The Weaver's Source

Part Five: Chapter 61

I stared up at the sky with grim disgust. It was midday, not that you could tell. The sky was crowded with grey clouds, not letting much sunlight to pass them, a common sight, but it was the small specks that drifted lazily down from above that upset me.

Snow. The first of many had started. Autumn had moved on and winter had finally come. Already breeze had grown ever bitter and felt the frost covered grass and mud crush like stones beneath my feet. I never had anything against winter before. I had enjoyed it ever since I was a child but I always had a home with a warm hearth and billions of blankets and a roof over my head with only storms to survive against. Spending winter out in the open where ice and snow ruled and nothing to protect me bar a thick cloak didn't make me very welcoming to the season anymore.

I looked down when I heard my name called. Grigore was further up the road, indicating to me to come. He wasn't smiling but I had the feeling he was in a faintly good mood once again. It pleased me he was less grumpy these days, it made travelling with him far less awkward as he didn't often go through bouts of ignoring me or brooding moodily to himself.

I set off again, rubbing my red hands together violently. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"I noticed." He replied, watching my approach intently. I could just about see his face through his beard. He hadn't shaved or cut his hair once since we left the farming town nearly a month ago. Now he just looked really messy and rugged, which was emphasised by the scarred skin that wouldn't allow any hair to grow. I did hope to convince him to cut it soon. I missed being able to see his face clearly.

He turned and continued onwards, walking lithely over the hard road with long strides. I watched him for a moment, pleased his magic was still holding up, fuelled by small hunts of almost insignificant monsters, and that he'd recovered fully from the black dog. The first week had been slow with me forcing him to rest early so he'd get the sleep he clearly needed, but with his recovery came my own. After a few days my magic had come back, reawakened with new and deeper reserves. While I was happy to have it back and feeling stronger than I had ever felt it before, I didn't like that Grigore began to distance himself physically again, ensuring we never touched and kept himself a pace away from me. The emotional walls hadn't been restored thankfully but I missed the closeness with him and wished he'd let me sleep beside him and touch his bare hands whenever I wanted again. I quietly cursed the small twittering ball of magic nestled in my chest, oblivious to the issues it caused.

My steps along the wide road slowed gently as I sifted through my pack. I pulled free the book Lillith had written for me and flicked it open randomly. I hadn't finished it yet as I often re-read things over and over, trying my best to absorb the information as much as I could instead of relying on written passages. There was a vast array of things she wrote about, all random and without much planning, as if she was writing about whatever came to her head. One moment she would be talking about the hunting patterns and physical traits of wargs then the next about the geographical layout of a southern province, what hunted there and where to avoid. It really hammered home how much she had experienced, how long she had lived.

I mostly sought out the pages on Sources, trying my best to expand my knowledge of myself and the magic. So far, I'd simply reaffirmed things Lillith had taught me before; that my magic was living and had to be passed through physical contact, which causes it to flare up a desire to touch Grigore. I read a little more about what she meant about holding wards, that one day I could essentially play the role of a Weaver so long as Grigore wove the spells for me, but this page was something new. It spoke about emotions, how my magic would inform me of what he felt, ensuring I was alert when he felt danger, but also as a way to bond me closer to him, feeling what he felt, ensuring I knew what he needed and when. But I froze as my gaze drifted over the words and my cheeks began to turn pink, my feet faltering. The way Lillith spoke about it made it sound like it worked both ways. That Grigore would feel my emotions, to know when I needed him or something was wrong that my magic didn't convey. Every time I felt his emotions stir thickly, he was feeling something similar in me; anger, frustration, attraction...