Auris of the Thousand Names: A Weaver's Chronicle

Sunwolf, the Confronted

Something draws Auris from sleep, several nights later, and she lies there, silent, willing herself to drift off again.  The scratching continues, and at last she sits up, looking over toward the window, blinking against the darkness.  Marran is there, focused on the wall, scratching at it—carving it.

"Oi, now," Auris frowns, "if you'd like to build your own house, you can do that there."

He looks back at her with a weak glare.

Auris raises a brow, unimpressed.  He continues carving.  "Marran.  You will cease defacing my property, or I will stop you myself."

"The place could use some decoration."

Auris slips free of the blankets, striding forward and catching his wrist in one hand.  "That is not the sort of decoration it needs."

Marran turns, his lip curled in a scowl.

"I have invited you into my house," Auris says, "shared with you what I have—this is not the way to treat your host."

He tugs against her grasp.  "Don't touch me."

"Don't carve my walls."  A beat, and Auris sighs, releasing his hand.  She'd much prefer to go back to bed.  "If you insist on carving, there's plenty of wood about that's not otherwise in use."

"What would you rather I carve, then?"

"Mother help me," Auris mutters, raising a hand to her forehead.  "Driftwood from the beach, something from Alboba..."

"Driftwood isn't decorative."

"I've seen it used as decoration."

"I don't decorate with driftwood."

"And I don't decorate with star charts, but here they are, because I invited you into my space, and you brought them with you."

"The carving won't take up much space."

"That is not the issue."

"Then I fail to see the issue."

"You're being—"  She cuts herself off with a growl.

"If I could just go back to my own house—"

"You mean the elf's house, where their influence no doubt extends quite nicely from headquarters."

Marran rolls his eyes, raising the knife as he turns back to the wall.

"Are you a child?"  She didn't mean to raise her voice like that, but Marran's in the corner, knife held before him, eyes wide and wild, and Auris freezes.  She can feel the air, Miris' power swirling about her, and fights to calm it, to soothe her temper.

"Don't touch me," Marran whispers, the knife trembling in his hand.  "Don't come near me."

"What in the world has been happening with you these past few days..."

Marran slowly lowers his hand, curling in on himself.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Marran.  I simply...forgot myself a moment."  A flash of guilt, and she's on the field, and it's silent, and—she pushes the thought away.  "Unless you attack me first, I will not harm you; I can promise you that."

Marran nods a little, his gaze fixed on the ground.  There's a quiet thump as he falls back against the wall, a clatter as the knife falls from his hand, and he slides down to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest.  "Sorry..."

"I accept your apology," Auris says, regarding him with some concern, "but do tell me...what's been happening lately?"

Marran shakes his head.  "It's the new moon.  The new moon is..."  A long pause.  "The new moon does weird things."