My attire is noiseless when I tread the earth, Rest in its dwellings or ride its waters.
At times my pinions and the lofty air, Lift me high o'er the homes of men,
And the strength of the clouds carries me far High over the folk. My feathers gay
Sound and make music, singing shrill, When no longer I linger by field or flood,
But soar in the air, a wandering spirit.
Less than a week at most, If my accounting is correct..I only have less than a weak for the addiction to be treated..The cold once more freezing, my warm will be gone.
..I must find someone, anyone that may supply me..I must.
Or..Perhaps, I should turn my sight to more easily attained methods? I once wrote in my previous entry of meeting a young Arwain McAlister, the ramblings of my heated mind seem to cause even my own self to perk a brow..But she has shown me something, that I never considered before.
..Another method to stave the coldness, to feel the warmth..
I have recently spoken with her once more, and she has shown me the power she possesses bridges even beyond the flame of her fingertips..She channeled her fire through my body, the feeling of hot coals erupting inside my very veins..I felt alive..Truly alive in those moments, and the thought that it was merely a memory of feeling was put aside. It's purity compared to that of the bloodthistle is notable..True pure flames..The feeling of innocent, untainted flame to revel the body and mind within..
It has brought an idea of sorts to my mind..Another solutions, and greater fix than the temporary affects to satisfy my addiction..I have acquired a book from the Royal library..Wither they notice it is missing or not, I will not know..But reading through the contents have sparked my curious mind to explore this option.
It is a book of alchemy, seemingly old and well read..Perhaps I shall learn this art..Create a potion of for my own greedy means..A source to create the warmth I seek for longer, stronger..And perhaps, as my skill in such an art..I may find a way to improve Arwain's cough..She is a smart, lass and strong..But I still see many things that trouble her deeply, just as the hint of worry within Clarene's eyes I saw tonight..Fate seems to place those I wish to help in front of me, perhaps..Another form of redemption?
But..Until then, I must find a seller of my herb I seek..I am told many refuse to use it other than the tainted elves of the north..But perhaps I may find it.
However, it appears I ramble..
I have made progress with the Bastion of sorts, Clarene has accepted me into the ranks of their first recon unit. I have been given the number of VII, with the alias of Smith, John Smith..Looking upon it now as I write, perhaps I may come up with something less..Common?
Regardless, it would seem my path and the fate I have rolled my dice upon, is shaping into a future..I find myself wondering how far this path shall take me until I am met with the fork of roads once more. I do not know if I have become officially part of the Market, however..It would seem their leader, Niyne, looks to screen his member with a device of engineering before truly joining the fold. Clarene has only my word and oath to go upon, for the time..Both of which I have never found myself braking, even in my days of crime and greed.
She told me her name this evening, a Miss Catherine Fletcher, truly a Clarene Miller..We spoke for a time, quite the time actually..The evening night and stars coming out before us without either of us paying mind..She worries, about the well being of our Unit and the responsibility she has been thrown into. Still an apprentice, and yet put into the position of leading..I find her courage and will, inner strength if you will, intriguing.
The features of her face are delicate, and defined even with a bandage covering the majority of her head from sight. She has a pleasant smile that seems to bloom from her eyes before even reaching the form of her lips. The caring she shows towards her animals, her companions of heart..I put me to ease, for even now..As cold and dark as I find my own form, the love of animals still burns warm within me.
Perhaps it is the innocence? Animals act in the manner they do, for it is their instincts that drive them..There is no hidden meaning, nor alternative motive to their actions..They do, as the do, in order to survive and live. The love they show to their master, the same that I believe Ka and Aislin show to I, it is pure love, unquestioning..Much as a father to his children, when I look upon them.
I held her hand this evening, for a long time, I held her hand..She did not pull away from the cold of my own nor seem uncomfortable in my presence. She spoke of teaching me to fish, in the days to come..I told her I would enjoy it, perhaps it will give us time to speak once more..I spoke to her of teaching her true horsemanship, and spoke a little of my past as a showman for my youth of traveling with the troupe, caravan.
I told her never to change her ways.
That the worry and weariness that she showed towards our night of interrogation, it was good..She should never change that innocents and faith in the law, Like I and possibly Olivia herself have. I enjoy the act of killing them, the inflicting of their pain..The screams of their criminal tongues, fills me with a certain thrill..But I have known that I enjoy this, for I am a killer. I kill the impure to save the innocents..For the King's Law is at times, not enough. Clarene still believes in that justice, however, she feels that the true law will prevail. She worries that the line between us and them, fades in times like the other night of questioning.
It is good, that she feels such..She still has faith in the rightness of humanity, that evil men may change if shown the way, and that killing should never be looked upon lightly, or with enjoyment. I found myself drawn to that..A part of me wishing to believe as she does, to accept her ways as my own and to become a true lawmen, rather than bounty hunter of personal gain..I cannot, however..But knowing that she believes and has such faith drew me to her and I find myself wishing to protect her..Not only physically but mentally, so she may never give up that hope and innocents she holds high.
I kissed her hand, upon parting ways with her this evening..The cold of my lips to her worn leather gloves..I do not know why I did..Perhaps it felt right..Yet..I do not know.
It would seem the quote I repeat, continues to ring true as my days continue..
“A broken man drawn to pure and innocence..”
((The next portion of the story is written here http://wyrmrestaccord.net/blogs/clarene/two-kisses in Clare's words. It's tagged mature for dunkeness, and some sugestive comments.))