We Solemn Few

Chapter Six : What Must Be Done

Sweat poured down Veyha's head as she shot up in her bed in a screaming jolt, her mix of golden and orange curls feeling heavy upon her head as she huffed breath after breath. Her head throbbed, shaking her mind to such an extreme that it was hard to think without forcing her to grit her teeth, so she sat there in silence - both in mind and reality - before it eventually washed out, leaving behind residual aches that pressed against her temples. With a heavy sigh she rose from her bed, throwing off the sweat-covered nightgown, sitting down at her desk before the thought of putting on more than smallclothes even came to mind. Clothes can wait, she told herself, dipping the edge of her quill in the nearby ink jar, Mythos, dreams!

Her memory was fleeting quicker than she could have imagined and quicker than most dreams ever had. By the time ink finally met paper half of whatever she dreamed had dispersed into incomprehensible images and words that swirled together, melded, and shattered to the point of unrecognizability. She grasped for what remained and forced it forward, flaring her headache, but she wrote on regardless. She recalled the archaic words "Holicawn Irxves," but she was unsure from where, and she could remember only seeing Marrow's right side. Why? What does it mean? She remembered seeing rubble at her feet and trees stretching out around her, both separately, and she remembered golden eyes, though from whom she had no idea. Finally she remembered her own touch grazing over Zenrin's cheek and him erupting in flames as consequence. Scorn me! I didn't mean to! She took a deep breath and threw the quill aside, waiting for the headache to pass. Not- I didn't do anything. It's just a dream, Veyha, get a hold of yourself. She swallowed dryly and folded up the piece of paper; it wasn't much, and it may have just been a dream, but she stuffed it away in a nearby pouch regardless.

She dressed slowly, drawing on a loose silk silk that didn't pair even slightly with her leather trousers and boots, but she didn't care in the slightest. Mjunik, she thought to herself as she left her bedroom, He knows of visions- no, of dreams. He can help me understand them, I'm sure. She didn't bother with breakfast; her mom left early in the morning to open up her bakery, so she thankfully didn't have to deal with her protests. She did, however, gulp down the small vial of medicine as was routine, sticking out her tongue as the medicinal aftertaste hit. Despite hating the taste, though, she was pleasantly surprised to find that her headache faded rather quickly afterward. She left the house with a purposeful stride.

Kluseth was a rather decently sized town, Veyha knew - smaller than Regnora, but larger than Selahn and Isrid both - but the amount of clustered chatter that filled her ears as she set out was more than she could have ever suspected, the normal bustle of the town seeming to have swelled ten-fold, all centered upon the town square. She eyed the gathering crowd curiously, watching as if she expected to understand from such a distance. She saw Sahmin and his hound - she restrained the urge to run over to pet them - pushing through the crowd himself, while Mister and Missus Vera stood separated from the crowd, though leaving their porch was enough of an oddity. She caught a glimpse of the ever-shining blonde hair of Samson and immediately forced her gaze past him. Mythos, that boy will bow his head through the underworld if he catches me staring! The Kelshire twins stood together deeper in the crowd, but they were, for once, not fighting. There were others, too, many of which were simply gathering for the sake of curiosity, and she suspected they were as curious as she. She considered walking over and pushing through herself, but she did not see Mjunik. No matter how curious I am, the Starsayer is more important.

Still, she couldn't keep herself from moving closer to the crowd, justifying it by telling herself that Mjunik's house was past the crowd anyways, so there was no harm to get closer. It was a poor excuse - getting closer was a detour, if anything - but she moved towards the crowd despite it and her eyes went wide a moment later. The crowd had gathered around a triage of horse riders and Veyha had to blink ten times to make sure she wasn't dreaming and ten times more to make sure she wasn't delusional. Wearing a divided riding skirt and jacket, black in color, was Mrs. Valein who looked anything but pleased. Her charcoal hair was tied in a bun, still, but a messy one that looked hastily prepared, and her grey eyes looked straight forward, her eyebrows furrowed in anger, contemplation, or both. Veyha had to stifle a laugh; the woman had always said she'd wear no less than a dress, so she must be furious. It took all the girl had to contain the laugh. To her right was Mr. Johta who, despite being saddled, was dressed in a formal, laced shirt with leather trousers and fine shoes. His greying hair was combed back, and his brown eyes were explicatively determined. He was responding to the many questions she could hear the crowd echoing, now, quelling concern just as quickly as reassuring others. She smiled; he was undoubtedly the best choice for mayor the town had seen.