Originally written February 3, 2013.
She found sudden solace in the rhythmic crackling of the fire and the weight of armor on her arm. Her arm flexed, testing the limits of the armor, how it molded to the movement of her forearm, whether it crooked properly as she bent her elbow. There was familiarity in her careful study; it was a ritual she once practiced to near perfection.
A faint cry interrupted her work. She was swift to unfasten and remove the plate, leaving only the softer, protective under armor beneath. As she retrieved the fussing Taran from his crib, she was struck with how quickly he recognized her touch and his cries quieted. His response to her touch, sound, and smell was quicker by the day, and she herself recognized the separate pitches of his cries. This cry, she concluded some days before, sounded only when he sat in a soiled diaper a moment too long.
She attended to him, the steps were carried out nearly as well as those she took donning her armor. Nearly – as new actions were, these took longer and at times she repeated one or more out of new mother caution. After he was changed and fed, he slipped into sleep once more and she laid him warm and safe in his crib.
The lady knight did not immediately return to the armor. She drew instead to her writing desk where an open letter lay. The handwriting was by one she did not know, but the penned name was recognizable by a history of murmurs and mentions. The voice was new, someone who she had never corresponded or spoken with, and yet there was a quiet intimacy in the words and shared feelings that each written word emanated. From one to another, the letter seemed to speak.
Her seat at the desk was well-worn and more familiar in recent months than the weight of armor. She spent a brief moment reflecting on this shift, then dismissed it. Taking a pen in hand, she began to write.
To Athalia Sanjhal,
It is too soon for words such as sister or friend to enter the space between us, but I do not write that judgment as an enemy. Events have kept our lives strangely intertwined but with a space between. To bridge that space, we would need to finally know one another’s face and name beyond rumor or mention.
I will be plain to you: there is something deeply wrong in the events that pass through us. My words are chosen carefully, for I have begun to wonder if we are a means to an end. This concerns me greatly, since means are often not treasured beyond the purpose they serve, and I am unsure when that purpose will be fulfilled.
You sought the right corner. For my part now in these events, I seek the cause. To speak of warring factions may be correct or false, but I believe now that whatever darkness urges us forward, it is one that would benefit most from our hatred. But what I feel now is not hatred, but gratitude. The source of my gratitude will need to be told in a means other than a letter.
Light’s blessing to you and these times. They are far more harsh to you than me, and I wish I could offer quicker comfort than the opening of a door.
Signed,
Lightbearer Arialynn Dawnfield
Justicar, Templars of the Rose
Her writing concluded and she tucked the letter within an envelope and sealed it with a waxen stamp. After a private courier came by and the urgency of the delivery was properly imparted, the lady knight set herself again to her armor and the growing tasks at hand.
Comments
No Comments