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Entry tags:
06. blur
Valm visits him outside his hut more often than the other children do. She adopts a pose like his and places her dagger carefully across her lap. She calls it 'Cleave', which he considers an improvement on the choices made by many other children. Many of them bore unfit weapons named 'Fang' and 'Bite' until majority.
She speaks rarely, and he does not offer conversation. He concentrates instead on the forms his master has asked him to practice. He forms the shapes slowly with his hands, moving through in the pattern described to him: first the infinite breaks into streams and crashes together like the ocean, but the ocean too, must part as it expands around the earth.
“Oh.” Valm leans forward, her mouth round, “You made fire.”
He grunts. The ball is nebulous and sits unsteadily between his two palms, sustained only by concentration. It would burst three times as large if he let it. It would disappear if he let it, too. He splits it down the center by pulling the fire apart, and turns his palms to the sky with a lick of flame in each. He gives himself some ease, and the fire blazes upwards into twin columns, higher than the roof of his hut. He snuffs them both by snapping his hands to fists.
He sits quietly, with his eyes closed, until he feels some—sense, before him. Valm is mimicking the movements he just performed, and he sees flickers of red between her palms.
He closes her hands and shakes his head, snapping, “You are not to practice magic unless the master identifies you.”
“Oh.” Valm smiles, flexing her fingers, “But I can do magic, like you?”
Daimd says nothing. She uncrosses her legs, takes up her dagger, and bows to him before dashing off. He is uncertain how he feels.
She speaks rarely, and he does not offer conversation. He concentrates instead on the forms his master has asked him to practice. He forms the shapes slowly with his hands, moving through in the pattern described to him: first the infinite breaks into streams and crashes together like the ocean, but the ocean too, must part as it expands around the earth.
“Oh.” Valm leans forward, her mouth round, “You made fire.”
He grunts. The ball is nebulous and sits unsteadily between his two palms, sustained only by concentration. It would burst three times as large if he let it. It would disappear if he let it, too. He splits it down the center by pulling the fire apart, and turns his palms to the sky with a lick of flame in each. He gives himself some ease, and the fire blazes upwards into twin columns, higher than the roof of his hut. He snuffs them both by snapping his hands to fists.
He sits quietly, with his eyes closed, until he feels some—sense, before him. Valm is mimicking the movements he just performed, and he sees flickers of red between her palms.
He closes her hands and shakes his head, snapping, “You are not to practice magic unless the master identifies you.”
“Oh.” Valm smiles, flexing her fingers, “But I can do magic, like you?”
Daimd says nothing. She uncrosses her legs, takes up her dagger, and bows to him before dashing off. He is uncertain how he feels.