Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0044] - The Nightmare

Nur um poken

Phrase

Translation: Just a little bit

Definition: "Nur um poken" is a concise phrase used to request or indicate a small amount. The phrase is often used in everyday situations where only a slight degree or quantity is needed, reflecting the practicality and straightforwardness valued in Menschen interactions.

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Mediah wove his way back through the lively, bustling banquet, the air thick with merriment, loud laughter, savoury grease and too much ale.

It was a stark contrast between the spirited halls and the turmoil churning within him, almost agonising. As he navigated through the crowd, he debated internally whether to reclaim his seat next to Zvoya or simply leave the festivities. No one would notice him leaving.

However, the biting cold outside and the prospect of free food ultimately swayed his decision, and he didn't believe he would be welcome back into the brothel for another night.

Upon his return, Zvoya observed him closely with her sharp, dark eyes and elven senses as he settled back into his seat beside her. Her gaze methodically inspected him, moving from his head to his toes and back again as if she were trying to read a story etched in his movements and expressions.

"I take it your conversation didn't unfold as you had hoped," she commented.

Mediah let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of his conversation with Ulencia still troubling him. "No, it didn't go well," he confessed, avoiding Zvoya's penetrating gaze. His attention drifted to a piece of bread in front of him, which he absentmindedly started to shred, his fingers working almost mechanically to reduce it to crumbs.

Seeking to lighten the mood and perhaps offer a distraction from his woes, Zvoya playfully prodded him. "You know, chasing after a married woman is rarely a wise move," she remarked with a hint of teasing in her voice. "There are plenty of single ladies around who wouldn't mind sharing a bed, or perhaps even something else, somewhere else.... it's a matter of will and improvisation, I guess."

"I suppose there are," he muttered, his mind clearly elsewhere, and he was not in the mood to respond to her clear advances.

Zvoya added more seriously, "Praying and hoping for unrequited love is never a good idea, darling. It only leads to heartache."

"I guess does," he replied, but the words were simply devoided, laden instead with a shadow of defeat that seemed to cling to him. But ultimately, it was Ulencia's choice. What else could he do?

Zvoya could see the extent of his inner struggle by the lines etched on his forehead. "These feelings, they'll eventually fade away. They say time heals all wounds though I do wonder if that's truly the case... Carrying a broken heart is a heavy burden, isn't it?"

"I suppose... I think I'm just grappling with the fallout of my own choices. I'm just here wondering if there is something I could have done or said differently," Mediah replied; he managed a weak chuckle, a faint attempt to ease himself.

Zvoya's hand gently rested on his knee, a not-so-subtle gesture of comfort. "If it's any consolation, she's in capable hands," she offered reassuringly, her touch lingering with empathy and something more suggestive as it gradually moved up to the warmth of his thigh, offering a silent promise of solace and perhaps something much less wordy.