then after that, you could build an art gallery dedicated to abstract art!” Sulking down into the snow the girl pouted helplessly, ”The sky smile upon me this day! For all the abundant inspirational visions I am having!” her sarcasm was laced with bitterness yet held a sweet tone. Slowly the girl began to crawl around again hidden slightly behind the snow bank, her head nearly touching the snow as she crawled about. Then a sound came, and instantly she winced as the sound of crackling snow and her easel flipped from it’s comfortable perch and all over the walkway. Thankfully with a father that found as small a reason to shout without warning this happening did not startle here, merely catch the girls attention. Lifting her legs only enough so that she could peer out from between her legs while her rump faced the man she curiously looked at him as he lifted himself back to his feet… His words came sharp and crisp, similar to her father’s but it lacked certain roundedness. It wasn’t exactly harsh but it made something within her mind click and her youthful mind obediently began to pace itself. Standing up she quickly spun around and not making eye-contact Nira began to clamber over the snow and gather up her things. Turning her head slightly in his direction she meekly apologized, ”I am deeply sorry sir, if any of your personal things have been damaged I will do my best to replace them immediately.” The way she spoke was very traditional to her people… Though for someone so young, to an outsider, would seem perhaps… advance. It only took a matter of seconds and her personal effects had been gathered under both arms, ”You weren’t were you sir?” with flushed cheeks of embarrassment she quickly met his gaze then looked away. Her heart began to race, ”he’s…” she glanced up again, ”he’s…” her thoughts began to race as her belly began to butterfly. Quickly her young mouth outraced her mind, ”Sir!” she quickly began to set her place yet again before him, this time facing him, ”Could you stand there? For just a second?” her eyes now met his, and instead of a certain shyness, there was a fire and a passion. Every part of it, was seemingly forced into his eyes.