So sorry everyone! I went on vacation, and forgot to mention the dates!
Here's the next couple of chapters.I know some of them are rather short.
Things get weird, and you might not like it, but I promise it'll all turn
out for the best!
Chapter 16:
Conversation was impossible. Caramon wasn't capable of intelligent conversation, as Alira soon found, and Raistlin was not willing to speak at all. To her chagrin, she realized that the only one she could talk to was Mischief.
She still hadn't gotten over the draconian. Alira was confused, and lost, and now it was more like Caramon was leading the two of them from place to place.
He was very nice. Alira soon became fond of him, in a brotherly way. He was just so open and easy to be around. But she found out quickly that he was extremely devoted to his little brother. He randomly checked on Raistlin, never leaving him alone for longer than ten minutes. Raistlin always waved him away, or barked at him for peace from his ministrations.
Mischief, however, got more interesting every day. The little fox refused to leave her side, much the way Caramon was with Raistlin. She spoke to him often, telling him everything that was on her mind. It was probably the only thing keeping her sane, her little confession-sessions with the small red beast. More than once, she would have sworn he could understand. But she would only convince herself that it was her imagination seeking someone to talk to. Alira didn't feel like she could trust anyone anymore.
Alira was convinced that it was a sad thing. Her best friend, the only person she trusts, is a strange fox with earrings. She had a companionship with Caramon, but it was a forced friendship, in a way. They had to travel together, because of Par-Salian's orders, and it only made sense to be friendly to the person you travel with. The only exception was Raistlin, and it truly bothered Alira.
He was worse than the draconian-Raist. He coughed more often, hissed and snarled every other word, and treated everyone like a servant. He was arrogant, obnoxious, rude, hateful.Alira often ran out of words to describe him. She would whisper her frustrations to Mischief, noting that he seemed to bob his head each time she spoke.
But tonight she made no such confessions. She was tired, from the traveling, and had a full belly. She fell straight asleep, tortured by thoughts and certain that her dreams would be the usual nightmares.
Caramon never had nightmares, and he had no idea how to respond to Alira's. When Raistlin was little, he would make shadow puppets, but they were all adults, and that was hardly appropriate. He just slept on. He didn't even wake up every time she had a nightmare, so he didn't know how bad it really was. Raistlin was the light sleeper. He woke often, but soon he learned to block her out. Mischief was the only one who didn't ignore her. He would sleep curled next to her, and when she woke he would nuzzle closer to her, seeming to assure her that all was okay.
But tonight, it was Raistlin who had the strange dreams, and Alira who slept more soundly than usual.
He saw a figure, robed in red, lying in fetal position on the floor, tossing and whimpering. It was Alira, he assumed, from her size and the color of her hair. Her back was to him, and she lay several yards away from him. Raistlin stood and watched her.
From a corner of darkness, a cloaked woman in white stepped delicately out. She was beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, pale skin, and features that he couldn't see. But he knew she was pretty, despite the fact he couldn't see her face clearly. She wore a golden fillet across her brow, and a medallion hung about her neck.
She bent down, kneeling by Alira's side, holding her hands above the cringing form in red. A small fox was nestled near Alira, peeking out with its unreal green eyes and staring straight at him, seeming to say something with those strange orbs of emerald.
The white-robed woman seemed frustrated. Raistlin realized she was a healer of some sorts. Then it dawned on him that this was no healer, nor was she a cleric of a god or goddess. She was Mishakal. Mishakal herself trying to heal Alira, and obviously frustrated that it did not work. She unbent her form, straightening and turning to look at Raistlin.
Her eyes were pity. They were regret. They were sadness. They cried out to him, even as tears slipped down her unclear face. Somehow, Alira was damaged in a way that Mishakal herself could not heal. Somehow, he was responsible. Somehow, he had to fix it.
He awoke in a cold sweat, to find his brother kneeling over him and whispering his name.
Alira lay in fetal position when he finally woke, but he did not divert his attention to her. Caramon was worried, and the oaf wouldn't stop bothering him until he did something.
"Raist! Are you alright?" his brother panicked. Finally, in a desperate and ridiculous attempt to try and soothe his obviously stressed little brother, he reverted to his old technique.
"Look, Raist! Bunnies!" he whispered quietly, vainly trying the shadow-puppet. Raistlin slapped his hand, hard.
"Fool!" he snarled. "I'm awake and I'm fine. Go back to sleep!"
Caramon's face twisted into the typical hurt look, but he obeyed, as usual. Raistlin shook his head. Foolishness, that's exactly what such dreams were. It was nothing but worthless, ridiculous foolishness. He went back to sleep.
The next day, they traveled on silently. Mischief was in a pack at Alira's waist, peeking out at Raistlin and Caramon. His weight was comforting. Absentmindedly, she would pat the little fox, which would nudge her affectionately, or lick her fingers.
"Where did you get that?" Caramon asked bluntly, trying yet again to be nice to Alira.
"He found me." She whispered, looking down at the fuzzy red bundle fondly. She unsettled Caramon. Although Alira didn't realize it, she was as unapproachable as Raistlin was, in Caramon's eyes. But Caramon was used to such behavior, and he was fully committed to trying to get to know her better.
The question was: how would Raistlin respond.
Chapter 16:
Conversation was impossible. Caramon wasn't capable of intelligent conversation, as Alira soon found, and Raistlin was not willing to speak at all. To her chagrin, she realized that the only one she could talk to was Mischief.
She still hadn't gotten over the draconian. Alira was confused, and lost, and now it was more like Caramon was leading the two of them from place to place.
He was very nice. Alira soon became fond of him, in a brotherly way. He was just so open and easy to be around. But she found out quickly that he was extremely devoted to his little brother. He randomly checked on Raistlin, never leaving him alone for longer than ten minutes. Raistlin always waved him away, or barked at him for peace from his ministrations.
Mischief, however, got more interesting every day. The little fox refused to leave her side, much the way Caramon was with Raistlin. She spoke to him often, telling him everything that was on her mind. It was probably the only thing keeping her sane, her little confession-sessions with the small red beast. More than once, she would have sworn he could understand. But she would only convince herself that it was her imagination seeking someone to talk to. Alira didn't feel like she could trust anyone anymore.
Alira was convinced that it was a sad thing. Her best friend, the only person she trusts, is a strange fox with earrings. She had a companionship with Caramon, but it was a forced friendship, in a way. They had to travel together, because of Par-Salian's orders, and it only made sense to be friendly to the person you travel with. The only exception was Raistlin, and it truly bothered Alira.
He was worse than the draconian-Raist. He coughed more often, hissed and snarled every other word, and treated everyone like a servant. He was arrogant, obnoxious, rude, hateful.Alira often ran out of words to describe him. She would whisper her frustrations to Mischief, noting that he seemed to bob his head each time she spoke.
But tonight she made no such confessions. She was tired, from the traveling, and had a full belly. She fell straight asleep, tortured by thoughts and certain that her dreams would be the usual nightmares.
Caramon never had nightmares, and he had no idea how to respond to Alira's. When Raistlin was little, he would make shadow puppets, but they were all adults, and that was hardly appropriate. He just slept on. He didn't even wake up every time she had a nightmare, so he didn't know how bad it really was. Raistlin was the light sleeper. He woke often, but soon he learned to block her out. Mischief was the only one who didn't ignore her. He would sleep curled next to her, and when she woke he would nuzzle closer to her, seeming to assure her that all was okay.
But tonight, it was Raistlin who had the strange dreams, and Alira who slept more soundly than usual.
He saw a figure, robed in red, lying in fetal position on the floor, tossing and whimpering. It was Alira, he assumed, from her size and the color of her hair. Her back was to him, and she lay several yards away from him. Raistlin stood and watched her.
From a corner of darkness, a cloaked woman in white stepped delicately out. She was beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, pale skin, and features that he couldn't see. But he knew she was pretty, despite the fact he couldn't see her face clearly. She wore a golden fillet across her brow, and a medallion hung about her neck.
She bent down, kneeling by Alira's side, holding her hands above the cringing form in red. A small fox was nestled near Alira, peeking out with its unreal green eyes and staring straight at him, seeming to say something with those strange orbs of emerald.
The white-robed woman seemed frustrated. Raistlin realized she was a healer of some sorts. Then it dawned on him that this was no healer, nor was she a cleric of a god or goddess. She was Mishakal. Mishakal herself trying to heal Alira, and obviously frustrated that it did not work. She unbent her form, straightening and turning to look at Raistlin.
Her eyes were pity. They were regret. They were sadness. They cried out to him, even as tears slipped down her unclear face. Somehow, Alira was damaged in a way that Mishakal herself could not heal. Somehow, he was responsible. Somehow, he had to fix it.
He awoke in a cold sweat, to find his brother kneeling over him and whispering his name.
Alira lay in fetal position when he finally woke, but he did not divert his attention to her. Caramon was worried, and the oaf wouldn't stop bothering him until he did something.
"Raist! Are you alright?" his brother panicked. Finally, in a desperate and ridiculous attempt to try and soothe his obviously stressed little brother, he reverted to his old technique.
"Look, Raist! Bunnies!" he whispered quietly, vainly trying the shadow-puppet. Raistlin slapped his hand, hard.
"Fool!" he snarled. "I'm awake and I'm fine. Go back to sleep!"
Caramon's face twisted into the typical hurt look, but he obeyed, as usual. Raistlin shook his head. Foolishness, that's exactly what such dreams were. It was nothing but worthless, ridiculous foolishness. He went back to sleep.
The next day, they traveled on silently. Mischief was in a pack at Alira's waist, peeking out at Raistlin and Caramon. His weight was comforting. Absentmindedly, she would pat the little fox, which would nudge her affectionately, or lick her fingers.
"Where did you get that?" Caramon asked bluntly, trying yet again to be nice to Alira.
"He found me." She whispered, looking down at the fuzzy red bundle fondly. She unsettled Caramon. Although Alira didn't realize it, she was as unapproachable as Raistlin was, in Caramon's eyes. But Caramon was used to such behavior, and he was fully committed to trying to get to know her better.
The question was: how would Raistlin respond.