Dryad Eyes #50
1,393.
Its been a long week. Writing this has been a much needed relief. Cheers!
Dryads were a hardy people. Amiendyn was right about that. However, even with their constitution, without the proper clothing or shelter, the harsh winter that had fallen on Keeper’s Gateway was a dangerous thing. The Sisters that had followed Ytyrra into the area had carried, among other things, makeshift shelters and minor magics to keep themselves warm. Treyp, however, clad in the grey peasants robe she had used as a disguise and precious little else, was hardly prepared for it.
When Matthew finally found her, Treyp was sitting in the cold snow that covered an otherwise open expanse of the Keep’s roof. Her arms were wrapped tight about her torso, and she was visibly shivering as she rocked steadily back and forth. The wind stole away the sound of her sobs.
Caution, Ytyrra had told him, was the better part of valor. Given the way that Treyp had reacted to him when she exited the room, he was inclined to agree. She never saw him, and he felt only a little guilty for leaving her a little longer in the cold.
Fortunately her flight had not carried her far, and he could run faster than she had. Matthew stepped back into the room where Ytyrra, Amiendyn and Deredon waited but a few heartbeats later. Walking directly to Ytyrra, he passed his cloak to her.
“Go to the end of the hall,” he said. “Turn right. You’ll see the stairs leading to the roof. She’ll be about twenty feet behind where you come up at.”
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“So, what?” Deredon chuckled and tried to not laugh outright. “She went to have a cry in the snow? Talk about stu--”
He never saw Matthew’s fist. The assassin moved too fast for that. One moment Deredon was speaking, almost grinning, and in the next he was staggering backwards as blood spilled down his chin and the front of his shirt. Matthew watched him for a moment, his fist still readied as if he might do it again. Then, as if deciding that he was satisfied his point had been made, he walked out of the room.
“What the hell?!” Deredon cried, his voice sounding thick as he clutched at his bleeding nose. “What the hell was that?!”
“I don’t think he likes you either,” Ytyrra’s response was innocent and full of mirth. She patted him on the shoulder as she moved past. “Amiendyn, would you show him how to put pressure on that?”
“Ugh,” was Amiendyn’s first response. If anything, she disliked this one even more than did Treyp. Then, feeling slightly embarrassed at responding thus to the Eldest Sister, she moved toward Deredon. The last words she spoke before Ytyrra was entirely gone from earshot were, “Relax. Tilt your head back.”
The cold air felt good to Ytyrra. Having lived nearly her entire long life outdoors, even the harsh climate that had descended on Keeper’s Gateway was more intrinsically appealing to her than were the claustrophobic confines of the Keep itself. At the top of the stairwell she paused, taking just a moment to draw that fresh, frigid air into herself. It was good. She turned then and walked over to where Treyp still sat.
No words were exchanged when Ytyrra knelt beside the grieving younger woman. She instead draped Matthew’s cloak over Treyp’s shaking, shivering form and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was not the first time that Ytyrra had comforted her thus. From scraped knees to the bitter disappointment of a little girl that did not want her father to go away again, the Eldest Sister had been there to help her weather every storm. That made it easy to give in, to relax and lean into Ytyrra’s embrace.
When finally Treyp’s tears began to ebb and she was able to catch her breath, she spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand your grief.” Ytyrra stroked her hair.
“I got him killed.”
“No.”
“Yes!” Treyp sobbed. “He… if Andrek didn’t have a crush on me he would have run when the demon first attacked us.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he would have stayed anyway. Would you have left a stranger to face that alone?”
“I sent him to Geran.”
“And Geran tasked him with bringing you back to him,” Ytyrra replied. “Does that make it his fault?”
“No.” Treyp sighed. “The real fault lies with the one who did the killing. I know that. But knowing that in my head doesn’t stop my heart from breaking.”
“That is because you have a good heart, Treyp. And Andrek was a fine young man.” Ytyrra answered. Then, when Treyp looked at her in askance, she explained her observation. “I had the privilege of getting to know him, briefly, before Geran sent him to find you.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like to know something that Andrek told me?”
“What?”
“He looked up to Geran above all others.” A smile appeared on Ytyrra’s face. “His greatest goal in life was to live up to the example that my Son set.”
“I… Heh.” New tears dripped from Treyp’s red and puffy eyes. “Maybe he would have stayed to fight the demon after all.”
“Perhaps.”
“That is funny. And I think maybe I should feel horrible for thinking it so.”
Ytyrra disagreed with a shake of her head. “No, Little Sister. Remembering how to smile does not mean that you have disrespected the dead. It only means that you are still alive, and unable to remain perpetually miserable.”
“Thank you, Eldest Sister.” Treyp sniffed loudly. Then a thought occurred to her, and she asked the next question quickly. “I didn’t hurt Matthew when I-- ?”
“No,” Ytyrra answered and chuckled. “He is quick, and I suspect that he is even tougher than he looks. You’ll not bring harm to him so easily.”
“I certainly hope not,” Treyp said softly.
“You like him. I can tell.”
“And so can everybody else!” Treyp retorted hotly. “I… we have not been discreet.”
“I see.” Ytyrra grinned. Treyp blushed. While the Eldest Sister was amused by the younger woman’s admission, she was more relieved. The broken heart that Treyp had suffered had not been mended. Only time would do that. She was, however, acting more like herself, emerging from the deep, dark pit of despair that she had plunged into.
“Are you ready to go back inside?” queried Ytyrra. “This bitter cold isn’t good for you. And I should think that Matthew will be wanting his cloak back.”
“Yes. I’m quite sure he feels naked without it.” Treyp answered, and allowed the other woman to help her to her feet. “Besides. I really need to lash out at a Demon right now, and Matthew has my only means of doing that.”
“What do you mean?”
It took only a few moments. While they crossed the snow covered roof and descended down the steps into the Keep, Treyp filled Ytyrra in on all of it. She began her explanation with her strange ability to ‘see’ the Demon while blind, and then highlighted her plan to temporarily blind herself since her sight had already returned.
Ytyrra was frowning. “Is it safe?”
“No.” Treyp answered. “But I haven’t any choice. This thing has to be stopped, like yesterday, and I am sitting on what is probably one of the only advantages we have over it.”
“I see.” Ytyrra said again. Though she still seemed troubled and even opened her mouth to speak on it again, they just then rounded the corner leading back to her room. There they found themselves face-to-face with a waiting Matthew.
He seemed calm. Leaning casually against the wall, maintaining his composure, he might even have been described as being impassive. Treyp thought he had a slightly anxious air about him. Ytyrra, with her hundreds of years of experience at reading people, would have been inclined to agree. He pushed away from the wall and stood upright when he saw them.
Treyp did not falter. She walked right up to the assassin, and watched his face. They were close enough to kiss. Then, very abruptly, stiffly, she leaned into him. Matthew’s hands came up defensively. Then, with her face buried against his shoulder, her arms snaked around his torso. Mollified, he relaxed his arms and returned her embrace.
“I’m ready,” she murmured against him. “I’ll need those eye drops.”
“Okay.”
Its been a long week. Writing this has been a much needed relief. Cheers!
Dryads were a hardy people. Amiendyn was right about that. However, even with their constitution, without the proper clothing or shelter, the harsh winter that had fallen on Keeper’s Gateway was a dangerous thing. The Sisters that had followed Ytyrra into the area had carried, among other things, makeshift shelters and minor magics to keep themselves warm. Treyp, however, clad in the grey peasants robe she had used as a disguise and precious little else, was hardly prepared for it.
When Matthew finally found her, Treyp was sitting in the cold snow that covered an otherwise open expanse of the Keep’s roof. Her arms were wrapped tight about her torso, and she was visibly shivering as she rocked steadily back and forth. The wind stole away the sound of her sobs.
Caution, Ytyrra had told him, was the better part of valor. Given the way that Treyp had reacted to him when she exited the room, he was inclined to agree. She never saw him, and he felt only a little guilty for leaving her a little longer in the cold.
Fortunately her flight had not carried her far, and he could run faster than she had. Matthew stepped back into the room where Ytyrra, Amiendyn and Deredon waited but a few heartbeats later. Walking directly to Ytyrra, he passed his cloak to her.
“Go to the end of the hall,” he said. “Turn right. You’ll see the stairs leading to the roof. She’ll be about twenty feet behind where you come up at.”
“Thank you, Matthew.”
“So, what?” Deredon chuckled and tried to not laugh outright. “She went to have a cry in the snow? Talk about stu--”
He never saw Matthew’s fist. The assassin moved too fast for that. One moment Deredon was speaking, almost grinning, and in the next he was staggering backwards as blood spilled down his chin and the front of his shirt. Matthew watched him for a moment, his fist still readied as if he might do it again. Then, as if deciding that he was satisfied his point had been made, he walked out of the room.
“What the hell?!” Deredon cried, his voice sounding thick as he clutched at his bleeding nose. “What the hell was that?!”
“I don’t think he likes you either,” Ytyrra’s response was innocent and full of mirth. She patted him on the shoulder as she moved past. “Amiendyn, would you show him how to put pressure on that?”
“Ugh,” was Amiendyn’s first response. If anything, she disliked this one even more than did Treyp. Then, feeling slightly embarrassed at responding thus to the Eldest Sister, she moved toward Deredon. The last words she spoke before Ytyrra was entirely gone from earshot were, “Relax. Tilt your head back.”
The cold air felt good to Ytyrra. Having lived nearly her entire long life outdoors, even the harsh climate that had descended on Keeper’s Gateway was more intrinsically appealing to her than were the claustrophobic confines of the Keep itself. At the top of the stairwell she paused, taking just a moment to draw that fresh, frigid air into herself. It was good. She turned then and walked over to where Treyp still sat.
No words were exchanged when Ytyrra knelt beside the grieving younger woman. She instead draped Matthew’s cloak over Treyp’s shaking, shivering form and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was not the first time that Ytyrra had comforted her thus. From scraped knees to the bitter disappointment of a little girl that did not want her father to go away again, the Eldest Sister had been there to help her weather every storm. That made it easy to give in, to relax and lean into Ytyrra’s embrace.
When finally Treyp’s tears began to ebb and she was able to catch her breath, she spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand your grief.” Ytyrra stroked her hair.
“I got him killed.”
“No.”
“Yes!” Treyp sobbed. “He… if Andrek didn’t have a crush on me he would have run when the demon first attacked us.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he would have stayed anyway. Would you have left a stranger to face that alone?”
“I sent him to Geran.”
“And Geran tasked him with bringing you back to him,” Ytyrra replied. “Does that make it his fault?”
“No.” Treyp sighed. “The real fault lies with the one who did the killing. I know that. But knowing that in my head doesn’t stop my heart from breaking.”
“That is because you have a good heart, Treyp. And Andrek was a fine young man.” Ytyrra answered. Then, when Treyp looked at her in askance, she explained her observation. “I had the privilege of getting to know him, briefly, before Geran sent him to find you.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like to know something that Andrek told me?”
“What?”
“He looked up to Geran above all others.” A smile appeared on Ytyrra’s face. “His greatest goal in life was to live up to the example that my Son set.”
“I… Heh.” New tears dripped from Treyp’s red and puffy eyes. “Maybe he would have stayed to fight the demon after all.”
“Perhaps.”
“That is funny. And I think maybe I should feel horrible for thinking it so.”
Ytyrra disagreed with a shake of her head. “No, Little Sister. Remembering how to smile does not mean that you have disrespected the dead. It only means that you are still alive, and unable to remain perpetually miserable.”
“Thank you, Eldest Sister.” Treyp sniffed loudly. Then a thought occurred to her, and she asked the next question quickly. “I didn’t hurt Matthew when I-- ?”
“No,” Ytyrra answered and chuckled. “He is quick, and I suspect that he is even tougher than he looks. You’ll not bring harm to him so easily.”
“I certainly hope not,” Treyp said softly.
“You like him. I can tell.”
“And so can everybody else!” Treyp retorted hotly. “I… we have not been discreet.”
“I see.” Ytyrra grinned. Treyp blushed. While the Eldest Sister was amused by the younger woman’s admission, she was more relieved. The broken heart that Treyp had suffered had not been mended. Only time would do that. She was, however, acting more like herself, emerging from the deep, dark pit of despair that she had plunged into.
“Are you ready to go back inside?” queried Ytyrra. “This bitter cold isn’t good for you. And I should think that Matthew will be wanting his cloak back.”
“Yes. I’m quite sure he feels naked without it.” Treyp answered, and allowed the other woman to help her to her feet. “Besides. I really need to lash out at a Demon right now, and Matthew has my only means of doing that.”
“What do you mean?”
It took only a few moments. While they crossed the snow covered roof and descended down the steps into the Keep, Treyp filled Ytyrra in on all of it. She began her explanation with her strange ability to ‘see’ the Demon while blind, and then highlighted her plan to temporarily blind herself since her sight had already returned.
Ytyrra was frowning. “Is it safe?”
“No.” Treyp answered. “But I haven’t any choice. This thing has to be stopped, like yesterday, and I am sitting on what is probably one of the only advantages we have over it.”
“I see.” Ytyrra said again. Though she still seemed troubled and even opened her mouth to speak on it again, they just then rounded the corner leading back to her room. There they found themselves face-to-face with a waiting Matthew.
He seemed calm. Leaning casually against the wall, maintaining his composure, he might even have been described as being impassive. Treyp thought he had a slightly anxious air about him. Ytyrra, with her hundreds of years of experience at reading people, would have been inclined to agree. He pushed away from the wall and stood upright when he saw them.
Treyp did not falter. She walked right up to the assassin, and watched his face. They were close enough to kiss. Then, very abruptly, stiffly, she leaned into him. Matthew’s hands came up defensively. Then, with her face buried against his shoulder, her arms snaked around his torso. Mollified, he relaxed his arms and returned her embrace.
“I’m ready,” she murmured against him. “I’ll need those eye drops.”
“Okay.”