The market square was packed with people. Shems, "elves", even durgen'len scurried around the stands, shouting all sorts of nonsense above eachother.
Poor fools, Abelas thought, like shadows flickering in candlelight. None of them will ever be what could have been...
He pulled his robe tighter around him. His golden armor, while sturdy and flattering, had proven to be a hindrance in his endevor to enlighten the People. They distrusted him, refused to speak with him. He assumed this was why the Elvhen man in the "Inquisitor"s company had assumed such a sorry disguise. It was easier to approach people when he looked more... nondescript.
A thud pulled him out of his thoughts. Among the bustling crowd someone had dropped something fairly heavy.
A book.
Hmph. They do not even look after the knowledge they have. He approached the book and picked it up. It was worn, with pages jutting out unevenly where notes had been inserted. There where signs of extensive repair here and there. A tree was embossed on the cover.
He flicked it open. The pages within where filled with neat handwriting, yet wild strokes adorned the words here and there. Skimming over its contents revealed them to be stories.
Elven stories.
Modern elven stories.
He read a few passages. Flicked past a few pages. A few illustrations caught his eye. The hubbub of the market became a soft roar in the background as he found himself immersed by the text.
"You there. I dropped my book, is that it?" a womans voice interrupted.
Abelas looked up. A "dalish" woman looked him square in the eye. Her fierce gaze pierced him, a gaze whose like he had not seen since the days of Arlathan. He looked back at the book.
"This is yours?"
"Yes."
"You wrote this?"
"Yes." the woman held out her hand. "I'd like it back."
Abelas closed the book. He wiped some dirt from its cover. "It is... interesting." he admitted. "It has been a long time since I read something... interesting." A slight blush came to the woman's cheeks as he handed her the book. She held his gaze, her eyes glimmering like the sunlight trough treetops. He unexpectedly found his own face grow warmer.
"Ma serannas." she said shyly, as if she was not used to the words. After a brief silence she added "My name is Velanna."
Abelas suddenly felt a strong need to make the next thing he said count.
"Ir Abelas." he stuttered.
Retour en haut
I'd give in and read that story if it were expanded on. I would!
