Some things don't change. Despite how she can appear sometimes, Clotho has a long memory, reaching back centuries. She remembers days like this in the old days in Greece. The weather was better, of course, but the sway of people was the same. Old men sitting on benches to read or think. The universal sound of a child laughing. Wind shuddering through trees and the smell of warm bread. These things are all constant
( ... )
For the most part, people stay out of Clotho's way. They don't know why they're doing it. They probably don't even notice that as she approaches something in them makes them take a slight step to the left or right to clear a narrow, weaving path for her. Fate is punctual and impossible to stop, after all; it's always been one of Clotho's favourite tricks.
They pass by stalls of handmade jewelery and one of young woman who paints pictures of cats and birds on dishes. Clotho doesn't walk fast, even to begin with, but her pace slows noticeably as displays with knit garmets or brightly dyed wools begin to pop up on either side. Her gaze wanders curiously, but her attention remains almost entirely on Brendan.
"I'm sure that's not true," she says, her voice still soft despite the noise around them but carrying fine anyway. "You're coming with me to see the sheep, aren't you? To keep me company. That's the sort of thing good friends do."
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They pass by stalls of handmade jewelery and one of young woman who paints pictures of cats and birds on dishes. Clotho doesn't walk fast, even to begin with, but her pace slows noticeably as displays with knit garmets or brightly dyed wools begin to pop up on either side. Her gaze wanders curiously, but her attention remains almost entirely on Brendan.
"I'm sure that's not true," she says, her voice still soft despite the noise around them but carrying fine anyway. "You're coming with me to see the sheep, aren't you? To keep me company. That's the sort of thing good friends do."
Reply
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