He warned her, and yet she still isn't prepared for it. There's that quick moment of fear, when all the worst thoughts occur in an exhalation of time; and she wonders if she hadn't been too impetuous. To be in a strange world, with someone she does not know very well, in a dark room - and then the darkness lifts, and the Smith & Wesson she has strapped to her thigh feels heavy.
She blinks at the shelves and shelves of armor, eyes wide and flitting this way and that. When he gestures to the way out is when she relaxes, and puts on a smile.
"Just some old words that still hold some sway," he says, as an explanation and not, as he leads her toward the heavy oak door.
Walking through it, they end up in a long, narrow hallway. The walls are a little uneven, and here the air holds even more of a chill.
"We are in the storage area, partly below ground and partly within the mountains and hills. At the end of this passage there is a flight of stairs, leading upstairs. The house proper is warmer." He smiles down at her. "And better lit."
She shivers, but seems undaunted. Save for a quick glance to meet his eyes she keeps her focus on the path ahead, and does not hesitate to take the first step forward.
"Are these relics of the great war y'were tellin' me about? They still seem so new," she says in reference to the armor.
"They are. And as we were preparing for war should it have come only these past few years, they have been kept even better oiled and polished than usual," he says as they reach the stars and begin their ascent.
After ten steps or so the stairway bends a little and the rest of the way is dimly illuminated with torches.
The steps are worn, silky-smooth and dark beneath their feet. As they walk the air slowly warms a little and sounds begin to filter through. In the distance someone laughs gaily and a tune is played on a flute, the two sounds mingling in a tinkling rain of merriment.
"I think the last of the apple pickers are returning," he says to her. "That always calls for celebration."
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She blinks at the shelves and shelves of armor, eyes wide and flitting this way and that. When he gestures to the way out is when she relaxes, and puts on a smile.
"What were those words you spoke?"
Reply
Walking through it, they end up in a long, narrow hallway. The walls are a little uneven, and here the air holds even more of a chill.
"We are in the storage area, partly below ground and partly within the mountains and hills. At the end of this passage there is a flight of stairs, leading upstairs. The house proper is warmer." He smiles down at her. "And better lit."
Reply
"Are these relics of the great war y'were tellin' me about? They still seem so new," she says in reference to the armor.
Reply
After ten steps or so the stairway bends a little and the rest of the way is dimly illuminated with torches.
The steps are worn, silky-smooth and dark beneath their feet. As they walk the air slowly warms a little and sounds begin to filter through. In the distance someone laughs gaily and a tune is played on a flute, the two sounds mingling in a tinkling rain of merriment.
"I think the last of the apple pickers are returning," he says to her. "That always calls for celebration."
Reply
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