Seraphim

Eight

After another day of warm blankets and hot soup, Sevalyn was able to move about again. She tottered in a rather ungraceful circle around the room she had been staying in, and then was able to go outside and watch Adren and his father at work on their small farm.

It took all of her effort not to manipulate the praen when she felt her body insufficient. Adren and his father moved easily enough without bending it to their will. They simply moved through it, not aberrations in the world but a part of it. The sun was shining, the nearby trees were swaying, little rodents popped in and out of sight, and the people tended to their little plot. Sevalyn sighed.

My mannerisms are those of a person raised in a monastery full of cold monks. She wondered what she could do to act more like a person. The way Adren and his father talked so easily was as much a mystery to her as her origins were to them. Her origins... the monks would be here soon.

She stood up and walked rather haltingly towards them. They stopped their work and turned towards her, grins still on their faces.

"I must leave."

Adren snorted. "In that condition? You're still walking as though you were on your third drink of ale."

"I'd put it differently," said the old man, "but Adren's right. You'd better stay here for a while longer. It's really no trouble for us at all."

Sevalyn knew in the back of her head that it was a lot of trouble, but she didn't bring it up. Instead, she said, "I thank you for your generosity. But it would be best if I left."

The old man shook his head "You are not fully healed from your sickness. If you start your journey now, without giving yourself time to recover, you will be weak and shaky for weeks yet."

Sevalyn closed her eyes. "I'm... sorry. You have been very kind. But I need to go."

"Will you at least favor us with a tale before you leave?" asked Adren.

"Adren!" scolded the old man. He sounded half-hearted, though, as if he was really interested.

"It is our custom, in these parts, to return hospitality with a tale," Adren said. "If it would not be too much trouble. We hear so little from the world outside of our farm. And if you really are so determined to leave, we can prepare some provisions for you while you tell your tale."

Adren's father smiled at Sevalyn, warming to the idea. "A long story then, before you go."

She shook her head. "It might be dangerous for me to stay here much longer. You don't understand."

"Nonsense, nonsense," said the old man. "It would be more dangerous for you go traipsing off into the wilderness with no provisions and none of my herbs, especially in your state. Let us finish up our work here, and we will come inside and hear what you have to tell us."

Sevalyn ducked her head and left them in the field. She let her shaky steps carry her back to the bed, which she sat on, staring at her feet. I will have to leave without telling them. For some reason, the thought made her sad.

Praena. I will use praena to heal myself. She let herself sink into the praen, and then drew life from it. She felt slightly rejuvenated, until she realized where some of the energy was coming from. A stream of yellowing energy entered her from the direction of the fields. No! The old man has so little already! She stopped her attempt.

She wondered if she should leave regardless. How far would she get? She could only survive for so long off of the praen alone, she realized, and she knew no specific geography in this corner of the world. She now considered how ill thought out her escape had been. All she had thought of was getting out in the first place.

It will be easiest to accept their provisions and ask for the way to the other side of the woods. And in the meantime, she could obliquely warn them of the monks with her story.