Dryad Eyes, part 23
After a brief hiatus, I'm back! 2,785 words today. I don't know when the next entry will be up. It depends on whether or not the video game 'Demons Souls' will let me have my life back or not. x_x
This entry might be a little shaky. A month or two off the horse will leave a guy feeling a little rusty, every time.
It was snowing again. Treyp could feel the small, cold flakes on her face as they rode into her room on the crisp wind that slipped in through the window she had just opened. Her nose told her that this was only the beginning. Winter was about to fall upon Keeper's Gateway in all its freezing, white fury. Of course, even without her telling nose, she would have known this. No wizard, living or dead, had ever created an advance warning system as unerringly accurate as Eyrenya, her cousin. The half-Wind Nymph was aware of almost everything local that could be said to exist within her Grandfather's purview. It was a useful talent. There would be no avoiding this storm, however. Even were they so inclined to try, Treyp herself could not yet travel following her recent mishaps. Then there was the matter of their uncle, Geran, who seemed to be stuck with an increasingly unpleasant situation. Someone had been fanning the flames of old hatreds, stirring a racial prejudice against Dryads to heights that had not been seen in years, and then had very deliberately leaked information concerning Geran's own link to that people to the citizens of Gateway. Over the past couple of days, the black-and-red clad soldiers that patrolled the streets had broken up dozens of fistfights, born of arguments on that very subject.
As she contemplated the situation, the storm and the strife, Treyp dimly heard the door open somewhere behind her. This was not accompanied by the surge of dread that had become briefly familiar over the past several days. Calm and largely unconcerned, she maintained her position before the window and drew into her lungs yet another long, cool breath of fresh air. What was there to be concerned about, she wondered? The man that had tried at least twice to kill her was dead and gone, he and his companions lain low by a young man named Matthew. Dear, sweet Matthew. She was not certain just how she felt about that.
The visitor that had entered her room, having concluded that she was going to be ignored if she did not speak, cleared her throat. It sounded like a child trying to behave as an adult, and that told Treyp immediately whom she was dealing with. Arimus, trapped in the body of her eight-year-old self, spoke the comment that the Dryad expected in that youthful voice, but the effect had already ceased to be comical days ago. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself so soon, Treyp. And you could catch a chill."
With a sigh, she answered. Ignoring the woman would lead only to further, firmer scoldings. "I have never been cooped up inside for so long before. This room has begun to shrink, I think. A bit of fresh air is worth whatever the risk may be."
"I wasn't chastising you. Think of it as a reminder to be more careful." Now that Treyp's attention was focused on her visitor, she could hear the rustle of cloth, and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. "Here, take this."
"What is it?" The bewildered dryad asked as the bundle of warmth and softness was pressed into her hands.
"Its a robe. A very nice robe, in fact, that goes with the very nice cloak that Matthew is holding for you out in the hall while I get you dressed and decent."
"Why is he waiting out there? He's already seen--"
"Even so," Arimus interrupted. Treyp wondered if she had made the other woman blush, and missed her eyesight for what must have been the hundredth time that day. The former musketeer pressed on without missing a beat. "Get dressed, Treyp. I would help you more if I could, but you are a bit taller than me these days."
"Are we going somewhere?" The dryad asked as she complied.
"Yes."
"Will you tell me where?"
"To see your Uncle. He'd like for you to hear what he has to say."
"Oh." Treyp's fingers faltered as she dragged the loose fitting gown she had been wearing over her head. The inevitable conversation with Geran, concerning his plans to continue his subterfuge at her expense, was something that she had been looking forward to and dreading in equal measures. "But you said before that I wasn't strong enough..."
"You're not. In a better situation, I would see you back in bed and you would stay there until your body was done repairing itself." Arimus did not, in fact, sound particularly pleased as she spoke. "Geran explained to me what he has in mind, though, and I agreed when he said that it was important that you hear his words. So, Matthew and I are going to help you, and we're going to take it slow and easy through the Keep. Okay?"
"Why can't he just come here?"
"Because his words are not meant for your ears alone." Came the grave response. "Here, now that you've got the robe on, let's put these boots on you..."
------------------------
Chaos once again ruled the City Council Chambers. It was not always thus, but recently troubled times had begun to take their toll. Dozens of men and women, known for their ability to lead and their diplomacy, had been reduced to a pack of panicked animals. Ripping and tearing at each other with verbal claws, they hardly noticed when the great, doublewide doors that separated them from the outside were pushed open. Three people were admitted, and the guards at the door challenged them only briefly before standing aside. One pair of eyes, belonging to none other than Haron himself, noticed the newcomers and he began calling for silence.
"Everyone! It is time! Please!" He cried. "Gentlemen! Ladies!"
It took some doing, and a bit of shouting, but the pandemonium finally slowed to a halt as the Council Members gave over their attention to Haron and the three visitors. The first of their number was a tall woman with sandy-blonde hair, and blue eyes. The Lady Charis was not unknown to anyone there, thanks to the rumors surrounding her and Geran. In fact, every person present had listened to, with interest, the most recent gossip that she had once again taken up residence in the King's rooms. The two men behind her were soldiers. Besides Charis, only Haron knew Aorthain's name, and not even he could recall having met Yolu. The latter, though clad in the red-and-black uniform of the Keepers of the Gate, also bore the facial tattoos of a truth-seeker. Trained from birth in a temple in the far north to fulfill their duties, they were both magically augmented to see and hear the truth and compelled to speak only the same.
"What are YOU doing here?" Haron sneered at Charis, speaking only after he was certain that the room had quieted enough for his words to carry to its furthest corners. He wanted witnesses for this encounter. "I'm sure you have better things to do, such as torching yet another tavern in your attempts to play 'hero.'"
"You." Her voice was level, her tone cool. Charis stabbed a finger into her former lover's chest. Had it been a blade, it would have pierced his heart. That fact was not lost on Haron as she spoke. "Aorthain and Yolu are here to escort you to your meeting with General Porthos."
"What--?"
Leaning forward and whispering so softly that only Haron could hear her words, Charis interrupted him again to add this. "Whatever happens next, you will not be here to witness it. Go now. Do not embarrass yourself further."
The officer stiffened. Before he could formulate an angry retort, or make any decision at all concerning what was about to happen, the two men that Charis had just named stepped forward and drew close to his sides. Aorthain placed a hand on Haron's arm. Yolu simply gripped the pommel of his sword. Realizing that there would be no use in fighting this progression of events, the officer nodded once and allowed himself to be escorted from the room. Charis turned, slowly, watching them go until they were out of sight.
"Assuming that the pissing contest is now concluded, are we to assume that you are here to answer our inquiry in lieu of Geran?" Turry Larn asked, his voice flat and as black as his thunderous expression. He had no opinion concerning the rumor surrounding Charis, save that such talk made her unsuitable to carry any kind of authority with credibility. That she carried a paper with the King's Seal irked him mightily.
"There will be no inquiry." Stating this, she simply handed over the paper she had been clutching. Though outwardly she was calm, Charis did not enjoy having every eye on her. Such attention did not suit her. What would they be telling their loved ones in a few hours, she wondered? That the 'King's Whore' was now an official position? In spite of herself, she felt her ears redden. Thankfully, no one noticed.
"He mocks us!" Cried Turry's brother, Shander, who had been reading over his shoulder. His outraged expression, which consisted of pressing his lips together while bugging his eyes behind his thick spectacles, looked comical.
"No," Charis assured him. "I think you will find that Geran has nothing but respect for this council. He helped you found it, or have you forgotten that? As his letter explains, however, the issue you have raised is bigger than this council, or even this city. Today, at noon, he will answer the accusations tossed against him-- but not behind closed doors, for your benefit alone."
"What, then? When?" Turry asked, looking up at her from the document in his hands.
"He will speak today, at noon, in the Keep's courtyard."
"It is almost noon now!" Someone cried.
Charis simply nodded. "You might say that he is eager to get this over with."
A new, frenzied chaos swept through the City Council Chambers as snap decisions were made and belongings were snatched up. The Lady withdrew moments before she would have been trampled, and the room was left empty save for a few, insignificant items that had been left on the floor.
------------------------
Treyp was beyond exhausted, this fact evidenced by her panting breaths and the sheen of sweat that covered her brow. She sat between Arimus and Matthew on one of the cold, hard benches that flanked the steps that lead up to the Keep from the courtyard. Eyrenya had joined them the very moment they had emerged from the dreary fortress, greeting her dryad cousin as brightly as any stray ray of sunshine that might peak through the clouds. Moments after they had taken their seat, Charis had arrived with a smile in her voice and a quick hug, murmuring something about them having found her favorite spot.
"If this is too much for you, we can take you back inside at any time. All you ahve to do is tell us." Arimus told Treyp for the second time. Were she not so miserable, the dryad girl would have been annoyed. Instead, she simply shook her head again, wondering all the while if she should take the woman-in-a-child's body up on that offer. Resting her weary head against Matthew's shoulder, she let her mind wander from this consideration to oblivion. She was very nearly asleep when the commotion around them changed. People became more excited, for a moment, and a ripple of exclamation and even a small round of applause circled through the crowd. Then conversation began to wither, and died away entirely. A hundred shushing-sounds pierced the ear, and a bit further away a woman cried out, 'The King!'
"He's here." Arimus inadvertently echoed that cry in softer tones, placing a hand on Treyp's shoulder. "It's time."
"Hello." Geran said, a bit uncertainly. Giving speeches was not something he did often, and he was not known for being particularly great at it. On top of that, his voice was unusually loud and odd sounding to his niece's ear. It made sense, of course, that he would use magic to amplify his words so that hundreds of people could hear it from his own lips. Treyp suspected, and rightly so, that either Kimera or Ganatal was at work behind this little anomaly. It would have been a safe bet.
"Hello... Thank all of you for coming." The King continued, finding that speaking conversationally would work perfectly well. Should he yell, he might shatter hundreds of eardrums, beginning with his own. "I have two matters that I would like to address. First, would the Lady Charis be so kind as to join me here on the steps?"
There came a rustling of cloth to Treyp's left, and Matthew shifted against the blind dryad as he made room for the woman that had been called to get by. Charis offered a brief apology for stepping on somebody's toes before drawing away. Allowing her imagination to fill in for her eyes, Treyp imagined the woman ascending the Keep's front steps to join Geran. That was almost certainly where he was standing. Perhaps she took his hand, or even kissed his cheek when she got there.
"I wish that we could make this announcement at a better, happier time." He was saying to Charis, and then his focus shifted to the several hundred people that faced them. "What comes next may overshadow this, but we want everyone to hear it. Perhaps that will put to rest some of the more vicious things that have been said about her."
"Lady Charis has agreed to marry me."
At least a portion of the crowd approved of this, and a part of that portion was ecstatic. There were cheers, both subdued and exuberant. Eyrenya was on her feet, whooping and whistling shrilly through her fingers. Treyp had to smile at that. Beside her, Arimus uttered a 'Good for him,' and Matthew grunted his agreement. Aside from her smile, the dryad girl remained silent. She was happy for her uncle. Truly, she was, but in that moment, she did not feel quite up to celebrating. Even were she not sore and exhausted, merely the stress from recent events would have left her empty of the kind of energy that her cousin displayed. The way things stood, should he not soon get to the point, Treyp feared she might sleep through it.
Finally, Geran cleared his throat. At that volume, it sounded like a passing, angry thunderstorm had suddenly crept up on them. "Thank you. All of you. Now that that is out in the open, we can get down to business."
"Dozens of rumors concerning me have been circulating the city. All of you have heard them. They say that I am not what I seem, that I am the fruit of a Dryad womb. This is, they say, a secret that I have been hiding since before I married Leeann in Camelot, and that the dryad girl in my company is, in fact, my kinswoman."
"All of these things..." Geran paused for a moment. It was not, as some, including Treyp, might have guessed, for dramatic effect. Though she would never know it, up until that moment he was not entirely certain as to just what he was going to say. He had nixed the 'adoption' story following her outburst, but had yet to think of any other story that would be even half as solid. In that moment however, while she could not see him, he could see his niece, and his sister beside her. "They are completely, absolutely, irrefutably true. Treyp is my niece. My mother's name was Ytyrra..."
To Treyp's ears, it sounded as though every living, breathing soul in the whole of Keeper's Gateway gasped collectively. She was among them. Then they exploded. People were yelling and arguing, becoming more vehement by the moment. Close to where she sat, a woman began sobbing. All the while, Geran was asking people to calm down, to hear him out, but not even his magically augmented voice could silence the storm that he had unleashed.
"We've got to get out of here," Arimus said. Notes of authority and concern crept into her voice. Again, Matthew agreed, saying so by action as he rose and lifted Treyp from the bench. As they worked her through the jostling, erratic crowd of people, she noted only the surface of the chaos about them. What she heard best of all, repeating over and over again through her mind, what her Uncle had said.
'True.'
Tears threatened to leak from her eyes, and she smiled in spite of the turmoil.
This entry might be a little shaky. A month or two off the horse will leave a guy feeling a little rusty, every time.
It was snowing again. Treyp could feel the small, cold flakes on her face as they rode into her room on the crisp wind that slipped in through the window she had just opened. Her nose told her that this was only the beginning. Winter was about to fall upon Keeper's Gateway in all its freezing, white fury. Of course, even without her telling nose, she would have known this. No wizard, living or dead, had ever created an advance warning system as unerringly accurate as Eyrenya, her cousin. The half-Wind Nymph was aware of almost everything local that could be said to exist within her Grandfather's purview. It was a useful talent. There would be no avoiding this storm, however. Even were they so inclined to try, Treyp herself could not yet travel following her recent mishaps. Then there was the matter of their uncle, Geran, who seemed to be stuck with an increasingly unpleasant situation. Someone had been fanning the flames of old hatreds, stirring a racial prejudice against Dryads to heights that had not been seen in years, and then had very deliberately leaked information concerning Geran's own link to that people to the citizens of Gateway. Over the past couple of days, the black-and-red clad soldiers that patrolled the streets had broken up dozens of fistfights, born of arguments on that very subject.
As she contemplated the situation, the storm and the strife, Treyp dimly heard the door open somewhere behind her. This was not accompanied by the surge of dread that had become briefly familiar over the past several days. Calm and largely unconcerned, she maintained her position before the window and drew into her lungs yet another long, cool breath of fresh air. What was there to be concerned about, she wondered? The man that had tried at least twice to kill her was dead and gone, he and his companions lain low by a young man named Matthew. Dear, sweet Matthew. She was not certain just how she felt about that.
The visitor that had entered her room, having concluded that she was going to be ignored if she did not speak, cleared her throat. It sounded like a child trying to behave as an adult, and that told Treyp immediately whom she was dealing with. Arimus, trapped in the body of her eight-year-old self, spoke the comment that the Dryad expected in that youthful voice, but the effect had already ceased to be comical days ago. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself so soon, Treyp. And you could catch a chill."
With a sigh, she answered. Ignoring the woman would lead only to further, firmer scoldings. "I have never been cooped up inside for so long before. This room has begun to shrink, I think. A bit of fresh air is worth whatever the risk may be."
"I wasn't chastising you. Think of it as a reminder to be more careful." Now that Treyp's attention was focused on her visitor, she could hear the rustle of cloth, and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. "Here, take this."
"What is it?" The bewildered dryad asked as the bundle of warmth and softness was pressed into her hands.
"Its a robe. A very nice robe, in fact, that goes with the very nice cloak that Matthew is holding for you out in the hall while I get you dressed and decent."
"Why is he waiting out there? He's already seen--"
"Even so," Arimus interrupted. Treyp wondered if she had made the other woman blush, and missed her eyesight for what must have been the hundredth time that day. The former musketeer pressed on without missing a beat. "Get dressed, Treyp. I would help you more if I could, but you are a bit taller than me these days."
"Are we going somewhere?" The dryad asked as she complied.
"Yes."
"Will you tell me where?"
"To see your Uncle. He'd like for you to hear what he has to say."
"Oh." Treyp's fingers faltered as she dragged the loose fitting gown she had been wearing over her head. The inevitable conversation with Geran, concerning his plans to continue his subterfuge at her expense, was something that she had been looking forward to and dreading in equal measures. "But you said before that I wasn't strong enough..."
"You're not. In a better situation, I would see you back in bed and you would stay there until your body was done repairing itself." Arimus did not, in fact, sound particularly pleased as she spoke. "Geran explained to me what he has in mind, though, and I agreed when he said that it was important that you hear his words. So, Matthew and I are going to help you, and we're going to take it slow and easy through the Keep. Okay?"
"Why can't he just come here?"
"Because his words are not meant for your ears alone." Came the grave response. "Here, now that you've got the robe on, let's put these boots on you..."
------------------------
Chaos once again ruled the City Council Chambers. It was not always thus, but recently troubled times had begun to take their toll. Dozens of men and women, known for their ability to lead and their diplomacy, had been reduced to a pack of panicked animals. Ripping and tearing at each other with verbal claws, they hardly noticed when the great, doublewide doors that separated them from the outside were pushed open. Three people were admitted, and the guards at the door challenged them only briefly before standing aside. One pair of eyes, belonging to none other than Haron himself, noticed the newcomers and he began calling for silence.
"Everyone! It is time! Please!" He cried. "Gentlemen! Ladies!"
It took some doing, and a bit of shouting, but the pandemonium finally slowed to a halt as the Council Members gave over their attention to Haron and the three visitors. The first of their number was a tall woman with sandy-blonde hair, and blue eyes. The Lady Charis was not unknown to anyone there, thanks to the rumors surrounding her and Geran. In fact, every person present had listened to, with interest, the most recent gossip that she had once again taken up residence in the King's rooms. The two men behind her were soldiers. Besides Charis, only Haron knew Aorthain's name, and not even he could recall having met Yolu. The latter, though clad in the red-and-black uniform of the Keepers of the Gate, also bore the facial tattoos of a truth-seeker. Trained from birth in a temple in the far north to fulfill their duties, they were both magically augmented to see and hear the truth and compelled to speak only the same.
"What are YOU doing here?" Haron sneered at Charis, speaking only after he was certain that the room had quieted enough for his words to carry to its furthest corners. He wanted witnesses for this encounter. "I'm sure you have better things to do, such as torching yet another tavern in your attempts to play 'hero.'"
"You." Her voice was level, her tone cool. Charis stabbed a finger into her former lover's chest. Had it been a blade, it would have pierced his heart. That fact was not lost on Haron as she spoke. "Aorthain and Yolu are here to escort you to your meeting with General Porthos."
"What--?"
Leaning forward and whispering so softly that only Haron could hear her words, Charis interrupted him again to add this. "Whatever happens next, you will not be here to witness it. Go now. Do not embarrass yourself further."
The officer stiffened. Before he could formulate an angry retort, or make any decision at all concerning what was about to happen, the two men that Charis had just named stepped forward and drew close to his sides. Aorthain placed a hand on Haron's arm. Yolu simply gripped the pommel of his sword. Realizing that there would be no use in fighting this progression of events, the officer nodded once and allowed himself to be escorted from the room. Charis turned, slowly, watching them go until they were out of sight.
"Assuming that the pissing contest is now concluded, are we to assume that you are here to answer our inquiry in lieu of Geran?" Turry Larn asked, his voice flat and as black as his thunderous expression. He had no opinion concerning the rumor surrounding Charis, save that such talk made her unsuitable to carry any kind of authority with credibility. That she carried a paper with the King's Seal irked him mightily.
"There will be no inquiry." Stating this, she simply handed over the paper she had been clutching. Though outwardly she was calm, Charis did not enjoy having every eye on her. Such attention did not suit her. What would they be telling their loved ones in a few hours, she wondered? That the 'King's Whore' was now an official position? In spite of herself, she felt her ears redden. Thankfully, no one noticed.
"He mocks us!" Cried Turry's brother, Shander, who had been reading over his shoulder. His outraged expression, which consisted of pressing his lips together while bugging his eyes behind his thick spectacles, looked comical.
"No," Charis assured him. "I think you will find that Geran has nothing but respect for this council. He helped you found it, or have you forgotten that? As his letter explains, however, the issue you have raised is bigger than this council, or even this city. Today, at noon, he will answer the accusations tossed against him-- but not behind closed doors, for your benefit alone."
"What, then? When?" Turry asked, looking up at her from the document in his hands.
"He will speak today, at noon, in the Keep's courtyard."
"It is almost noon now!" Someone cried.
Charis simply nodded. "You might say that he is eager to get this over with."
A new, frenzied chaos swept through the City Council Chambers as snap decisions were made and belongings were snatched up. The Lady withdrew moments before she would have been trampled, and the room was left empty save for a few, insignificant items that had been left on the floor.
------------------------
Treyp was beyond exhausted, this fact evidenced by her panting breaths and the sheen of sweat that covered her brow. She sat between Arimus and Matthew on one of the cold, hard benches that flanked the steps that lead up to the Keep from the courtyard. Eyrenya had joined them the very moment they had emerged from the dreary fortress, greeting her dryad cousin as brightly as any stray ray of sunshine that might peak through the clouds. Moments after they had taken their seat, Charis had arrived with a smile in her voice and a quick hug, murmuring something about them having found her favorite spot.
"If this is too much for you, we can take you back inside at any time. All you ahve to do is tell us." Arimus told Treyp for the second time. Were she not so miserable, the dryad girl would have been annoyed. Instead, she simply shook her head again, wondering all the while if she should take the woman-in-a-child's body up on that offer. Resting her weary head against Matthew's shoulder, she let her mind wander from this consideration to oblivion. She was very nearly asleep when the commotion around them changed. People became more excited, for a moment, and a ripple of exclamation and even a small round of applause circled through the crowd. Then conversation began to wither, and died away entirely. A hundred shushing-sounds pierced the ear, and a bit further away a woman cried out, 'The King!'
"He's here." Arimus inadvertently echoed that cry in softer tones, placing a hand on Treyp's shoulder. "It's time."
"Hello." Geran said, a bit uncertainly. Giving speeches was not something he did often, and he was not known for being particularly great at it. On top of that, his voice was unusually loud and odd sounding to his niece's ear. It made sense, of course, that he would use magic to amplify his words so that hundreds of people could hear it from his own lips. Treyp suspected, and rightly so, that either Kimera or Ganatal was at work behind this little anomaly. It would have been a safe bet.
"Hello... Thank all of you for coming." The King continued, finding that speaking conversationally would work perfectly well. Should he yell, he might shatter hundreds of eardrums, beginning with his own. "I have two matters that I would like to address. First, would the Lady Charis be so kind as to join me here on the steps?"
There came a rustling of cloth to Treyp's left, and Matthew shifted against the blind dryad as he made room for the woman that had been called to get by. Charis offered a brief apology for stepping on somebody's toes before drawing away. Allowing her imagination to fill in for her eyes, Treyp imagined the woman ascending the Keep's front steps to join Geran. That was almost certainly where he was standing. Perhaps she took his hand, or even kissed his cheek when she got there.
"I wish that we could make this announcement at a better, happier time." He was saying to Charis, and then his focus shifted to the several hundred people that faced them. "What comes next may overshadow this, but we want everyone to hear it. Perhaps that will put to rest some of the more vicious things that have been said about her."
"Lady Charis has agreed to marry me."
At least a portion of the crowd approved of this, and a part of that portion was ecstatic. There were cheers, both subdued and exuberant. Eyrenya was on her feet, whooping and whistling shrilly through her fingers. Treyp had to smile at that. Beside her, Arimus uttered a 'Good for him,' and Matthew grunted his agreement. Aside from her smile, the dryad girl remained silent. She was happy for her uncle. Truly, she was, but in that moment, she did not feel quite up to celebrating. Even were she not sore and exhausted, merely the stress from recent events would have left her empty of the kind of energy that her cousin displayed. The way things stood, should he not soon get to the point, Treyp feared she might sleep through it.
Finally, Geran cleared his throat. At that volume, it sounded like a passing, angry thunderstorm had suddenly crept up on them. "Thank you. All of you. Now that that is out in the open, we can get down to business."
"Dozens of rumors concerning me have been circulating the city. All of you have heard them. They say that I am not what I seem, that I am the fruit of a Dryad womb. This is, they say, a secret that I have been hiding since before I married Leeann in Camelot, and that the dryad girl in my company is, in fact, my kinswoman."
"All of these things..." Geran paused for a moment. It was not, as some, including Treyp, might have guessed, for dramatic effect. Though she would never know it, up until that moment he was not entirely certain as to just what he was going to say. He had nixed the 'adoption' story following her outburst, but had yet to think of any other story that would be even half as solid. In that moment however, while she could not see him, he could see his niece, and his sister beside her. "They are completely, absolutely, irrefutably true. Treyp is my niece. My mother's name was Ytyrra..."
To Treyp's ears, it sounded as though every living, breathing soul in the whole of Keeper's Gateway gasped collectively. She was among them. Then they exploded. People were yelling and arguing, becoming more vehement by the moment. Close to where she sat, a woman began sobbing. All the while, Geran was asking people to calm down, to hear him out, but not even his magically augmented voice could silence the storm that he had unleashed.
"We've got to get out of here," Arimus said. Notes of authority and concern crept into her voice. Again, Matthew agreed, saying so by action as he rose and lifted Treyp from the bench. As they worked her through the jostling, erratic crowd of people, she noted only the surface of the chaos about them. What she heard best of all, repeating over and over again through her mind, what her Uncle had said.
'True.'
Tears threatened to leak from her eyes, and she smiled in spite of the turmoil.