Denial of the Whisper

Chapter Thirty-Three.

A/N: You might want to start to take notes of the ancient tongue. Just a little tip.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

I don't know for how long I've lain awake that night, not being able to sleep.

Caaln had left at some point, telling me that he had to inspect some training camp, but would be back the next day in the late afternoon, and would continue my training, now, that my bump was almost healed and I knew what I was.

Half Fleyr.

I was still processing the new information I had just received. About what I was. Or, about what they told me I was, what Nyshard told me.

And I believed him. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, maybe, I wouldn't have. But he showed me, and that made me believe him.

I believed him.

So far, I was able to tell, that he hadn't lied to me. Whatever he did, he had his reasons for it. Was it telling me that I was in danger, was it calling me a halfling... he'd been right about all of that.

He was taking his promise seriously, and he'd been taking a great effort just to bring me here and to protect me. No, we wouldn't be friends. Not, if he didn't want to. But I was thankful.

Even though he still had control over my life through the bond.

Cursing slightly, I rolled to my other side and closed my eyes, trying desperately to get to sleep.

'Mitra?'

I sank onto my knees, the small stones poking into my skin. But I didn't feel the pain. I didn't feel anything, only that emptiness inside of me.

With shaky hands, I reached for her, brushed bright, fair hair out of her face, cupped her cheek and stared into those familiar, dark brown eyes.

'No', I breathed, and looked at the sword impaled in her belly.

Her round belly.

Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow.

The blood... there was so much blood. Flowing in little runlets out of the wound, soaking her bright, fair, long hair in a crimson red.

'Mitra, I whispered again.

'Tagnih...', she murmured, grimacing from the pain her deadly wound caused her. 'Destiny... myn draia jas anas. Myn lapso, myn frija. Tagnih... dyn jas sa pri-...' She coughed, and some droplets of blood ran down her chin. 'jas dros nos demra sirpal, frija'

'No', I breathed, as her face went paler and paler with every shaky breath she took.

I glanced at her stomach, at her round stomach and put my hand onto it 'Mitra, dyn lapso.' I said, and her smile saddened 'Myn lapso... dyn... jas draia.'

'Mitra, ne', I begged and my falling tears started to mix with her blood. 'Ne!'

"Adri? Adriyle?", someone shook me,

"Mitra, ne...", I awoke with a start, sobbing violently. "Mitra...", I whispered again, and shook my head, tears streaming down my face, someone was there, next to me, hand on my arm.
"Who...?", I started, but then I somehow knew, that it was Nyshard.

His dark hair was a mess, and in the din, moonlit room, I was able to make out his blue eyes watching me, concerned.

'He doesn't care about it', I told myself. 'We're not friends'