Rhistmaege

The Riddler

Dovi pressed back against his chair, cupped a warm mug of apricot spiced-tea and cursed each passing second of silence. The dale's sonorous birds, frolicking fawns, and streams of glistening sunlight dancing on dewy blades did little to soothe his foul mood.

Tuck, keeping to character, had broken his fast with him, without uttering a single word. Dovi played along, and ate his own breakfast in stoic silence. I'll not utter one word until he does.

"They change colors when those kin to me have been reborn," said Tuck suddenly.

Dovi nearly dropped the mug at the sharp break in his solitude. "Uh, come again? What was that?"

"My eyes. You asked about the colors. Why they change from time to time. It's a blessing and a curse shared with my long lineage. I share the eyes of the newborn, basking in their parent's love and adoration, and the last images of my kin before death. For a time, the latter haunted me for longer than I care to admit. So many have come and gone. The joy of birth has lost its luster and mercifully, the sorrow and pain of loss, no matter how horrific the last moments may have been, have passed to a dull numbing. It's why I warned to not venture near the lake at night. Two sides of day and night, of life and death, of good and evil are beholden to its endless depths." A far-reaching, despondent pall fell across Tuck's face. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and chewed upon his bottom lip.

Dovi searched for the proper thing to say, but words became slippery as eels. "I-I'm. I mean. Well, is that? How are?" Is this some sort of cantrip he's placed upon my mind? He knew what he wanted to say, but found his tongue would not obey his mind's wishes.

"You mustn't always rush to add something to the space between words," said Tuck, a tinge of hotness upon his words.

Son of a bitch. Who are you to tell me when I should speak? I was trying to say something kind you pompous lackwit! "Well, I was just trying-"

"Space between words bastes them with meaning. Without spacing, words become a spew of nattering nonsense. You'd be wise to choose your words more judiciously. You actually remind me of Fedwitterren the Fool. Dashing fellow from the Shoneright Age? What a gift of gab, but his treacherous ways led to a cursing. He was never to repeat the same phrase more than once. Over time, words flowed in purely nonsensical ways. Gibberish was his language. Such awkwardness. Such bizarre combinations of words. King Birle Loyenshelt took him for his fool. You remind me of him." A broad smile spread across Tuck's face.

Dovi seethed with anger. So first you insult me with your silence and then you insult me with your words. He searched his mind for some saltiness, but found nothing to cast back at Tuck. It was all he could do to keep himself from leaping at the old man and throttling him.

"Now, where was I?" continued Tuck with a huff. He drummed the tips of his fingers together. "Oh yes, the lake. The lake teaches, if you wish to learn. Does the water yap to itself when there is nothing for it to say? Does it leap about and stir itself into a frenzy after the wind has fled? What does it do most of the time? Just sits there, quietly. What does it do when whipping winds ride the storms rushing down the mountain peaks? The water gives way. Let's the tumult push it hither and thither. It flows with the howling gales. Conforms to the will of its churning power. What does it do after the fury breaks and stillness returns? It just sits there, quietly. No squawking. No whining about how unfairly it was treated. Nothing. Silence. In the clutches of Winter's icy grasp, the lake patiently waits for Spring to break it from its prison hold. When the lark's blue wings grow warm, what does the water do? It goes back to simply sitting there, quietly. Does the water fret about the next storm to come? Worry about the next freeze? Care if a drought comes and works the lake's bottom to withering dust? No. There is only stillness in the deep waters."