Lady Vera of Beit-Orane (v_eritas) wrote in caeleste, @ 2011-01-03 18:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | close to home, eithne savastian, eragos feareborne, sleeping tiger, vera of beit-orane |
What the Smoke Left [ Eragos, Eithne, Sleeping Tiger ]
Oak planks from a broken armoire were used for the campfire, which roared from the confines of a circle constructed of stone and metal pieces. Her brother, Gavrie, had taught her how to build a good fire when she was young. It was an odd, stray thought that came to her when she was tossing another piece of wood into the flames.
Gavrie had always been good at setting camp, at provisioning the right amount of supplies and looking ahead. She wondered if the coldness in his heart was as great as the man that he was named for. She wondered, as she had always wondered, what it was he believed. Would he agree with Faxril? Or would he agree with her father? Those questions never seemed important when she was younger.
But back then, she thought she could stop this.
Dinaden had returned some time ago, before Eragos and the rest arrived at the site she had cleared. She was glad to see her horse and her pack. The task of cleaning the blood from her nephew and wrapping him up in every blanket she owned was a tedious one. Veros didn't want her to touch his ears. Something had exploded close to him though he would not speak on what it was, and he cried bitterly when she finally made him sit still. There were glass and splinters to be removed from his feet and she did so as quickly as she could. He would be fine in a few days, so long as he didn't get sick. That was something Vera did her best to prevent.
None of her efforts eased her nephew's heart, but they did make him tired. She gave him every comfort she could manage -- her bed roll, a place by the fire, and the safety of her sitting not a foot away from him when he fell to sleep. The fire made her cheeks red. She and Veros had not spoken, but Vera knew that they would eventually. She spent her time alone by the fire trying to figure out what she would say. That was easier by far than thinking of the dried flowers she spun between her fingers or the corpse of her niece wrapped in a cloak too large for her body.
She'd bought Hania a cloak two months ago. A merchant convinced her it was a good buy. It was impractical, Faxril had protested in a letter, the amount of beadwork on the hood. The bright blue color. It wouldn't keep out rain or protect her dresses from mud. It turned her into a small, pretty target. But it is pretty, his wife's elegant handwriting countered in the margins of the parchment. Vera had never seen Hania in it. It probably was. Pretty.
When the others arrived, Bahn looked haggard and everyone else looked equally drained. Shadows fell thick in Eragos' hood. He was not as battered as he usually was after a catastrophic battle. But that was only because he hadn't gotten a chance to fight Talon. She did not try to find his eyes. She did not try to look at Eithne and Sleeping Tiger. Vera couldn't find words, so she kept to herself. Water she'd heated from her canteens and whatever rations she found in her pack, set out for them to have if they wanted. She had done her best on the campsite. And that had to be enough.
She went back to staring into the fire as they situated themselves. Meditation, or at least this was as close as she'd come while in a group. Really, she was simply trying not to fall asleep. Her cloak sat on the ground beside her, so she wouldn't get too warm. She folded one leg toward her and rested her arm on it, so she didn't lean back on her elbows.
Grief could be avoided when she was awake. She could be angry, she could listen to Veros breathe, she could take comfort that none of her friends were dead. But grief, that bottomless thing, was waiting for her deep beneath her consciousness. Occasionally it clawed at her stomach, forcing nausea upon her. It made her want to get up and leave Veros, just so she could collapse somewhere else. Her mother, her teacher...she would say she needed to face this. If Vera ever wanted a calm mind she needed to face the worst of what was inside of her. But Vera thought if she faced it, it would...she didn't know what would happen.
There were people with worse wounds, she told herself. Look at Eithne. There were people who lost more. Remember Tyrus.
It wasn't a comfort. But it kept Vera's shoulders from tensing when someone sat next to her.