Author's Notes: Here we go- second PoR fic. Heavy spoilers for Soren's backstory- steer clear if you haven't gotten his support conversation with Ike. Have I mentioned, btw,that I torture the characters I love? -grin-
Warnings: Angst. Spoilers.
Motivation
The plate had been resting beside the open tome long enough by far for every jagged imperfection in the rough-carved wooden dish to have been committed to memory. It was beyond distracting- had begun to creep into the category of mesmerizing- and even as Soren fought to keep his eyes trained upon the yellowed pages of the book before him, the child found his thoughts beginning to wander.
It was an effort not to squirm- because that would entail impatience, which was unacceptable- but he managed it by supreme force of will, eyes focused resolutely upon the shape of the words, the way the sentence fit together.
It made no more sense than it had the first time he'd caught sight of it; there was no meaning behind the form, comprehension hovering somewhere just beyond his reach.
And the plate, the child knew, was just beside him, a segment of thick, brown bread resting upon it. Soren had watched it torn roughly from the rest of the loaf the night before, dusky red eyes captivated by the first food he'd seen all day.
When the lesson was complete, the old sage had said, he would get his dinner. A fitting motivation.
But the spell was a difficult one, and though the child had made progress, he was far from being able to decipher it.
And concentration, Soren had come to realize, was a very elusive thing indeed.
He hadn't noticed that his gaze had wandered from the page until the switch came down on the back of his hands, the crack when it hit flesh alarming in the quiet room. The boy hissed and jerked away, a thin line of blood welling up where the blow had fallen.
"Eyes on the book," the old man instructed. "If you'd hurry and show something for your studies, you'd have eaten already."
There wasn't meant to be a reply to that; the child had learned long ago that the only response required was a nod of agreement.
He gave it without hesitation, tearing his eyes from the bread with a twinge of guilt- the man had taken him in, after all, had seen some value where always before people had seen a horrible mistake, and all he asked in return was that Soren learn his craft.
It wasn't unreasonable, the boy told himself, that his master anticipated progress.
And if Soren could just keep up with expectations, perhaps some day the sage would even be happy with him.
"Sometimes," the old man groused as he settled back down to pour over his own tome, "I wonder whether you're just wasting my time."
It was the words, more than the sting of the cut across the backs of his hands, that kept the child's eyes firmly on the lesson for the rest of the afternoon.
-owari-