40th Spring 516
Alija reached out the window, snatching Kial's shirt from where it hung haphazardly from the line pegged across the narrow alley at the back. Her fingers trailed out further, one hand pressed against the windowsill to keep her steady. The cloth of her trousers brushed against her mocking and for a moment, she lost her grip, feeling herself moving over the edge. The next moment she got it again, hands tight around the sill. She reached out again, this time grabbing a firm hold and tugging it loose from the pegs. They hung there alone, then with the final pull from the shirt slid together, pressed tight as one.
It was this, or leave the clothes lower where anyone could take them.
Quickly folding both, she placed them on the pile with the rest of the laundry, all clean and dry. Humming, she gathered them, moving out of the room and up the staircase, heading towards the bedrooms.
Thegans stopped her mid-step, eyes looking at her worried. "Your father's ill."
Alija paused in the middle of a note, taking in his words. He couldn't be ill, he couldn't. Shoving the clothes at her friend, Alija pushed past him, tearing up the stairs. His door was closed, but Alija paid no attention to that now, pushing it open.
He lay there, beard overgrown and eyes creased, staring into the distance. His covers were pulled over his body, but his hand rested uncovered, shaking slightly. At her arrival, he turned to her "Alija?" his voice was rough and coarse, no sign of the polished surface she knew, "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were ill," she simply stated, moving over to sit beside him. She placed her hand against his forehead, like her mother did when she was little. The action was symbolic, not needed. Alija had already dug into her reserve of djed, letting it prick her eyes like tears as the world swelled. There was a light humming noise in her ears, then she forced it away, shifting shadows cast over everything and everyone. His was a flame, circling around his body. It was strong, still strong and burning, the life within him. But it flickered, ripples of darkness in the sickly green.
Then an immense heat overcame her, Alija's body tensing at the sense. At first, she pinned it as the fever, but surely that came with the fire and the sickly green colour. This surge of heat came with a feeling to herself. Uncomfort, pain. It was so incredibly strong, but Alija hadn't been able to notice it straight away. Were these his feelings, that he tried so hard to hide from her? They didn't seem right, but had to be. The shadows drifted away almost as quickly as they had come, disappearing into the real shadows. She hated delving into his aura, delving into his very essence. But it came so naturally.
"You have a fever."
"It's nothing." It was though, she knew. "I'll be better soon." A sharp cough.
But what if he wasn't. In his situation, he couldn't just reveal himself. Alija knew he wouldn't, whether the danger out there was real or not. Even if it wasn't, one had come because of the hiding. People would wonder about why he hadn't ever left the house, made himself known. People would wonder if he had something to hide.
So if he didn't get better, calling a doctor simply wouldn't help. She knew that. He would never let her.
"I'll fetch you some tea." Alija rose, stepping out the room. Why did he have to get ill, of all things!
Alija reached out the window, snatching Kial's shirt from where it hung haphazardly from the line pegged across the narrow alley at the back. Her fingers trailed out further, one hand pressed against the windowsill to keep her steady. The cloth of her trousers brushed against her mocking and for a moment, she lost her grip, feeling herself moving over the edge. The next moment she got it again, hands tight around the sill. She reached out again, this time grabbing a firm hold and tugging it loose from the pegs. They hung there alone, then with the final pull from the shirt slid together, pressed tight as one.
It was this, or leave the clothes lower where anyone could take them.
Quickly folding both, she placed them on the pile with the rest of the laundry, all clean and dry. Humming, she gathered them, moving out of the room and up the staircase, heading towards the bedrooms.
Thegans stopped her mid-step, eyes looking at her worried. "Your father's ill."
Alija paused in the middle of a note, taking in his words. He couldn't be ill, he couldn't. Shoving the clothes at her friend, Alija pushed past him, tearing up the stairs. His door was closed, but Alija paid no attention to that now, pushing it open.
He lay there, beard overgrown and eyes creased, staring into the distance. His covers were pulled over his body, but his hand rested uncovered, shaking slightly. At her arrival, he turned to her "Alija?" his voice was rough and coarse, no sign of the polished surface she knew, "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were ill," she simply stated, moving over to sit beside him. She placed her hand against his forehead, like her mother did when she was little. The action was symbolic, not needed. Alija had already dug into her reserve of djed, letting it prick her eyes like tears as the world swelled. There was a light humming noise in her ears, then she forced it away, shifting shadows cast over everything and everyone. His was a flame, circling around his body. It was strong, still strong and burning, the life within him. But it flickered, ripples of darkness in the sickly green.
Then an immense heat overcame her, Alija's body tensing at the sense. At first, she pinned it as the fever, but surely that came with the fire and the sickly green colour. This surge of heat came with a feeling to herself. Uncomfort, pain. It was so incredibly strong, but Alija hadn't been able to notice it straight away. Were these his feelings, that he tried so hard to hide from her? They didn't seem right, but had to be. The shadows drifted away almost as quickly as they had come, disappearing into the real shadows. She hated delving into his aura, delving into his very essence. But it came so naturally.
"You have a fever."
"It's nothing." It was though, she knew. "I'll be better soon." A sharp cough.
But what if he wasn't. In his situation, he couldn't just reveal himself. Alija knew he wouldn't, whether the danger out there was real or not. Even if it wasn't, one had come because of the hiding. People would wonder about why he hadn't ever left the house, made himself known. People would wonder if he had something to hide.
So if he didn't get better, calling a doctor simply wouldn't help. She knew that. He would never let her.
"I'll fetch you some tea." Alija rose, stepping out the room. Why did he have to get ill, of all things!