"The Pianist"
~Chapter Three~

"She's never been this long in the woods before," Gregor murmurs almost to himself; it's late and his younger children are tucked away in their beds, only him and his wife Marina sit up, awaiting the return of Gabriella- however, it's been hours. Marina anxiously folds and unfolds her hands in her lap, then busies herself with a small task, only then to have her hands back in her lap; twisting and strangling the circulation from her fingers. Gregor is pacing the floor with a frenzy, if the floor was made of dirt - which it's not, thankfully; just a simple wood. "I shouldn't have let her go into the-"

"Gregor," Marina says, "she's nearly a woman, she has a right to-"

"Do you not remember the last time she went into the woods?" He interrupts his wife, turning his eyes on her; they are slightly red and a bit puffy. Gregor is no man to hide his emotions in the presence of his family; but when he's public, he is stone and stands hard like a statue that stands tall and proud in the Evan's castle court.

"Of course I remember," Marina says calmly, looking down at her knotted hands. "I also remember who killed that wolf-"

"If she hadn't followed me into the woods that day-"

"Gregor," Marina says, standing up and taking his stubbly face in her hands when she reached him; his pacing ceased. "It's not your fault, nor her's...it was a fateful accident that shouldn't have happened. But, Gregor, you can't tell me that you don't look at Gabriella- our eldest daughter -and think that she isn't the most beautiful young woman you've seen; cause that's what I see." Gregor sighs, shaking his head and leaning his forehead on that of his wife's and kissing her lips chastely.

"You are a fine woman," he whispers against her lips. She smiles sympathetically, running her fingers through his curly hair that landed on his shoulders; just shy of his collar bone.

"She will be safe home soon, Gregor, we mustn't worry-"

"Marin-"

"-too much." She finishes, not letting him speak; she intertwines her fingers through his and kisses everyone of his knuckles; staring into his dark eyes. "Come." She says, "we must sleep...and you have work in the fields with the Baylor's tomorrow."

He shakes his head, "I can't think of work...not now, not when my little girl is-"

"-is going to be home at any moment. You'll see. Now, come." She squeezes his hand reassuringly and tugs him toward their small square of a bedroom; both are anxiously awaiting the late arrival of their suddenly wayward daughter-it's not like Gabriella to be wayward. Not at all, so why is she starting now?

It's warm, no longer cold and freezing as it was outside in the woods; her toes flex and her fingers curl tightly into her palms. Her eyes squeeze shut at the pain in her skull, and her shoulders felt something soft and warm- not her cloak that had been chilled from the cold wind outside -drape over them. She is at totally ease, er...well she would've been; if it hadn't been for the sound of clicking nails on the floor that made her eyes fly open and her body sit up. "What the-where am I?" She slurs tiredly, looking at the two dogs sitting by the fire hearth on the other side of the...rather large chamber. Her heart instantly speeds it's pace again and she silently looks for anything to beat the blasted animals with.

Then a thought occurred to her, 'How'd I get here?' she thinks, looking around the immaculate white marble walls covered in tapestries and paintings and gold linings. It was a whine, soft and curious, that made her look at the fire place hearth again; this time into the green eyes of the white wolf that had helped fight off the four wolves from earlier. She swallows, pulling the blanket up to her chin as her lip trembles. "Don't...don't hurt me." She whispers, the white wolf tilts it's head and whines once more before turning to the reddish one and nuzzling it's shoulder- it whimpers in pain but otherwise only turns it's head. Shocking blue eyes meet hers.

Is it natural for wolves to have such...human like eyes? Eyes that hold such intelligence?

The white wolf takes a step closer to the bed where she is lying; holding the blankets to her chin. "Stay-stay away from..." the wolf nuzzles her arm and then rests it's head on the bed beside her. Her heart is still hammering in her chest and behind her ears. Taking a breath, she raises her hand and scratches between the creatures ears tentatively; and then the reddish one comes behind and shoves ...him? Her? With it's nose; causing Gabriella to jerk her hand away. The white wolf looks at the other, it's eyes narrowing; like a human's would, it opens its muzzle to perhaps growl or bark..but instead, their ears for straight and their muzzles close when a soft melody comes through; slicing the air delicately. The two wolves look at each other, then at her and then at the window where the door to balcony is opened; the sun is just about to rise in less than a few minutes.

It's as if they were talking; communicating in some way that Gabriella couldn't understand, and probably would never since after that whole experience, especially since they run from that chamber and disappear behind the heavy looking door. 'Where am I?' Gabriella wonders, holding the blankets to her as she looks around with wide eyes and puckered lips.

"Great," she says, her voice whining a bit as she falls back on to the oh so soft mattress. "Mama and Papa is going to tan my hide when I get home." She closes her eyes and pulls the blanket to cover them; wishing and hoping that this is all a dream and she'd wake up at home and in her own bed.

He wakes, his lips twitching as he relives that day in his dreams. The day his sight was taken, the day that he could only live in blackness until his 21st year. He has two years; he's only nineteen. Groaning, he flings his feet over the edge of his mattress, his fingers running through his unkempt hair; his hair tie falls off when he sleeps, thus he wakes up with a haystack for hair in the morn. His bare shoulders hunch over his knees as he practically falls asleep once more in that sitting position, but he knows that he must be up and awake; moving about this now pathetic and depressing excuse for a castle. Sighing, and ruffling his fingers through his hair, he stands up and stretchs. His ears are perked up for everything; that tense, brooding look about his shoulders and crinkle between his brows always there from all the thoughts stressing through his mind daily. He looks toward where he knows are the balcony doors, he can just imagine the sunrise; the herald of the dawn and the lark calling it's song to wake the villagers below the castle- just a few miles off. His fingers twitch, but he only folds them against his palm as he walks slowly to the trunk, that he had moved all his clothes too, that sits at the foot of his rather large bed. He pulls out a...well, that's the thing that is impossible with blindness; he can't see his clothing, but he's been dressing himself alone for 18 months- as if he'd let anyone else do it!

The door knob rattles, there's a knock that follows. He sighs, "What?!" He yells, it's too early, surely, to be bothered by anybody.

"Sire," says the pathetic voice of his servant. "I-I...your parents have requested you."

"Tell them I'm ill." He says bluntly, feeling the smooth fabric of...is this a tunic? The servant coughs, he sighs once more and rolls his eyes; he'd be glaring if he was able to see at all. Damned witch. "Is it of any importance?!" Does he mean to scold? To yell? Yes, he's not a morning person.

"They say it is." His voice is soft, Troy sighs shaking his head and digging through his trunk again. "Can I dress at least?" His voice is relatively softer, but still scolding. The servant nods nervously, and this irritates Troy. Everything does, because he cannot see when others nod. The servant realizes his error and promptly speaks out; Troy holds up the fabric- a routine for his dressing. "This a tunic?"

"Yes, Sire." Troy nods, feeling for what he knows is the front and puts it on. The tights he had slept in he leaves on himself; he's covered decently. "There," Troy says, "bring my parents in-"

"Sire, your excellency-" the poor servant interrupts, Troy narrows his eyes even though he cannot see; just out of habit to show his irritation for being interrupted by a servant. Well anybody really. The servant swallows, looking down and taking a fearful step back. "They have requested you in their room-wishing to show you-"

"I'll meet them no further than the entry to my wing...no further. Bring them." The servant bows his head, and scuttling his feet toward the large double doors of Troy's suite. When he hears the click of the door, Troy turns and crosses his arms over his chest to heave a large sigh and he turns to the door again; his hand reaching in front of him so he can grasp the handle once he reaches it.

Lorana paces the tile floor of the hall; she and David stand outside the huge doors that lead into their suite, occasionally peeking in to see that the brunette girl - about 16 years of age, the right age to marry - is lying on their bed with the blankets drawn up. Lorana admits, she doesn't know why she feels a maternal instinct toward the girl (wolf or human, maternal) but she does, perhaps that's why she's the one who brought here to the castle in the first place, where as David's idea of wanting to just track her path back to her home was...well, Lorana is great at arguing-and winning that argument.

Flashback

'No,' David says, his tail twitching; he's licking his paw that had gotten injured in the fight. 'We aren't taking her home with us.' Lorana stretches her front paws out, rising her hind end in the air to stretch her spine.

'David,' she says, whining as she huffs out a breath from her snout. 'She's only a child; not much younger than-'

'We can take her home, but Troy won't like it.'

'You know as well as I do that he needs to learn to see beauty with his heart...well, David, look at her.' Her ears twitch to the side and her head turns to the small framed girl lying unconscious on the ground; a good sized cut on her forehead from where she fell from the tree and hit her head on that medium rock. David sighs, his muzzle opening to let out a yawn. He examines her face; the left side where it's marred and the right side where it's flawless, her dark curls that splay all over the ground; it is very long. How does she take care of it?

'She is pretty.' he says simply, Lorana huffs and walking over to the girl and nuzzling her shoulder; she stirs only slightly but doesn't wake. Lorana looks up at her husband, 'help me, Husband.' she commands, 'I cannot carry her by myself...'

'I still say this is a bad idea-'

'And I say we're done talking about this. She comes with us.' David rolls his eyes, walking over to where is wife stands and the girl lays, 'and we get charged with kidnapping by the constable when her parents discover she's missing.'

Lorana rolls her eyes and doesn't say a word as she and him pick up the girl with their nuzzles and balance her as best they can on their shoulders; they walk back home slowly, and manage to make it back before the sun rises...

End of Flashback

That was hours ago, and Lorana still feels like writing a tally on the nearest wall to keep score of who wins whichever argument her and David have or shall have soon. David rubs his wrist between his fingers; looking out a narrow window at the sun that is rising in the mid-morning sky. "Where is he?" David asks, turning his blue eyes on his wife. Lorana sighs and wraps an arm around him; he's wearing a blue cotton robe, and she a white silk one. Fitting, since as a wolf she has white fur.

"He'll be here-" the clearing of a throat makes them turn around; seeing the servant they sent. Lorana smiles, but David frowns.

"Well?" David asks, his tone gentle. "Where is our son?" The servant sighs, knotting his- well, what would be fingers -tassels together. When the three women as the enchantress turn everything and everyone into something, he is turned into a rug; that can walk and talk- a rug because that's how Troy treats him...most of the time. All of the time.

"He's...he wants you to meet him at the entry to his wing..no further than that." His voice is soft, pathetic almost. Not as pathetic and soft as it is when he's in the same space as Troy. Lorana bites her lip, shaking her head; her ebony coloured curls bouncing around her face and on her shoulders. Her eyes down cast.

"Could you try again?" She asks, looking at the servant. "It would make sense to have him here so we could show him-"

"He's in a vile mood, monsieur et madame," the servant says softly, intertwining his tassels together tighter than before. David sighs, waving him off and marching toward his son's wing. If Troy is in a 'vile mood' then what is the mood that David is in right this second? Just as bad. Father like son, one could say.

:D It's a longer chapter than last. I'm sticking to my pattern of 'long short long short long a little longer long' .ha.

Marina is the type of person who is oh so positive; an optimist. Gregor? A realist. Troy? An ass who is incredibly hot (; .ha. David is supposed to be like an older version of Troy, but different in many ways. (make sense?) Lorana? I am beginning to love her!

What are your opinions of the characters (all of them) so far in this story?

Bless you all for the reviews! xx

~Elena xxx