"Someting botherin ju, Tyra?" Zanda handed her a bowl of soup. The two had sheltered from a rather brown looking rain, west of Stratholme. The burning city could be clearly seen on the horizon, though it was not their destination.
Tyra glanced at the troll, shrugging a shoulder, "Jus' been thinkin' about my path in life, aye? Before I got dead, I traveled by sword an' song. Now look at me, no better'n an assassin, skulkin' around in shadows an' places."
"Ju skulk good, though."
"You're jus' biased, Zanda," The rogue muttered, rubbing her fingers over the left side of her chest.
Zanda frowned, watching her carefully, "Ju still be frettin about tings? Ju always sayin if anyone kills me, it be ju. Still feel dat way?"
"You know 'ow I feel, you dumb blueberry."
The priest's voice is saddened, "Dat be jus' the ting, sometime I don be knowin what ju feel."
Tyra remained silent for a long moment, staring down into her soup, "Never thought it was normal, you know. I'm a bloody corpse, an' I've never figured 'ow you could love me. Don' much care either way, o'course, wha' people think. You were the first person since I died to look at me as more than jus' another walkin' body. I didn't even look at myself 'as much more'n that."
She looked at Zanda, catching the troll's eyes, "An' you know 'ow much tha' scared me. Still got the scar on your chest from m'knife, I wager. I nearly killed you. You were a threat to wha' I was becomin' an' I wanted t'kill you, but I couldn't. You were lettin' me an' I couldn't. I cared about you. I was weak."
"Is what ju are now, better den what ju could have become?"
"It makes me want to cry, sometimes, wha' I am. I miss wha' I was. I 'ave these faces in my mind an' I can't even put names to them. I 'ear their voices and fookin' 'ate tha' I can't remember. I 'ave to rely on you to tell me wha' colour the sky is, and if the leaves 'ave faded in the fall, an' wha' color flowers are bloomin' in t'spring. I look at my reflection and want more."
The troll scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Tyra, "I always sayin ju be fine the way ju are."
She then asked, "Ju said ju saw the colour of my blood, when ju tried to kill me. An ju haven't seen a colour since?"
"Zanda, I get scared sometimes. Wonderin' if somethin'll 'appen and I'll finally do it. Maybe you should go back, an' let me go on alone, aye? I'm jus' gettin' this feelin' in m'gut. "
"Don ju be worryin about me," Zanda boasted, bonking her friend over the head for what was probably the sixth time that day. "Stop frettin. Besides, someone got to be keepin ju out of trouble."