1/5
The tempest whipped around them like an angry snake, twigs cracking and smacking into trunks and underbrush. Pressing on in this weather had been a bad idea, she knew as much. They both had been rather aware of that, but with her pursuers at their heels, there was little they could have done different. It was either facing them, or the elements, and while he had been confident he ‘could take them all, no matter what they’d throw at them’, she had lacked any such certainty.
“You still sure this was the right decision?” he asked.
“No need to mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you. I’m simply asking.”
She wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face, to clear the line of sight for the maximum effect of her scowl. “Then what’s with that tone.”
“The tone,” he said, taking a deep breath, “is because if you haven’t noticed, it’s a little loud out here, and I would prefer you heard me when I speak.”
She wrinkled her nose. There it was again, that tone. But fine, ok, if he said there was not tone, there was to be no tone. No point arguing any more. Instead, she sighed, stepping over a tree trunk. “I don’t know about right decision, O’Callum, it just seemed the only feasible one.”
He was right next to her, edge of his midnight blue coat soaking wet. “I told you, I could have taken them on.”
She scoffed. “And what, killed them?”
“Yes,” he simply said. No emotion, not even a blink.
“At what cost, you injuring yourself?”
“Hardly”, he said, knocking away a branch that came dangerously close to her face, so perfectly timed, she wondered if he meant to make a point about his fighting skills.
“Uhuh. And then what, they’d just send out a courier and more will come. Besides, last time we checked, there were at least twelve men.”
“And like I said last time, not a problem.”
2/5
She raised her eyebrows instead of replying. She knew he was well trained, reflexes like a cat and all that, but he still was just a man, and men liked to brag. Plus, the others were not exactly fighters in diapers either, they had been expensive mercenaries. So, while his confidence might have had the intention to ensure her she was in good hands, her sense of rationality simply would not let her believe it. And she did not feel like creating a scene where she would find out.
She stepped around a rock and found purchase in a small puddle. Cussing, she pulled her foot back out. Somehow, there were many different kinds of ‘wet’, and the foot-in-puddle kind seemed so much worse than the soaked-in-a-rainstorm kind.
“At least they won’t believe for a second anyone would voluntarily go out in this weather.”
He grunted. “Well, you’re right about that for sure. Only fools.”
She shot him a sharp look. “You followed me. Makes you a fool, too.”
He shook his head. “I’m not disagreeing. I must be a fool. However, I swore to protect you, so what choice do I have if you set your frustrating mind to bracing the entirety of the weather gods at once.”
She groaned. “I’m not even sure these are the weather gods we’re facing. They stopped listening. I think they just sent their daemons and storm-hounds, this is way out of control.” It was not prayers she had offered, nor invocations, she had simply tried to make conversation, yet none of the gods she usually spoke to had replied in the past hour or so.
“Indeed,” he laughed dryly, “you might be right about this. The rain tastes different.”
She stopped in her tracks, hip quiver knocking against the back of her leg. “What do you mean, the rain tastes different?” While he was one of those people to say weird things at the oddest moments, she had learned to trust his senses. At least when it did not come to fighting a dozen men at once.
“You don’t taste it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not out here trying to drink the rain, O’Callum.”
3/5
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not drinking it.” He licked the corner of his mouth, coaxing a few drops inside. “Gallvra doesn’t taste like this usually.”
She cocked up another eyebrow. “You have tasted Gallvra personally?” She wanted to mock him, but his background was still so obscured to her, she could not rule out his personal involvement with the Goddess of Rain and Mist. While she did not believe he was involved with any of the gods, he had her fooled more than once previously, so she did not dare assume anything at this point.
“No,” he said slowly, as if weighing his words. There was a detail in his facial expression that, while she could not place it, made her highly alert to an underlying importance. “I am not in the habit of tasting her personally,” he continued, “but her… product, it tends to reflect her, and this is not the refreshing nourishment she usually showers the earth with, neither is it the slightly bitter aftertaste she expels after an argument or the return or absence of her children…” He was referring to the spirits of waters and lakes, known to travel back to the heavens during new moons. Some people would say the rains tasted slightly bitter then, as if Gallvra was mourning. “This, it tastes more… metallic.”
“Metallic?”
“Yes.” He looked at her calmly. As if waiting for a verdict, or for her to understand something she had had no opportunity to grasp yet.
“What do you mean, metallic?”
He looked around, then pulled her under a large oak tree. They were still getting wet, but at least it provided a little shelter from the wind. “Here,” he brushed his fingers against the rough bark, then put them against her lips. Surprised, she reared back.
“What…”
“Indulge me.” He kept his hand where it was, mid-air in front of her face.
Now, this was awkward. What was she supposed to do with that?
I meant to write a #vss365 but somehow ended up with something that looks like a first chapter of something more.
Oops ✨
In other words, it paid off staying home sick with the flu today. I’m rather grateful.
Rest in comments🌧️
#quiver #WIPSnips #storm #commit #amwriting #fiction #fantasywriters