It was late at night, in fact, so late that it was early, and Bast was praying he wouldn't awaken Kvothe as he crept by the younger man's bedroom door. He knew where all the loose floorboards were and avoided them with an ease that only came from doing something several times. Finally three doors down from his teacher's sleeping quarters, Bast released a pent-up breath he hadn't been aware of and moved a little more freely. At the end of the long hallway was a window that displayed a view of the inn's yard, stables only just visible in the light of the sliver of moon present. Yet Bast had no trouble seeing, never stumbling or tripping, moving with dancer-like grace towards his destination.
Before reaching the window, Bast halted and knelt, his glamour down and cloven hooves sliding along polished timber, shining eerily in the hall that ought to be black. He gently caught an edge of a floorboard and pried it upwards, lifting two other boards with it. A trapdoor of sorts. Bast began to set the covering panels aside when something caught his eye; a strand of hair caught between the minute gaps. He held it up to the silver light, trying to determine its colour. Desperately hoping it was the colour of a strong flame, Bast was disappointed to find it was one of his own black ones. Setting the boards down, Bast carefully withdrew the first item.
xXx
The first Bast handled gingerly and with trepidation. It was a long, narrow shape wrapped in blood-red cloth, protected from the dust and wet. He carefully unwound the cloth, revealing an old blade, older than himself by many years. It was simple and gleamed dully, yet there was a menacing air to it, something that Bast's finely tuned senses picked up easily. Not game enough to touch the blade which was not iron, even after many months of the same ritual, he reverently wrapped it and set it aside, now knowing the beginning of it's story. There had been much that had puzzled him, but none more so than where his teacher had obtained such an obviously powerful and ancient weapon. He set it down and reached for the second object.
This one reminded him of home, although he had never been to the part of the realm where this had been so carefully and cleverly crafted. The shaed fluttered gently although there was no breeze to shift it, and Bast heard it whispering inaudible words to itself, enjoying being let out into the moonlight. This he had known about before his Reshi had explained it, although who had made it had startled him. Slowly standing, Bast fashioned the mid-length cloak into a long one, letting it wave by the soft light, running soft fingers through the fabric, remembering a realm that he had not visited for an age. A cloud passed in front of the moon. Sighing, he knelt again and set aside the shadow.
The third item was by far the most important, although it's monetary value was far less than its two roommates. This memento both fascinated and frightened Bast, and was both the most dreaded and most anticipated item he came to on these nightly endeavours. Smooth timber curves, so delicately formed, creating a seamless join. Strong, solid clasps that neither rusted nor came loose. Bast cradled the lute case with more care than he had ever held anything. A floorboard creaked further down the hall, and Bast froze, tensing everywhere but his arms, refusing to subject the case and its occupant to any form of stress. For several long heartbeats he neither breathed nor blinked, but all was still and silent. Bast debated whether or not to open it, and spent some minutes turning over the case before coming to a decision. He carefully flipped the catches.
xXx
Empty. The lute case was empty, the silken lining bare and reflecting back the gentle light of the re-emerging moon. Bast stared in amazement for a few stunned seconds, and then a manic grin spread across his face, and his eyes lost all human qualities as he dropped his glamour fully, something he rarely did. Still holding the case gently, Bast made his way quietly to his teacher's door and rested his ear against the solid timber, straining for the sound of music, already revelling in the joy that he felt. If his Reshi was playing his lute at last, then maybe he wouldn't fade. He wouldn't forget that the mask he wore was just that, a mask. A means of fooling others, but never designed to enchant himself.
But Bast could hear nothing, and that worried him as much as if the instrument had still rested in the case in his slender fingers. He retreated, slipping back towards the trapdoor, and carefully replaced the items, making sure everything was as it had been. The timber made the softest of clicks as it closed, and again Bast froze, heart audible, although there was no movement. As he crept past Kvothe's bedroom, he couldn't help but press his ear to the door again, and recoiled slightly when he heard an ugly sound, one he had not heard from his teacher before. Heavy, racking sobs were audible in a room that more often than not held only silence, regardless whether or not someone occupied it.
The sound distressed Bast, and he frantically tried to come to a decision as to what he should do. Burst in and in all likelihood, embarrass Kvothe, or walk away and try to face him the next day and not give anything away? There was no right answer, and Bast wished that he had chosen another night to check on his beloved teacher's items, relics from a dark past. Some things were best left alone, and the breakdown of his friend and mentor was one of them. With a heavy heart, Bast turned his back, continued on his path and slipped into his room, locking the door before sliding to the floor and shaking with unshed tears, trying futilely to rid his ears of the echoes of tortured sobs.
Seeing as this is my first entry for the Kingkiller Chronicle, I would love some feedback as to what I did well, and what I can improve on. Is Bast in character? Prompts are also welcome.