IC: Silent All These Years
I think I can’t recall the last time I kept a diary.
See, to write in a diary you need to have something to say. You need to want to speak.
But ever since the war I had been so busy running errands, taking menial jobs and trying to get just enough coppers to get by along with my dragonhawks, that I never quite found the time to want to speak.
I mean, I talked plenty:
I talked to the flightmasters about whether they would have a job for me even if it meant scrubbing the stables clean. I talked to the merchants that would trade me the food to feed myself and Jade if I just lent them Goldenwing for transporting goods. I talked to Lady Svanrae, who was kind enough to send me some silver monthly if only so that I could keep the stable house from falling over me…And then, when things got better, I talked to people about letting me train their dragonhawks, and I talked to people about selling them Goldenwing’s new brood which was thankfully in good health and truly beautiful, and I talked to people when they waited at the flightmaster to make their wait less bothersome. And all the while I talked loud and clear and pleasantly and with a smile on my face. But at some point along the way, I stopped speaking.
See, none of this talk was about anything that was truly me. It was all about actions and it was all about things that I needed to do, and ways to ensure that those things would get done. All of the pleasantries were impersonal and hollow. I was never one to dread small talk, but at some point small talk was all I did. For years.
And I never once felt the need to speak.
Until now.
I think I can blame partly the fact that while I was on the run traveling, I was not forced to talk. Out in the world, my survival did not depended of getting that one arrogant flightmaster to let me scrub the stables for some coin, but rather on whether I was quick on my feet to fend off whatever angry thing was trying to kill me. My survival depended on me, and hence talking my way through it was not necessary.
The other thing was time. I had all the time in the world in the many occasions I camped outside because I refused to waste my gold in some run down inn. I had all the time before going to sleep to turn things in my head -things that had nothing to do with cleaning stables, patching up the house or feeding the hawks. Oh, I missed my hawks dearly! I truly do love caring for them…But having time to just think, to just let my mind’s voice speak was a valuable opportunity. Not to say there weren’t horribly busy weeks, but in many ways it was not the same routinely kind of busy.
So, when I returned here suddenly this tiny stable house felt awful lonely.
And then I found that book.
I thought I had lost it at some point last spring, and I didn’t care a bit for it at that point. Thanuz was gone, and the overall tone of the talk in the pages had always been very hostile. I didn’t want conflict and I didn’t want to be found. And I specially didn’t want to be killed over stupid words.
But when I opened it again, the book was different.
It was pleasant.
So I began to speak with them all. And I enjoyed it. I was not afraid because after all it is just a silly book and if I want to avoid conflict I could just close it.
And thus I have met some people I really want to speak with.
But for now, I’ll just speak to this journal. And while we are at it, I’ll start by being honest. I do remember the last time I wrote in a journal.
It was the night before the day the Scourge came.
I will never forget it.