Fire Soul

Chapter 7

Alone in the cavernous silence, Corliss surveyed her surroundings, her loyal companion Pogo nestled beside her. Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling, where the once gaping hole now appeared sealed. The thought of escape lingered like a flickering candle in the darkness. Determination etched upon her face, she approached the wooden table, its weight a formidable obstacle in her path. Grasping it firmly, she strained against its immovable bulk, the rough texture of the wood scraping against her palms. With each exertion, the table barely budged, inching forward like a wounded beast. "What is this made out of?" she wondered out loud. Glancing around the dimly lit chamber, her gaze settled on Pogo, whose keen senses could potentially aid their escape.

Corliss lowered herself to the floor, her hand gently patting Pogo's head as she met his gaze. With a silent plea in her eyes, she urged him to understand her unspoken command. But the little dragon only cocked his head in confusion, his bright eyes reflecting her desperation.

Corliss attempted to issue commands to the little dragon, her voice carrying an air of authority as she spoke. "Up," she commanded, gesturing towards the ceiling. "Ceiling," she continued, trying to convey her intention with simple words. "Dig," she added, hoping the creature would understand her instructions.

Rising to her feet, she attempted to communicate with gestures, indicating the ceiling and miming digging motions. Yet, Pogo remained oblivious to her intentions, his playful antics mirroring her actions with innocent amusement.

Suddenly, the familiar creak of the iron door pierced the silence, and Corliss's senses sharpened, her body tensing in anticipation of the unexpected visitor. To her surprise, it was Sabine, bearing logs for the fire and a sack slung over her shoulder. The aroma of freshly chopped wood mingled with the scent of the stew, enveloping the cave in a comforting warmth. Corliss observed silently as Sabine expertly tended to the fire and stirred the bubbling pot, her movements graceful and deliberate. When Sabine turned to her with a gentle smile, Corliss couldn't help but feel a glimmer of uncertainty amidst the flickering firelight.

Corliss studied Sabine intently, her gaze searching for any resemblance that might confirm their supposed familial connection. Despite the shared hue of their eyes, she found little else that mirrored her own features. Corliss's freckled complexion and fiery red hair stood in stark contrast to Sabine's fairer visage. She had been in Sabine's home countless times over the years. She'd eaten in her home, and Sabine had even cared for her once when she was sick. But, she hadn't felt anything then, and she didn't feel it now. As she attempted to summon a sense of kinship with the woman before her, Corliss felt only emptiness, no warmth or familiarity.

As Sabine stood in the cave, her heart pounded, her palms sweaty with apprehension. She had played out this moment countless times in her mind, rehearsing the words she longed to speak to the daughter she had watched from afar. Yet now, faced with the reality of their meeting, a torrent of doubts and fears threatened to overwhelm her. She saw her own reflection in Corliss – the fiery spirit, the boundless energy, the unwavering confidence – and wondered if her daughter would see it too, or if she would see only a stranger.

The weight of the unspoken truth pressed heavily upon her as she stood before Corliss, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Should she apologize for her absence? Should she attempt to justify her past actions? The words eluded her, each option fraught with uncertainty and the fear of rejection. In the end, she settled for a simple greeting, her voice tinged with the tension of the moment, as she wished Corliss a hesitant, "Good morning."

Sabine unfurled the cloth bag she had carried with her, revealing its contents one at a time. Presenting her tributes to Corliss, the silence in the cave grew dense with unease, forming a stifling barrier between them. But, Corliss remained stoic, her expression unreadable, as Sabine laid out the gifts from the cloth bag before her.