The Storyteller

Chapter 8: Stranger Things

He panted as he moved swiftly down the hall. His anger had turned the world red before him. Katherine! Katherine! His pathetic little sister! She had abandoned him years ago...and after everything he had done to assure her safety after his father had lost his lands and life. He had done everything for her; everything! And his repayment had been her abandonment. He hadn't seen her since he had left to become a squire for Vaysey when he was twelve years old. She had been six, and had cried when he left. He had wanted to as well, but what did it matter. She had grown into a deceiving little whore.

Seeing her again had ruptured something within him again. Something he thought was finally healing. Now images were flashing before him. The terror he had felt leaving his family; the shame of losing his land and rank; the confusion on not receiving any messages from his sister or a single visit; the welcome resignation of the knowledge that she no longer cared if he lived or died; the justification as Vaysey revealed to him how pointless human affection was, how weak it made him; then Marian...Marian...Marian! Another fine example of his lord's lesson.

Lynna, he needed Lynna, but it was high noon now, not midnight and now he was her enemy not her friend or comforter. He wanted to scream with frustration and rage. His legs led him to her door instinctively. Her guard bowed his head to him, but remained motionless beside the door post. Guy stared inside at the weaving woman. Oh what a welcome sight she was! The red began to fade from his vision and his breathing steadied. He watched her little hands work the yarn into the loom and her small smile of satisfaction as she completed a row on the loom. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she reached for another strand of yarn and began the process again.

Guy wished he could stride into her room, left her up off of her chair and hold her for another minute like he had upon the stairs. That was when she happened to look over and see him standing in the doorway staring at her. She gasped and her eyes went wide with terror for a moment before reverting back to her work.

Anger threatened again at this reaction. He opened his mouth. What did he say to her? That he had been the man outside her door? That she had been the one confessing her fears to him, telling him her stories, and singing him her songs? She would die. I would rather die than be with you, Guy of Gisborne! He tore himself away from her room and moved off again down the hall.

He had felt things were getting better; that Lynna was making him better. Now it was all falling apart again. His sister's reappearance; the nightmares would surely return with them. Night could not come fast enough. The faint touch of Lynna's fingers from the underside of the door was his only reassurance of his sanity; his only real pleasure in the world anymore. His impatience clawed at him like a lion rocking a cage. He paused and leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing in heavily. He pictured Lynna sitting by her loom with her faint smile of accomplishment. He drew strength from her patience and her courage for accepting the Sheriff's starvation punishment without wailing or moaning her state. She just went on. If she could go on he would as well.

***

By evening she was exhausted. With no food or water for the entire day her energy had rapidly depleted. She tied off another row and turned away from her loom to rest her head upon the table beside her. Her breath came in short, tired, gasps and she licked dry lips with a sigh. Her stomach answered her with a low growl. She let her head rest on her arms, serving as a makeshift pillow. She was not so tired as to go lie down upon her bed, and it was too early to contemplate sleep. Besides, she had to stay awake for tonight. The stranger would be outside her door. She clenched her right hand into a fist recalling the feel of his (those were definitely a man's fingers.) touch upon her hand.

She smiled to herself and began to hum, to distract for the annoying stabs of hunger in her empty belly. Her fingers tapped idly on the table out before her as her head lolled upon her arms. Her eyes were closed, as if she was playing her own lullaby for her own sleep.