These Old Bones

14-1

14

Brorzjav paced back and forth outside the door. Every so often, he would stop, place his ear against the door and grumble to himself, then the pacing would begin again. The girl and the Dragon-Kin had sequestered themselves within, it seemed, hours ago and, apart from the odd bump and shuffle, no sign of either of them leaving the room appeared to be forthcoming.

Tiera sat on one of the long seats, resting her legs, leaning back against the arm of the seat, tossing pieces of cooked alligator meat into her mouth. He could tell she found his impatience humorous. Chuckling to herself every once in a while and shaking her head.

"I don't like it." He leaned against the door again, pressing his ear against the tight vines, tugging at his braided beard. "How long should such a thing take?"

"It'll take as long as it takes, Grey." Tiera made a grand sweeping gesture with her hand, indicating the other long seat across from her. "You should relax. Have some meat bites. They have this wonderful spice rubbed into them that makes your tongue tingle."

"I'll not bother, if you don't mind." He moved from the door and sat on the edge of the long seat, his foot tapping a restless rhythm, holding his fingers steepled between his knees. "It's been a while."

"It has." Tiera picked up the mug of ale, sat on a table beside the platter of meats and swilled the drink around her mouth before swallowing.

Brorzjav stood again, pulling at his repaired mail shirt. The Toad-Kin armourers had performed fine work, replacing all the mismatched and broken links, oiled and shined it and it felt odd upon his shoulders. Likewise, his clothes, fresh laundered, had a strange feel to them. Too soft. Too pliable and with an odd smell that reminded him of flowers. Like the jasmine his mother would cultivate in long pots outside the door to the family longhouse. It made him uneasy smelling something that reminded him of the past.

He placed his hand at his belt where Notch should be but, as Tiera had reminded him, his sword would be nothing but a sign of distrust to Irimik and the Toad-Kin. He'd left Notch in the room, laid on the bed. He missed having it at his side, even though, for months, he had carried the battered sword in his pack, not on his hip. Wearing it again felt good. Better than it had for a while after that last battle, during the war.

The pacing started again, his hands rubbing together as he walked. He ignored the chuckle from Tiera. She seemed to chuckle at him a lot since entering this castle. From the night before as Viriili brushed his hair with an unfettered ferocity, to the tying of the braids, to his return from the morning walk with Irimik's arm wrapped tight with his own. Chuckle after chuckle. He would have to spar with the older girl and knock the chuckle out of her.

The click of the door unlocking sent him scrambling back to the long seat, dropping down upon it and trying to appear as if he had sat there the entire time. Tiera almost fell from her seat in laughter, happy tears pricking at the corner of her eyes as he fired an annoyed glare in her direction.

"We know you were outside the door, old man." Viriili walked past him and moved to the table with the meat platter, picking up a piece, sitting beside Tiera and beginning to nibble, both sets of fingers holding the small chunk of meat.

"Aye. I may have stretched my legs. Once or twice." He glanced at Irimik who walked into the room, swaying her hips and looking almost angry. "It didn't work, did it?"

"Oh, it worked." Irimik passed Viriili, ruffling the girl's hair and Viriili smiled up at the elderly Dragon-Kin. "This 'Invisible Hand' is, indeed, magical in nature. The healing power, however, is not. I can only presume that the former is a natural power, that activated upon reaching puberty, and the latter is a gift from the Patron, Elea Kha, as the Priestesses said."