TOSKA | Sihtric Kjartansson

𝐗𝐈.

BEAMFLEOT, EAST ANGLIA ( 886 )
— modern day Benfleet, England

WALKING SEEMED LIKE A GOOD ENOUGH OCCUPATION FOR ZVORA.

Walking the stairs up and down with no clear direction. Walking from one corridor to the next.

Walking into the courtyard and conquering the distance from the entrance to the first Inn and back.

Walking to the stables, walking a quick circle and then walking back to said entrance.

The routes were quickly done and after that she would walk some more, either repeating the route or she would think of another one she could do until the sun would go down.

It had its perks, that much Zvora had to agree with. She always heard bits and pieces of the things that were hushed in corners that were not overseen, she saw men that were desperately trying not to be seen and she was able to get a few minutes of peace and quiet in which nothing was said but the thoughts inside her head she tried to order.

The sky had already darkened when Zvora had reached the stables in her route and walked past the neighing horses towards the small backyard where most of the equipment and gear was stored.

It was a round place, gravel and sand covering the ground and with a few hay rolls that were stapled at the wooden wall that belonged to the stables. In all her walks Zvora had never stopped there, the darkness turning the place into an eerie and secluded area that was shrouded from everything that happened in the courtyard.

A strange feeling of peacefulness began to relax Zvora's fingers, making her walk over the gravel and listening to the sound it made under her boots before she leaned against the thick wood that protected the fortress from the outside.

"I can see you, you know," Zvora finally said, turning her head towards the alcove that lay in shadows from which the man emerged that she had previously seen before.

Up close he didn't appear to be much older than her, so she had to correct her thoughts into: young man.

"I am sorry if I have disturbed you," he said, his voice a soft tune that echoed from the walls.

"I think it's the other way around. You were here first."

"That's true." In the darkness she wasn't able to tell but his lips curved themselves into a smile.

Silence followed in which both of them simply looked at the other, assessing and calculating what laid before them.

Zvora saw a young man, barely older than herself with silver arm rings that glistened in the pale moonlight and wristbands out of withered leather, tattoos were visible on his fingers but she couldn't decipher what they were supposed to mean.

She tried to remember his picture in daylight, from the time where she had first met him in Lundene, but even there he had always been engulfed in shadows and clouded by darkness, the picture she had of him blurred in her mind.

Only his eyes were clear — mismatched eyes that now appeared to hold the doors to the abyss.

"I've seen you before," Zvora remarked, not tolerating the silence any longer but also too curious for her own good to simply walk away.

The man looked rather startled.

"You have?"

"You were in Lundene," she elaborated, "when the English envoy came to negotiate."

He said nothing.

"You were with the man they call Uhtred, were you not?"

With his face half-way covered by darkness it was hard to see if her statement shocked or intrigued him, either way he wasn't making any attempt to escape the situation.