Again, big thanks to all my faithful readers and their wonderful reviews. I
look forward to them! Also, I know I don't own dragonlance.etc. etc..but I
do own Alira so there!
Chapter 20:
Alira awoke that morning with a crick in her neck and a rather vague and annoying memory of something that happened that night. The memories flooded back, suddenly, when she sat up. At first, she couldn't believe it.it had to have been a bad dream.
Then Caramon, ever the master of subtlety, made his appearance. "Umm, Alira?"
Mischief growled low in his throat, having awoken when Alira sat up. He snapped at Caramon. Flinching, the large man backed up a step.
"What." She said flatly.
"Raistlin."
"What!" she called, getting annoyed and angry.
"He's gone."
The search did not help Alira's mood. It was raining outside. Not as badly as before, but still badly. She clutched her cloak around her tightly, Mischief tucked safely in a pouch near her chest, keeping her warm. She made certain he was dry, at the least.
Alira tramped through the woods, looking for signs that Raistlin had passed through. Either he was very good at hiding his tracks, or the rain had taken care of it for him. She heard Caramon call. He had gone the other direction. She breathed a sigh, hoping that he had found the slight mage. Alira had only been outside for a few minutes, but she was already cranky.
She ran lightly, painfully aware of her leg, but desperate to get everything over with.
What she saw scared the living daylights out of her. Caramon stood over a crumpled form. She breathed a curse. Of course, it had to be Raistlin.who else could it be?
Caramon whimpered as Alira came near and dropped to a crouch to check out the damage. He was still alive, though he shivered as though in the clutches of death. Again, Alira cursed.
"Well! Get him off the ground! Don't want him to just wallow there in the mud." she said. She watched as Caramon heaved his little brother up onto his shoulder, and walked as though carrying a sack of potatoes back to the little shack in which they took up residence.
Finally back, Alira built a fire up, putting the damp mage near enough that he could get some of the warmth. Caramon looked guilty as sin, and Alira snapped at him, which made him look like a kicked dog instead.
After a few hours, and a trip that Caramon took to get meat, Alira had a warm broth of rabbit in a both for Raistlin. She prayed he wouldn't take sick, knowing that with his health, he likely would. She propped him up on her thigh, tipping his head back a little bit. His eyes were closed, but he still shivered. She assumed he was sleeping. Taking a rough spoon, she ladled some broth out and tested it for warmth. It was hot, but it wouldn't scald.
Alira had a wicked thought. She knew it wouldn't be nice, but she didn't quite care. Perhaps it was this momentary abandon that caused her to slap Raistlin gently on the cheek once, wait until his eyelids fluttered, to pour the entire spoonful into his mouth and tilt him up so it could trickle down his throat.
He flew upwards, coughing down the broth. Finally taking a breath, he turned on her. Alira still sat calmly on the floor, as though nothing had happened. She expected his reaction. He hissed, coughing between words, sentences that she ignored. Halfway through, she affected a dreamy not- quite-there smile, a small smile, a smile of peace.
Finally, he wound down, heaving in breaths that he had missed during his rant. She didn't' say a word. He began to walk past her, but she grabbed his hand, and gently drew him down. "Have the rest." She ordered, pressing the bowl into his hand, not letting go of her iron-grip of his wrist until he accepted it. Her eyes were as hard as her fingers. Her fingers.burned.on his wrist. Then, she drew him further down until he sat. "Eat."
"I don't want --" he began to defend himself, but the look in her eyes was enough to even intimidate him into obeying. He wondered who she was.she certainly wasn't the woman they had met so many days ago. She had changed. It almost frightened him. He was the one who should be cold. He was the one who would be worshiped for his power and his self. Raistlin did not like the fact that he had submitted to her will.
It was a crack in the dross that was his armor.
Another note: so sorry, I wrote most of this while reading "White Oleander" and I think it may have had an effect (bad.effect.cough.gasp.choke) on my own writing. So I apologize if this ain't too good.thanks for reading!
Chapter 20:
Alira awoke that morning with a crick in her neck and a rather vague and annoying memory of something that happened that night. The memories flooded back, suddenly, when she sat up. At first, she couldn't believe it.it had to have been a bad dream.
Then Caramon, ever the master of subtlety, made his appearance. "Umm, Alira?"
Mischief growled low in his throat, having awoken when Alira sat up. He snapped at Caramon. Flinching, the large man backed up a step.
"What." She said flatly.
"Raistlin."
"What!" she called, getting annoyed and angry.
"He's gone."
The search did not help Alira's mood. It was raining outside. Not as badly as before, but still badly. She clutched her cloak around her tightly, Mischief tucked safely in a pouch near her chest, keeping her warm. She made certain he was dry, at the least.
Alira tramped through the woods, looking for signs that Raistlin had passed through. Either he was very good at hiding his tracks, or the rain had taken care of it for him. She heard Caramon call. He had gone the other direction. She breathed a sigh, hoping that he had found the slight mage. Alira had only been outside for a few minutes, but she was already cranky.
She ran lightly, painfully aware of her leg, but desperate to get everything over with.
What she saw scared the living daylights out of her. Caramon stood over a crumpled form. She breathed a curse. Of course, it had to be Raistlin.who else could it be?
Caramon whimpered as Alira came near and dropped to a crouch to check out the damage. He was still alive, though he shivered as though in the clutches of death. Again, Alira cursed.
"Well! Get him off the ground! Don't want him to just wallow there in the mud." she said. She watched as Caramon heaved his little brother up onto his shoulder, and walked as though carrying a sack of potatoes back to the little shack in which they took up residence.
Finally back, Alira built a fire up, putting the damp mage near enough that he could get some of the warmth. Caramon looked guilty as sin, and Alira snapped at him, which made him look like a kicked dog instead.
After a few hours, and a trip that Caramon took to get meat, Alira had a warm broth of rabbit in a both for Raistlin. She prayed he wouldn't take sick, knowing that with his health, he likely would. She propped him up on her thigh, tipping his head back a little bit. His eyes were closed, but he still shivered. She assumed he was sleeping. Taking a rough spoon, she ladled some broth out and tested it for warmth. It was hot, but it wouldn't scald.
Alira had a wicked thought. She knew it wouldn't be nice, but she didn't quite care. Perhaps it was this momentary abandon that caused her to slap Raistlin gently on the cheek once, wait until his eyelids fluttered, to pour the entire spoonful into his mouth and tilt him up so it could trickle down his throat.
He flew upwards, coughing down the broth. Finally taking a breath, he turned on her. Alira still sat calmly on the floor, as though nothing had happened. She expected his reaction. He hissed, coughing between words, sentences that she ignored. Halfway through, she affected a dreamy not- quite-there smile, a small smile, a smile of peace.
Finally, he wound down, heaving in breaths that he had missed during his rant. She didn't' say a word. He began to walk past her, but she grabbed his hand, and gently drew him down. "Have the rest." She ordered, pressing the bowl into his hand, not letting go of her iron-grip of his wrist until he accepted it. Her eyes were as hard as her fingers. Her fingers.burned.on his wrist. Then, she drew him further down until he sat. "Eat."
"I don't want --" he began to defend himself, but the look in her eyes was enough to even intimidate him into obeying. He wondered who she was.she certainly wasn't the woman they had met so many days ago. She had changed. It almost frightened him. He was the one who should be cold. He was the one who would be worshiped for his power and his self. Raistlin did not like the fact that he had submitted to her will.
It was a crack in the dross that was his armor.
Another note: so sorry, I wrote most of this while reading "White Oleander" and I think it may have had an effect (bad.effect.cough.gasp.choke) on my own writing. So I apologize if this ain't too good.thanks for reading!