For all the chill of the breeze that sang its haunting tune up from the docks into the streets of Seansloe, the bright sun and blue sky warmed the body and the spirit with a prelude to coming spring. Kiema hummed a soft melody as she walked, shared smiles of greetings with strangers, and ventured on to the Artisans Guild Hall. It was not far off of the Market Square, closer to the northern woods than most of the Guild Halls except the Smiths Guild.
Outside of her ties to the Circelus, the Artisans Guild, or in Rhydin, Minstrels Guild was her extended family and friends. It had been months since she had visited and lightness to her step as sweet and swift as if to dance, carried her to its doors.
The harsh strike of dissidence clanged in her mind when she spied that familiar face. His clothes were of the fashion, the face unblemished and alluring as art, and yet his frequent appearance in her path both here and Rhydin flared up a trumpet blast of caution.
An unmistakable need to solve this began a low tremolo of courage. He saw her and smiled and it was enough. The dance left her steps and a slow march began to the man who made no move to anywhere. He stood as if waiting for her there, that their meeting was intentioned, and she was only coming late to their rendezvous.
His bow was of crafted elegance and Kiema reached talent out to read his emotions as she spoke. ?Who are you??
?Ah, not fair to read into my soul, Mistress.? The soft hint of gleaming humor in his eyes filtering to green, he spoke on, ?I am but one of you.?
?No,? she could sense the taint in him, ?No, you are not Changeling, you are Wildling. Anathema to my people. I feel the madness is a drumbeat for your purpose.?
She turned from the Wildling, but his hand gripped her arm hard, his eyes dark and unfeeling, ?Curse what you do not know, Kiema. Hide in the precepts of that ancient pompous rigidity of the Circelus. I know you. I know what you can do.?
His hand was like an iron vice on her arm. People were taking notice and either moving further away or slowing their steps to help. ?Let me go, Wildling.?
?Meras is my name.? But he did let her go, the switch of his demeanor as swift as the snuffing of a lamp. All smiles and kind manners, he bowed again and walked on. Some few passersby looked with questions in their eyes, but she gave them smiles and sent out threads of ease to settle them on to their way.
The Guild would have to wait.
Outside of her ties to the Circelus, the Artisans Guild, or in Rhydin, Minstrels Guild was her extended family and friends. It had been months since she had visited and lightness to her step as sweet and swift as if to dance, carried her to its doors.
The harsh strike of dissidence clanged in her mind when she spied that familiar face. His clothes were of the fashion, the face unblemished and alluring as art, and yet his frequent appearance in her path both here and Rhydin flared up a trumpet blast of caution.
An unmistakable need to solve this began a low tremolo of courage. He saw her and smiled and it was enough. The dance left her steps and a slow march began to the man who made no move to anywhere. He stood as if waiting for her there, that their meeting was intentioned, and she was only coming late to their rendezvous.
His bow was of crafted elegance and Kiema reached talent out to read his emotions as she spoke. ?Who are you??
?Ah, not fair to read into my soul, Mistress.? The soft hint of gleaming humor in his eyes filtering to green, he spoke on, ?I am but one of you.?
?No,? she could sense the taint in him, ?No, you are not Changeling, you are Wildling. Anathema to my people. I feel the madness is a drumbeat for your purpose.?
She turned from the Wildling, but his hand gripped her arm hard, his eyes dark and unfeeling, ?Curse what you do not know, Kiema. Hide in the precepts of that ancient pompous rigidity of the Circelus. I know you. I know what you can do.?
His hand was like an iron vice on her arm. People were taking notice and either moving further away or slowing their steps to help. ?Let me go, Wildling.?
?Meras is my name.? But he did let her go, the switch of his demeanor as swift as the snuffing of a lamp. All smiles and kind manners, he bowed again and walked on. Some few passersby looked with questions in their eyes, but she gave them smiles and sent out threads of ease to settle them on to their way.
The Guild would have to wait.