From this collection of words, a story is born. Or, a snippet of a story, that is: stairs, grass, hem, cat, token.
Caldaeo couldn’t feel his wrists anymore. He was just old enough now to make the journey to the Old Acaethia and here he sat in an empty cell, strapped to the cold wall like a slab of meat. He hadn’t been there long, but it had been long enough that his wrists were rubbed raw from the shackles. And his rear end was sore from sitting on the stone floor. And his shoulders ached from having his arms held over his head. But he hadn’t been locked away long enough to break his spirit. He wondered, with a shiver, how long that would take.
Cursed bloody wenths, he thought with a growl rising in his throat. He thought of his friends, those who weren’t “gifted” with powers such as his, running about happily in the old lands of Acaethia, gathering this year’s harvest of iilybaen leaves. He’d waited nineteen years to do that, and he was missing his chance.
If only some innocent Morphe walked by my cell, he thought, racking his brain for ideas. Or a Shifter. Or a cat.
But with no other beings around him, he was completely powerless. He figured that his guards knew just that. No wonder he'd been put in isolation.
Then, from somewhere far out of sight, he heard a heavy door open. Two strange voices could be heard—just barely—echoing down the long corridor of the dungeon. Caldaeo held still, careful not to shift his chains, so he could hear them.
“—mustn’t say a word. I already fear they’ll find out, and my life is on the line.”
“I understand.” Caldaeo’s ear twitched. That voice was familiar, though he couldn’t place it. “We can’t express our gratitude for how you’ve helped us. Your service will be remembered.”
“Thank you, Aetherdayu. You do our people honor.”
Aetherdayu! Caldaeo couldn’t help but jump at the name. The rendarth, the leader, of his own tribe…here? Why?
“Can you show me to him?”
Footsteps echoed as the two walked nearer.
“That cell, there. He’s been in isolation for a couple days.”
The door to Caldaeo’s cell rattled. Through the small, barred window, he could see very little. In a moment, the door creaked open. Aetherdayu himself stood there, his red-rimmed eyes falling on Caldaeo’s miserable form.
“How's your stay been, Caldaeo?”
Cursed bloody wenths, he thought with a growl rising in his throat. He thought of his friends, those who weren’t “gifted” with powers such as his, running about happily in the old lands of Acaethia, gathering this year’s harvest of iilybaen leaves. He’d waited nineteen years to do that, and he was missing his chance.
If only some innocent Morphe walked by my cell, he thought, racking his brain for ideas. Or a Shifter. Or a cat.
But with no other beings around him, he was completely powerless. He figured that his guards knew just that. No wonder he'd been put in isolation.
Then, from somewhere far out of sight, he heard a heavy door open. Two strange voices could be heard—just barely—echoing down the long corridor of the dungeon. Caldaeo held still, careful not to shift his chains, so he could hear them.
“—mustn’t say a word. I already fear they’ll find out, and my life is on the line.”
“I understand.” Caldaeo’s ear twitched. That voice was familiar, though he couldn’t place it. “We can’t express our gratitude for how you’ve helped us. Your service will be remembered.”
“Thank you, Aetherdayu. You do our people honor.”
Aetherdayu! Caldaeo couldn’t help but jump at the name. The rendarth, the leader, of his own tribe…here? Why?
“Can you show me to him?”
Footsteps echoed as the two walked nearer.
“That cell, there. He’s been in isolation for a couple days.”
The door to Caldaeo’s cell rattled. Through the small, barred window, he could see very little. In a moment, the door creaked open. Aetherdayu himself stood there, his red-rimmed eyes falling on Caldaeo’s miserable form.
“How's your stay been, Caldaeo?”
