| Would she find offense in his offering, perhaps grow into insatiable sobs that threatened to drown them where they stood? Or would she find some relief in his small token of concern enough to slow the stampede of her wrath and depression? Eoin was undecided, he knew not the right answer or if there even was one, he was no seer when it came to the plagues of the heart. But then, like the spluttering of a carriage pulled by a too old mare, her words hammered through the mire of worries. Naturally, the man turned to face her, a girl barely recognizable under the lightly tousled hair clinging to a drenched face. The way she struggled with her speech simply added another pinprick to his conscience, as this may have been his fault in the first place. Who knew? Certainly, not this Avora that’s for sure. At first, he found his throat dry despite having previously spoken, as if following suit with his eyes. It seemed as though his entire body was suffering from desertification. He had come because…he was guilty, he was responsible, he was in the wrong. Eoin knew this, he had known, but it came time to speak he couldn’t put his ideas into words. The man was beginning to doubt himself, for he knew not if he was truly in the wrong or if it was an imagined mindset brought on by the girl’s sudden and explosive reaction. Yet he knew, even if he was not the culprit, he had felt so and acted accordingly. “I came because…I did you wrong for prying into your business. I had to take responsibility.” He probably wanted to take responsibility as well, but “had” was the word that first surfaced. Unfamiliar was he with the nuances of language and their implications, not that the man didn’t realize. Eoin spoke enough confidence to remain sincere, but the look in his eyes was disbelieving. They seem to speak of struggles, a peep hole to his tangled mind. Then, pausing as deeper lines of confusion marked his expression, Eoin stated as if it was as simple as the rising and falling of Syna and Leth. “I’m sorry because I just am.” Was this girl saying that there was such thing as feeling too regretful? If one felt so, isn’t it simply the right amount of regret for them? As chimes continued to pass, the man felt more and more separated from this Chiet’s reality, or was he coming closer to it? There seemed no end to this madness. No, it would not end peacefully. It would end in bells and whistles and a great many explosions. Eoin momentarily relaxed, wishing rather than thinking that the storm had passed, but he had been dilly dallying in the eye of it instead. On instinct, he winced into an expression similar to her first outburst, lips taut and eyes blinking with more force than necessary. And just like last time, she had brought up a point that caused him to doublethink, almost manually working the question through step by step. That’s right, she was a Chiet, she was lower than he and thus less important, less necessary and more replaceable. That was the mantra of their community, their culture; he was the strange one in all of this. Eoin knew he was not quite like the others despite possessing the same sense of pride, passion and drive. His simply manifested in a different manner and that was what he believed, or perhaps convinced so often than he thought it was the truth. But what of the people that could not make the climb to safety, and were swept and thrown against the stone steps in an endless sea storm? What of his mother, so decrepit of mind yet in cruel irony, was once so vibrant and destined for greatness? He would not make the claim that this girl was like her, the Chiet had neither the right nor misfortune to be compared to that woman. However, she was like many that had potential waiting to be nurtured, but stood idly on the carved masonry while she watched those less fortunate than her drown and perish as she thanked the gods that it was not her that day. Eoin was the same and there was nothing dignifying about being higher and thus further from the misfortune, as it would go on whether he witnessed or not. That was the way they lived but he did not want to do the same, not if he could help it. “You do.” He spoke slowly, a low tone indicative of his base position at the foot of the stairs. Those puzzled eyes were now somewhat darkened, but not quite as noticeable as the certainty in his words. A steady gaze was returned as he proceeded. “You all do, but no one seems to see it. That is a misfortune I don’t wish to contribute to.” His eyes fell lower as if to contemplate the situation once more with a renewed outlook. With greater ease, Eoin reasoned and expressed his thoughts. “You were wrong to steal, but I may have been too harsh with the way I dealt with it.” Then, while exhaling his shoulders dropped and unknowingly, let the anvils of concern fall from them. More than ever he seemed as genuine as the diamond on a tip cutter of a glassblower. “I think you and others like you have potential, so much that I could not help by ask that question.” Eoin retracted, realizing that he was likely rubbing alcohol on the still bleeding wound. “I hope you find comfort in using those vouchers.” He kept his vision locked on her, feet still planted in the same spot as the man stood and watched awkwardly, not knowing where to turn his gaze. Finally he settled on a nearby rock covered in dust, almost waiting for another assault of words to come his way. |
