Post by gathera on Apr 1, 2009 17:23:42 GMT -5
My hand slipped down unbidden to brush against the wooden cross. I enjoyed the smooth silky feel of the wood grain; the cold electric chill each of the marks gave my finger tips as they hovered lightly over them. There was a certain pride in creation. The elation I felt when the final syllable was uttered and the charm set. The endless hours of toil, polishing and oiling the wood. My fingers still even now twinge cramping at the memory of the ordeal. This part was behind me now.
To think that the singer of the waves, Urien viewed the display as nothing more than a parlour trick. A single mistake in the incantation would have slain me instantly with the backlash. “Ah well for the best”, I thought, “Indeed better that he never knew the truth”. I was half way there, close enough to sense the finish. I knew what was needed next, what was expected.
To think that the singer of the waves, Urien viewed the display as nothing more than a parlour trick. A single mistake in the incantation would have slain me instantly with the backlash. “Ah well for the best”, I thought, “Indeed better that he never knew the truth”. I was half way there, close enough to sense the finish. I knew what was needed next, what was expected.