Disclaimer: What is this? My fifteenth disclaimer? Well, it's the twelfth time you're going to hear that I don't own Dustfinger.
A/N: Yup, more Dustfinger angst. I thought this one was a little rushed, though... Please review... Hello?... Heelllooo?
Dedication: To all those who wonder why Dustfinger did not simply knock on the door.
Fire & Rain
Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain.
Nothing stirred in the night, and the windows of the old farmhouse were dark.
If anyone could have seen the motionless man standing oblivious to the rain, wishing that the night was just a little bit darker, they wouldn't have known what to make of him.
But no one saw him, and the rain just kept on drumming its crystal fingers on the earth, as if it were… waiting.
And, indeed, the whole world seemed to be holding its breath…
Yes, Dustfinger was good at being unnoticed, even in plain view.
Sometimes, even in his own world, his face had attracted curious stares. He'd been so sick of it… even there. But he'd give anything to be sick of it back there instead of inconspicuous here…
It wasn't as though being overlooked was difficult, even with his appearance. This world moved so quickly, and people hurrying with their lives had no time to think about him… a stranger, an outcast, someone who didn't belong…
Even the night moved quickly here, as though it was something unwelcome, a hindrance in the constant movement of this world…
Gwin chattered, crossly. He was soaked through, even in the backpack; he, too, preferred the light and warmth to the darkness and cold of this night.
If possible, Dustfinger was faring worse than the marten. The rain had long since dampened his coat and the water in his hair ran in his eyes.
It's not like you're any stranger to darkness and cold, eh, Dustfinger? He thought bitterly. Even his laugh was bitter, as though nine years' despair had soaked him to the bone, just as thoroughly as the rain soaked him now.
Even alone, he kept his emotions away from his face, and allowed only rain to dampen his scarred cheeks.
Had it been like that before? Or had something died inside him that night when Silvertongue's voice had brought him into this story?
With the best will in the world, he couldn't remember.
I wish… he started in his mind. But what good was wishing?
What good had nine years' wishing done?
…And what good was this night going to do?
Maybe that was the reason that he simply gazed at the house, instead of gathering his courage and knocking on the door.
What good was courage anyway? Hadn't staying alive here taken enough of it?
He was aware of someone watching him. Turning slowly, he looked into the eyes of Silvertongue's daughter. They were her mother's eyes, clear sky-blue.
Only fear showed in them, fear of the terrors that the night hid in its black cloak. He had often seen the same expression in Resa's eyes.
How is this going to help her? He had asked himself this question hundreds of times since he had located Silvertongue three days ago, and he always seemed to come up with the same answer.
It's not. It will very likely make her life worse.
Dustfinger cursed his stupid heart. I just want to go home, damn it! Is that a crime? Is it wrong of me to hate everything to do with this world? Is it wrong of me not to care? After nine years when no one cared for me?
But the truth was, someone did care, and as hard as he tried to deny it, that mattered to him.
The girl had disappeared from the window, probably to tell her father about the stranger in the rain.
Dustfinger could remember a time when his own daughter, scarcely higher than his waist, had come to him in the night, begging him to drive her fears away.
Nine years. She would be older than Silvertongue's daughter now, and very likely she would hate what little memory she had of him.
Then, there was his other child. She had been just a baby when he'd disappeared, and she would not remember him at all.
Silvertongue had come to the window, now. Dustfinger regarded him with his blank stare. No, it would not hurt to betray him. Not at all.
He had stepped away from the glass, now, but Dustfinger could still picture his face: unhappy that his life was being thrown into turmoil, four years after being forced to remember.
He should be. Why did he think that he could uproot people's lives and not put them right again?
But of course, he didn't know why Dustfinger had come. Very likely, he thought that the fire eater was just going to beg to go home yet again.
Well, you are going to help me go home, Silvertongue. But not in a way you'll find particularly pleasant.
"Dustfinger, is that you?" Light streamed from the door, now. It blended with the night, throwing the world into focus.
Of course it's me. It's always me.
Hesitantly, almost as if he had an idea of what he was setting in motion, Dustfinger stepped out of the rain, and into the light.
The door snapped closed behind him, and the rain kept on singing its ancient lullaby to the empty world.
A/N: Anyone who wants to see a serious full-length from me, review or PM me, as I am working on a couple. I'm putting one up, today, come to think of it...