Adren was preparing dinner when the girl from the woods awoke again. A moan issued from the bed, and he hurried over.
"You're awake again!"
"Indeed," she muttered.
"And your tongue is loosening up. The water of Poison Stream will do that to you for a while."
She closed her eyes again. Her face was inscrutable, but Adren caught an inkling of annoyance. He smiled slightly.
"I found you in the wreckage of a machine. Who are you?"
She remained quiet for several seconds. "My name is Sevalyn," she said.
"Are you from Dramir?" asked Adren, thinking of the city a day's journey into the forest.
"No," she said.
"I'd bet you're from a city. They don't make contraptions like the one you were riding out here in the country."
"Indeed." She did not elaborate.
Adren sighed. "Well, I'm Adren. I live here, in this house, with my father, who you met earlier."
"Where is this house?" asked Sevalyn.
"Ah, I see. Now you want to talk," Adren grinned. "We're on the eastern edge of the Eredhel. I would assume you know where the Eredhel is?"
She closed her eyes again. "I do."
She would refuse to be drawn out, it seemed. "These woods are gigantic," he continued. "Nobody knows how many strange, inscrutable things live in them, to be sure. But it looked like you were coming from the desert, the way that machine of yours crashed. And I don't know anybody who would start from the woods on a city contraption, fly out into the desert, and just turn around."
"Perhaps I was flying in the desert for pleasure," she said. She looked as though she were doing her utmost to appear unaffected.
Adren's grinned widened. "Well, yes, now you mention it, that's the obvious solution to this conundrum. All of the Dramirian nobles adore flying their mysterious contraptions around in our beloved snake-infested wasteland." He paused for effect. "Except we've already established that you are not from Dramir."
She actually sighed.
Then a realization struck him. "You must be from Isdrasil!"
Her eyes flashed at the name just as Adren's father walked in.
YOU ARE READING
Seraphim
FantasyThe one who was chosen to defeat the unstoppable and ever reincarnated king of the East Wind, she who was trained by the monks of Isdrasil, she who was called Seraphim, has vanished. Magonia will soon be overrun. Sevalyn, the Seraphim, does not care...
