"Yes, the gods do plenty for us, but I would not say that every god cares for us. The gods are much like us beings here on Mizahar. They hunger for power, and they thrive on their own strength. The only difference is that their powers far exceed our own, thus we depend on them to be safe from them... some of them. I feel I may have gone too far there, I apologies. Let me restate that. Some gods care only for power, and which ones I believe this to be true, I will not say for fear of my own safety. Rak'keli and Syna, I truly believe... I believe they care for me, and not because I believe in them. No, I believe in them because I trust that they care for me, genuinely so. Nealle smiled faintly as the two of them continued to talk. It was probably a rare sight, a six-armed woman clothed in a fine dress sitting on the side of the fountain, discussing the gods with a young man, hardly the age of a man, a squire, yet dressed as a commoner. In reality, she was probably the poorer of the two. She almost moved onto a few other gods she favored, Leth and Cheva, but she decided that would be for another time. Healing and Sight, Rak'keli and Syna, they probably made great sense as to why she would worship them. She desired healing from her blindness, she desired the sight Syna stood for. Leth and Cheva were for drastically different reasons.
"My opinion matters? I hardly know you Sir Knight... I mean Squire Geoffrey." Nealle giggled softly, it was an obvious jab at his title, but a playful one, no more than a jest. "Why should a stranger hold such a strength over you that her opinion intrigues you so much? I find the Syliran Knighthood noble, honorable, courageous. It's what any young girl would dream of having for a husband. But I am not Human, the Syliran code of Honor differs greatly to the ways of my homeland." It was like a shifting balance, half of her words were playful mockery, innocent jabs at humor, while others were serious and had distinct meaning to her life, bits and pieces of her past. "But interesting? I don't think so. I find an interesting man to be one that is convinced he is interesting. One who truly believes he is, to me, is interesting. So, tell me Geoffrey, should I think you are interesting?" Nealle was not going to let this game go. She was going to force Geoffrey to be 'arrogant' or 'pathetic'. Not that either was bad, since arrogance could be swapped for confidence, and pathetic, in this case, could be switched for humility. It was a trick question, it was, to her, a way to find out if he was aggressive or defensive, brave or stable. It didn't mean she would be able to sum his entire self in one word, that was absurd, but it would give the faintest of insight.
After a few moments, he asked to see her face, and that's when she fell completely silent. Her smile faded within seconds, and the hand that rested on her cheek, hiding the scar, trembled faintly. What could she say? She knew how it effected her back then, and she only just arrived here, not to mention here brother was gone now, heading back home. She would never be able to find him and have him escort her once again to a newer place to live. She wouldn't beg him for that again anyway. He gave up so much of his life protecting her already, she would feel terrible to depend on him farther. No, she didn't want to show her face. Nealle was, however, used to the Eypharian way of things. Beauty was so important that it often overshadowed what the person was like inside, and even their skills on occasion. She tried to think, how could she get out of this, what could she say to avoid this without appearing racist? Racist, it was the stereotypical Eypharian, ironic, but true. She wasn't, in fact, she detested the 'stereotypical' Eypharian simply because of how they were. She was completely altered from that way of life. "I... I don't... want to."
Regardless, her trembling hand grew weak and slowly dropped to her chest, clenching at the air as if her heart was right there, and it was beating heavily enough to convince her of that. Her head lowered slightly, yet not so much that every single feature couldn't be examined. Nealle waited, she didn't want him to say anything, not a word, good nor bad. It was all conflicting emotion in her life. Her people saying one thing, her brother saying another. Her people unwilling to help her, her brother risking everything and more just to give her a chance at an almost-bearable life. What would Seshem do now?
From her right eye, a single tear dropped, rolling down until it was caught perfectly in the groove of the scar, and flowed downwards like a small bubbling brook. Without realizing it, she slipped into her native tongue, muttering some phrase over and over, hysterically repeating herself, yet still sat there, patient, awaiting Geoffrey's judgement. It was bound to come and strike her chest like a warhammer, crushing the ribs, breaking the heart.
The Arumenic language poured from her lips. "Brother, where are you? Brother, where are you? Brother, where are you?" |