Story 8. Try to understand.
At first life in the castle seemed amazing for Gryvon, then it was impossibly difficult and later it was just regular and habitual, casing no problems. Nearly every day he had some lessons – history, horse riding, chemistry, astronomy. Nearly every lesson Gryvon was punished for some mistakes and misdeed. Most of them were the results of his inattention, absentmindedness or the lack of patience. But some other happened as another try to cheat and crib. Ashka caught him on such things with enviable constancy and smacked her Apprentice's hands. Or she could slap his head. However, she always knew her strength, that's why the punishment was only a measure of discipline.
In his dreams Gryvon saw himself as a powerful and great Spellbinder, but in reality he still couldn't gain much for such qualities. His inability to do something made him angry. But it seemed Ashka didn't consider it as an obstacle.
"It's not stupidity that is your problem. It's a simple lack of patience, Apprentice, - she said sometimes, when Gryvon was angry after another misdeed, - now calm down and use your energy for something important".
Sometimes he longed for making a caustic remark about these words of hers. To exclaim that he does try, that he has his limits. That he can be tired. But these excuses were too boring for the Spellbinder; she would never listen to them. And that made Gryvon even angrier. Watching Ashka rides a horse though the forest, flies the ship, controls her Apprentice's chemical experiments in the evenings, he never stopped wondering. How can she have so much strength? Is she never tired at all? Sometimes the youth thought about the Spellbinder, comparing her to the mechanisms he knew. Perhaps she's like the powersuit? And she has some powercore too?
Ashka's explosive temperament made her even more similar to the powersuit. Once, Gryvon didn't even remember what day it was, he asked her why she refused to enter his house long ago. Despite the Regent's words, Gryvon thought that it was his family fault.
Hearing the Apprentice's question, Ashka took him by the collar and pushed out of her room, restricting to come closer to her that day. Gryvon, standing near the door, straightened his uniform and thought that he got off easy actually. However, the next mourning, when she invited him for a breakfast to her room, the theme was restarted.
"When you had lived in Easthill it was my family's house. Long ago. They died. The rest of it is not your business", - taking a handful of cherries from the dish she went to the window, showing that the theme is finished forever. Gryvon sighed sympathetically, looking at her silhouette. So this is it, how terrible… Ashka turned around, as if she felt him looking.
"Don't you dare feel sorry for me or sympathize, Apprentice. I don't need these emotions from anyone, especially from you".
Gryvon blushed, looking at his plate. It was always like this. Like she was pouring cold water over him! And no system, no warnings, no justified expectations.
It was stupid to expect something from Ashka, he realized it long ago. And it was stupid to try to understand her. What was she thinking about? What was she guided by? In most situations he could find the answers to these questions. And speaking about expectations – every time Ashka preferred to make a surprise and act in an unexpected way. And Holly Regents, every time she did it successfully.
During one of their evening horse riding walks there happened an accident. Gryvon slipped at the rocky bank of Aiden and sprained his ankle. Ashka caught his hand just in time and looked at the Eyestone going under the water with sorrow. Their only communication tool that evening.
"We'd better have taken two of them, - she mumbled putting Gryvon's hand over her shoulder, - come on, we have to move to a flat area".
They had to spend the night in a forest, because it was getting dark rather fast and they had no chance to call the castle for help without an Eyestone. Sitting near the fire, Gryvon was holding his aching foot and looking at the flame. He would have been really happy to go back to the castle, to his room he got used to see, but it was too difficult and painful to fling into the saddle, even with Ashka's help.
"Thank you for not breaking it, - the Spellbinder scolded, tearing her cloak apart and bandaging his foot, - or else I'm sure, all the Marauders would have come here".
Gryvon shivered thinking about the Marauders and looked at the trees with fright. He was too young for wearing the powersuit. And the one that Ashka was wearing was their only protection in case of a danger. Nearly the half of night the summoner's son shivered, falling asleep or waking up, hearing some distant rustling. Ashka who hadn't been bothered by the night in a forest and the field life, was sleeping near the tree, with one leg pulled to her. Her posture seemed relaxed, but the youth knew better than anybody that in a case of a danger this relaxation will turn into the readiness to attack.
Suddenly curiosity surged up within Gryvon. Despite the threateningly shining powersuit Ashka didn't look fearsome right now. At first glance, at least. The splendid ginger braid, disheveled a little, was lying on her shoulder… Cursing his curiosity and trying not to imagine the possible results, Gryvon raised himself with an elbow. He wished to touch her shining hair so much, to run his hand through the locks he was thinking about for so long.
Trying to make as less noise as possible, the youth sat up accurately, avoiding the movements of the injured foot. Of course it was wrong, it was dangerous and he behaved like a silly boy. But the temptation was already too big to stop. Gryvon pulled himself forward, carefully, as he thought, putting a part of his weight on his hands. She was sitting not too far, some more spurts and he'll do it. Making a pause after every movement, Gryvon looked around as if he was scared one could catch him at the crime scene. After that he had been looking at the Spellbinder for several seconds, checking whether she woke up or not. One more spurt… at last, he reached her.
Trembling with delight, Gryvon looked at that treasure and then touched Spellbinder's hair carefully, removing his hand quickly. Just in case. Nothing happened, nothing blew up. And nobody killed him. And the hair… the hair was really splendid. Both in appearance and to the touch. Thick, downy, so impossibly soft… Even at night, when he couldn't see that unique copper shade, Ashka's hair was wonderful. Feeling braver, Gryvon run his finger along the braid and suddenly realized the Spellbinder herself is watching him closely. And for a long time, it seemed.
"Dear Apprentice, even some forest boar would have moved quieter than you, - she said, still looking at him. That very moment Gryvon wished to be anywhere but here. Blushing, he crawled backward, but suddenly hit his injured foot and nearly howled. Ashka, watching his maneuver, raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Next time you will think. And you'd better not do this thing again".
Falling onto his cloak, Gryvon turned his back to her and closed his eyes. Never before, never in his life he felt such a complete and hopeless idiot. However, it seemed that Ashka wanted to consolidate the success – and in future she gave him such a chance for many times…