Mini-Challenge: Berries
Written because my head is going to go pop if it goes anywhere near Christmas again today.
... damn.
Estelhari slipped into her bower with a step like a decision, determined that the meagre remains of daylight would be hers and hers alone. She hadn't eaten today, which might not have been so bad if she hadn't been doing so much. If she shifted her weight onto one leg now, tremours of magic-hunger shivered through the bracing knee. The last thing she wanted to do - and the last thing the people should see her do - was pass out.
She kept repeating that to herself, breathing the perfumes of her created flowers, as she eased down onto the bench by the bower arch. The bench stood up an extra inch or two on its stony feet as her weight settled, quivering anxiously as it ferried her closer to the bower's tiny wellspring of power.
She really had to stop animating everything. Old habits and all that.
As the bench finally settled down beside the wellspring's tessellated stones, Estelhari couldn't help but spare her bower an anxious glance. There'd been a lot of talk about conserving energy and spring-flow lately, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the indirect hints about her bower became direct demands. But she needed this place. She'd made a little core of home for herself in sombre Canuell and she wouldn't give it up without a fight.
Not that they really needed any more fighting here. Or anywhere.
The bench rattled violently beneath her.
"Yes, yes, I'm eating," she told it, and began to draw in some of the magic seeping from the wellspring. She didn't feed too much; she was worried there wouldn't be enough left for her plants. And her bench.
As she sat and stared absently at the tesserae, tracing out shapes and lines with her eyes, a branch from the bush behind her reached down and dangled something in front of her face. It looked like a moist dump of frogspawn - tiny, translucent globes clinging together in one clump - or fish-eggs, perhaps.
It couldn't be, though. She'd been warned off more flying fish - the literal kind - after her last lovely bower in Cissaca.
"Are you sick, darling?" she asked the little bush, taking the branch between a gentle thumb and forefinger to try to get a better look. Magic was something to guide and channel, but never control completely, even for her. If the magic believed itself a disease, a disease it would be.
The bush rustled and bobbed the slimy clump up and down. Needless to say, Estelhari remained unenlightened.
She cast a surreptitious look towards the bower arch. Then she checked to see whether she could feel anyone roaming around too close by. It could get very busy even at this far end of the compound, though people should be heading off for the evening feed about now.
All clear, more or less. Still holding the branch, Estelhari concentrated - feeling and knowing the old patterns - and for a while she formally described sigils and speeches and the glowing song-voices of the Inyaronian court.
"Ooh!" exclaimed the bush once she'd finished.
As first words went, it wasn't dazzling, but Estelhari was pleased. Unfortunately she was also a bit hungry and weak again.
"La-la-la," the bush went on. Its voice was a bit like Tamandar's - she must have thought a bit too hard about the people of the Inyaronian court. Oops. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G ..."
Estelhari tapped the branch. "What about my question?"
"Oh, yes, I will gladly answer the question which you have posed to me on this -"
"Test your voice later, please!"
"- Oh. Okay."
"And try not to talk unless I'm the only one around." She flashed another glance towards the bower-arch and the empty courtyard beyond.
"Okay," the bush repeated, but it sounded somewhat disappointed about it. "I'm not sick. These are for you."
Estelhari stared at the pallid, wet bundle on the branch again. "What are they, darling?"
"Berries!" it replied. "Aren't they?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay, show me a berry."
"I really can't. And you shouldn't go using energy for things like that. We have to be frugal."
The bush withdrew the branch slowly, maintaining a hurt silence.
"It was a sweet and lovely thought," Estelhari stressed, hoping her little bush wasn't going to turn out as emotional as Tamandar was, too. "I'm very touched."
"I only did it because you were hungry," mumbled the bush.
"Yes, I know, and it -"
She broke off suddenly, hearing another voice. Someone was calling her - from outside the bower, of course. Most people knew better than to step into a Maker's garden uninvited. "Estelharicûthâ! I come from General Osychos!"
"Iron break it," she muttered. A part of her wanted to stay silent and undisturbed, but another part - a much larger and admittedly rather domineering part - had been fretting about all the things going on without her since she'd first sat down.
She looked up at the sky, clear and cloudless. It was getting a bit dark. She'd had almost a whole two hours away, most likely.
It was beneath her to shout a reply, so she sang up a little spark of light to indicate she was coming, sending it flitting towards the arch. Then she rose, escorted by the solicitous bench. Ah, still tired ...
"I thought you said we should be frugal," said the bush accusingly.
"Stop talking!"
She left it sulking behind her, swearing in her mind that she'd be more careful and dedicated to the war effort from now on.
Though the bush would probably need at least one friend to talk to.
... damn.
Estelhari slipped into her bower with a step like a decision, determined that the meagre remains of daylight would be hers and hers alone. She hadn't eaten today, which might not have been so bad if she hadn't been doing so much. If she shifted her weight onto one leg now, tremours of magic-hunger shivered through the bracing knee. The last thing she wanted to do - and the last thing the people should see her do - was pass out.
She kept repeating that to herself, breathing the perfumes of her created flowers, as she eased down onto the bench by the bower arch. The bench stood up an extra inch or two on its stony feet as her weight settled, quivering anxiously as it ferried her closer to the bower's tiny wellspring of power.
She really had to stop animating everything. Old habits and all that.
As the bench finally settled down beside the wellspring's tessellated stones, Estelhari couldn't help but spare her bower an anxious glance. There'd been a lot of talk about conserving energy and spring-flow lately, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the indirect hints about her bower became direct demands. But she needed this place. She'd made a little core of home for herself in sombre Canuell and she wouldn't give it up without a fight.
Not that they really needed any more fighting here. Or anywhere.
The bench rattled violently beneath her.
"Yes, yes, I'm eating," she told it, and began to draw in some of the magic seeping from the wellspring. She didn't feed too much; she was worried there wouldn't be enough left for her plants. And her bench.
As she sat and stared absently at the tesserae, tracing out shapes and lines with her eyes, a branch from the bush behind her reached down and dangled something in front of her face. It looked like a moist dump of frogspawn - tiny, translucent globes clinging together in one clump - or fish-eggs, perhaps.
It couldn't be, though. She'd been warned off more flying fish - the literal kind - after her last lovely bower in Cissaca.
"Are you sick, darling?" she asked the little bush, taking the branch between a gentle thumb and forefinger to try to get a better look. Magic was something to guide and channel, but never control completely, even for her. If the magic believed itself a disease, a disease it would be.
The bush rustled and bobbed the slimy clump up and down. Needless to say, Estelhari remained unenlightened.
She cast a surreptitious look towards the bower arch. Then she checked to see whether she could feel anyone roaming around too close by. It could get very busy even at this far end of the compound, though people should be heading off for the evening feed about now.
All clear, more or less. Still holding the branch, Estelhari concentrated - feeling and knowing the old patterns - and for a while she formally described sigils and speeches and the glowing song-voices of the Inyaronian court.
"Ooh!" exclaimed the bush once she'd finished.
As first words went, it wasn't dazzling, but Estelhari was pleased. Unfortunately she was also a bit hungry and weak again.
"La-la-la," the bush went on. Its voice was a bit like Tamandar's - she must have thought a bit too hard about the people of the Inyaronian court. Oops. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G ..."
Estelhari tapped the branch. "What about my question?"
"Oh, yes, I will gladly answer the question which you have posed to me on this -"
"Test your voice later, please!"
"- Oh. Okay."
"And try not to talk unless I'm the only one around." She flashed another glance towards the bower-arch and the empty courtyard beyond.
"Okay," the bush repeated, but it sounded somewhat disappointed about it. "I'm not sick. These are for you."
Estelhari stared at the pallid, wet bundle on the branch again. "What are they, darling?"
"Berries!" it replied. "Aren't they?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay, show me a berry."
"I really can't. And you shouldn't go using energy for things like that. We have to be frugal."
The bush withdrew the branch slowly, maintaining a hurt silence.
"It was a sweet and lovely thought," Estelhari stressed, hoping her little bush wasn't going to turn out as emotional as Tamandar was, too. "I'm very touched."
"I only did it because you were hungry," mumbled the bush.
"Yes, I know, and it -"
She broke off suddenly, hearing another voice. Someone was calling her - from outside the bower, of course. Most people knew better than to step into a Maker's garden uninvited. "Estelharicûthâ! I come from General Osychos!"
"Iron break it," she muttered. A part of her wanted to stay silent and undisturbed, but another part - a much larger and admittedly rather domineering part - had been fretting about all the things going on without her since she'd first sat down.
She looked up at the sky, clear and cloudless. It was getting a bit dark. She'd had almost a whole two hours away, most likely.
It was beneath her to shout a reply, so she sang up a little spark of light to indicate she was coming, sending it flitting towards the arch. Then she rose, escorted by the solicitous bench. Ah, still tired ...
"I thought you said we should be frugal," said the bush accusingly.
"Stop talking!"
She left it sulking behind her, swearing in her mind that she'd be more careful and dedicated to the war effort from now on.
Though the bush would probably need at least one friend to talk to.