log + open post
The cabin by the stream is much the same as it was two years ago: quiet, almost innocuous, its windows dim. Zara makes her way up the front steps and raps on the door loudly.
Within, Florian lifts his head, but doesn't get up from his chair.
She raps again, then shoves the door open. The prospect that Florian is dead has not escaped her, and it is not one she's keen on. When the outside light reveals him, she strides over and stands beside him. There is something vaguely threatening about her presence.
He looks at her for a moment. "Well."
"Y' been sitting here for two years?"
"I can't say."
"Y' been outside?"
"I really can't say."
She rolls her eyes and sits across from him, dragging the chair scraping across the floor.
The old half-smile touches his face briefly. "I'm afraid I can't offer you tea."
"Leastways you're alive."
"How have you been?"
"How y'figure y'care about that? You never come t'look for me. You never even come t'see me."
Florian gazes at her silently, a weary figure in his blue coat, threadbare as ever.
Zara stares back insolently. Her dandelion tuft hair has grown out into wild curls, tangling like a russet-red halo on a Magdalen. Her time spent with Edgar Huntly has been better for her than either of them probably know: the honesty he forces in her, the number of questions he wants answers to, require her to look into her head a lot more than she ever otherwise would, and she's starting to work out, unbelievably enough, what it is she does want. Knowing that, she has a pretty good idea of what she wants from Florian. "So you just set here all this time? That's what?"
"Zara -- when I tell you I can't say, I mean that I am not able. I don't know where I've been."
"Here?"
"I don't know." For a moment he stares at nothing, blank and bleak. Then he draws in a sharp breath, focusing, and leans forward in his chair, elbows on knees. "You were right. It's no good dwelling on what I've done wrong. But then, when I ceased to do that, I could think of nothing at all."
"Did some things right."
"That's no use either."
She frowns again, her mouth setting hard, and crouches on her heels beside him. "Y' could've come out. I did. I got tired of sitting in that cold house by myself all the time, I gone and got myself fixed to a fella works a forge. I help him."
His eyes lighten a little, watching her.
She goes on doggedly, "That house, it stopped putting everything out for everybody. They need people can do a trade. I make dresses, there's lot of ladies up there like their pretties. They need help gathering food and getting wood and keeping things together."
"I'm sure they'd find me very useful."
"You could learn."
He softens. "You did promise to teach me once."
"Mebbe I would. Could help me making things."
Florian laughs, wryly. "So I could."
"See. Do y' better than staying in here all the time. Y'even know what season it is?"
He glances towards the window and then back to her, silent. At last he says slowly, "I'll be guided by you. In all things."
"Yeah?"
"My word of honour."
She looks at him appraisingly for a moment, then takes his collar, sharply, in one thin hand, winding her fingers tightly. Then she pulls him forward and kisses him.
Florian, it's fair to say, has held himself back from wanting this for years. He kisses back, slipping one arm around her waist.
Zara kisses him very hard, biting at his lip, tugging his head back with her free hand, considerably ungentle. In the process she manages to pull him half out of his chair.
"Dear heart," he says, finally breaking the kiss and pulling her into
an embrace.
"Huh," Zara says into his hair. "Y'don't kiss half as good as I figured."
Florian laughs aloud, almost dizzily. "I'll have to learn that, too."
"Y'better." She leans back to look at his face and brushes her lips against his.
His breath hitches. "Ah, good."
"Come live with us. Don't stay here."
"Us?"
"Me and Bedwyr."
"Ah." Florian absorbs this. "What will he say to that?"
"He don't remember. He don't remember much. Goes in and out. It's a big house, we got plenty of room. And you can help me."
A pause. "All right."
"Good. Don't help you being here."
"All right."
A small smile from Zara, and she pulls him into another kiss, one from which she is not soon going to release him.
All of which is the explanation for why Zara is in better spirits than usual. She spent several days with Hephaestus, then emerged to tidy the house, and now she's sitting in the kitchen sewing. The windows are actually fairly clean and the light shines through them; the table is no longer coated in a thick inch of dust, and Zara is wearing a soft green velvet dress and Bedwyr's comb in her tangle of curls.
Life does not suck right now. Will wonders ever cease?
Within, Florian lifts his head, but doesn't get up from his chair.
She raps again, then shoves the door open. The prospect that Florian is dead has not escaped her, and it is not one she's keen on. When the outside light reveals him, she strides over and stands beside him. There is something vaguely threatening about her presence.
He looks at her for a moment. "Well."
"Y' been sitting here for two years?"
"I can't say."
"Y' been outside?"
"I really can't say."
She rolls her eyes and sits across from him, dragging the chair scraping across the floor.
The old half-smile touches his face briefly. "I'm afraid I can't offer you tea."
"Leastways you're alive."
"How have you been?"
"How y'figure y'care about that? You never come t'look for me. You never even come t'see me."
Florian gazes at her silently, a weary figure in his blue coat, threadbare as ever.
Zara stares back insolently. Her dandelion tuft hair has grown out into wild curls, tangling like a russet-red halo on a Magdalen. Her time spent with Edgar Huntly has been better for her than either of them probably know: the honesty he forces in her, the number of questions he wants answers to, require her to look into her head a lot more than she ever otherwise would, and she's starting to work out, unbelievably enough, what it is she does want. Knowing that, she has a pretty good idea of what she wants from Florian. "So you just set here all this time? That's what?"
"Zara -- when I tell you I can't say, I mean that I am not able. I don't know where I've been."
"Here?"
"I don't know." For a moment he stares at nothing, blank and bleak. Then he draws in a sharp breath, focusing, and leans forward in his chair, elbows on knees. "You were right. It's no good dwelling on what I've done wrong. But then, when I ceased to do that, I could think of nothing at all."
"Did some things right."
"That's no use either."
She frowns again, her mouth setting hard, and crouches on her heels beside him. "Y' could've come out. I did. I got tired of sitting in that cold house by myself all the time, I gone and got myself fixed to a fella works a forge. I help him."
His eyes lighten a little, watching her.
She goes on doggedly, "That house, it stopped putting everything out for everybody. They need people can do a trade. I make dresses, there's lot of ladies up there like their pretties. They need help gathering food and getting wood and keeping things together."
"I'm sure they'd find me very useful."
"You could learn."
He softens. "You did promise to teach me once."
"Mebbe I would. Could help me making things."
Florian laughs, wryly. "So I could."
"See. Do y' better than staying in here all the time. Y'even know what season it is?"
He glances towards the window and then back to her, silent. At last he says slowly, "I'll be guided by you. In all things."
"Yeah?"
"My word of honour."
She looks at him appraisingly for a moment, then takes his collar, sharply, in one thin hand, winding her fingers tightly. Then she pulls him forward and kisses him.
Florian, it's fair to say, has held himself back from wanting this for years. He kisses back, slipping one arm around her waist.
Zara kisses him very hard, biting at his lip, tugging his head back with her free hand, considerably ungentle. In the process she manages to pull him half out of his chair.
"Dear heart," he says, finally breaking the kiss and pulling her into
an embrace.
"Huh," Zara says into his hair. "Y'don't kiss half as good as I figured."
Florian laughs aloud, almost dizzily. "I'll have to learn that, too."
"Y'better." She leans back to look at his face and brushes her lips against his.
His breath hitches. "Ah, good."
"Come live with us. Don't stay here."
"Us?"
"Me and Bedwyr."
"Ah." Florian absorbs this. "What will he say to that?"
"He don't remember. He don't remember much. Goes in and out. It's a big house, we got plenty of room. And you can help me."
A pause. "All right."
"Good. Don't help you being here."
"All right."
A small smile from Zara, and she pulls him into another kiss, one from which she is not soon going to release him.
All of which is the explanation for why Zara is in better spirits than usual. She spent several days with Hephaestus, then emerged to tidy the house, and now she's sitting in the kitchen sewing. The windows are actually fairly clean and the light shines through them; the table is no longer coated in a thick inch of dust, and Zara is wearing a soft green velvet dress and Bedwyr's comb in her tangle of curls.
Life does not suck right now. Will wonders ever cease?