A series of some senses that Joren experiences as he observes Keladry


Watch

He watched her the first time they met. Her cool eyes, blank face and perfect posture. They matched his and he found his rival in her.

He watched her the first time they fought. Her swift movements, fluid with grace and ease of practice. The way she knew where to hit, the surprise when a fist collided with her stomach.

He watched her from the mess hall, the dress cutting an odd figure for her awkward height and her not-yet developed figure.

He watched her when in lessons, the way she excelled in them the way he never could. The way arithmatics seemed to come to her like the way women were drawn to him.

Touch

The first time they met, her roughly cut hair contrasted his long pale locks. He wondered if she had pulled on it in frustration when she saw the mess they made in her room.

The first time they fought, his passing blows gave him satisfaction. Later, he would marvel that it was the first time he had touched a female other than his mother.

When she entered the mess hall in that fawn coloured dress with its silken texture and velvet sleeves, he wondered whether it would feel the same as the skirts he used to cling on to when he was five.

As they entered Master Lindhall's class, his mind was revolted at the feminine gentleness she held for the creatures that surrounded them

Hear

While Wyldon was deciding who was best to assign to her- to make sure she failed her probation- he heard her speak up for the first time. And her courage, that unladylike courage shocked and repelled him.

As she stalked towards them, fury blazing from her eyes, he ceased his hazing for a moment and looked straight into those hazel orbs. In that second, he understood her need to keep a mask- he could almost hear her fury-her thoughts- unleashing its feral cry.

At the chorus of "So mote it be's" they sat down and he cast a glance at The Girl and saw her half puzzled half amused expression directed at Queenscove. Try as he might though, he could not hear a word of their conversation.

As they sat in class, he could barely concentrate on the Mithran masters, all he could think of was hearing her voice as she recited the poem they were assigned to read.


Happy New Year!

Itia