Story 10. Hair.
Traditionally, going to Ashka's room for a lesson one day, Gryvon didn't think about time. However, he wasn't late, he came earlier than usual. Books and new rolls of parchments for a lecture were waiting for him. Ashka herself stood near the window, combing her hair. Hearing the youth's footsteps, she didn't turn around still looking through the window.
"Come in and sit down, we'll start soon", - she said quite harshly.
Gryvon sat down in a comfy chair, looking at the all books' pages at once. History. Of course. Now he had to find out what was it he learned the last time. Repeating mentally periodisation of Regents reign before the Darkness and after it, he raised his eyes. Ashka was still standing near the window. Her posture hasn't changed. Only her bended hand jerked strangely.
"What is it? – the Spellbinder mumbled and turned around, feeling his glance. - What's up? Have you brushed up the whole material?"
Instead of looking into the book Gryvon was still observing the Spellbinder. Something wasn't right with her, something made him alert. Her body, turned to the widow, hid her hands and shoulders from him almost completely…
"What happened, Spellbinder?" – the youth asked eventually, forgetting he had been asked too.
"It's not your business, - Ashka answered sternly, turning from him once again. Her hand jerked as before, - come on!"
Gryvon, whose suspicion grew with every second, stood up carefully. Whom was she talking to? And what was happening?
"Spellbinder, - he called again, - is everything all right?"
"No, it's not, - Ashka snapped, - everything is very "not all right"! And I can't start the lesson!"
She turned to the youth slowly. Gryvon hadn't understood at first what was it/ but then he saw. A wooden hairbrush he'd seen in Ashka's hand for so many times was hanging in Spellbinder's hair now. And it seemed rather problematic to put it off from there because Ashka looked at him, pulling at the lock vainly.
"Gryvon, don't stand there with your mouth opened! – she exclaimed. - Help me!"
Reaching her slowly, the youth took the hairbrush carefully. At first glance the situation seemed quite simple, but looking closely Gryvon saw that the hair were entangled very much. He had no idea how it happened and why with this brush. But asking right now could be not the best decision.
Carefully he moved his fingers through Spellbinder's locks and tried to put the hair off of the brush teeth but Ashka screamed.
"Ah! Can't you be more careful?"
"Excuse me, Spellbinder, - the youth said, continuing his maneuver in a more delicate way, - perhaps you'd better call for your servants? For girls it would be easier…"
"The girls you are talking about, - Ashka interrupted, - are so left-handed! And if you have to face this task you'd better not shift it onto someone else".
Gryvon just sighed, continuing his hairbrush manipulations. One might think he'd been asked! Ashka had never asked for anything, sometimes he was sure she even had no idea what "to ask" means. But on the other hand he had never been able to reject her orders too. Maybe sometimes she had been almost rude and harsh, maybe sometimes (and it happened quite often) he could hardly understand what was happening inside her head. But this certain situation… Gryvon knew what Ashka's hair meant for her. Something she was proud of, something admired by other women of the castle. And if in such a delicate moment Gryvon was chosen, not the servants, that was really something.
"It seems we're to postpone the lesson for some distant moment, - pouting her lips Ashka folded her arms on her chest, - Gryvon, is it so bad you're still romping?"
"I do my best, Spellbinder, - the youth exclaimed, releasing the lock hair by hair, - I can not do it faster because of the hair length and, let's call it the amount of work".
Ashka blushed, looking at her Apprentice's hands sternly.
"All right, it should be finished or else we'll spend the whole evening here!" – pushing Gryvon aside, she reached for the old scissors on the sill. Two long blades shined in sunlight…
"What are you doing?" – Gryvon screamed, horrified, and tried to stop her, forgetting the properties. But it was already too late, - with a light knock the wooden hairbrush and the long lock fell to the floor. Gryvon, almost hypnotized, looked at that lock, looking like a lithesome copper snake coiled up in a delicate halfring. He couldn't believe it really happened…
"This is it, - Ashka said imperturbably, not noticing or pretending she didn't notice her Apprentice's shock, - I should have done it long ago".
They both looked at the hair and the brush on the floor for about a minute. Then the Spellbinder observed Gryvon.
"Holly Regents, you look as if there was a revolution in the country and the Marauders are ruling now! What a funeral face?"
Silent, the youth raised his eyes.
"Gryvon, be a man! – the Spellbinder said harshly. It seemed her green eyes were piercing his soul. - Some situations need thoughtful strategies. In other ones you should act immediately and with no regrets. Now pull yourself together, - she stretched out the ill-fated scissors to him, - and trim the hair".
The youth gave a start, taking the scissors, as if they were made of white-hot metal.
"Are you punishing me for something?" – he murmured, lowering his head.
Ashka smiled.
"Consider it as a tenacity test".
"In the name of Regents, why?" – Gryvon wanted to exclaim. He wanted to throw the scissors to the floor and hear the disenchanting crash. He wanted to shake Ashka and say that this is wrong, that this is the situation when one should think. And that she's cruel and unfair making him trim now. But of course he had no enough bravery for such a thing. Clutching a lock between his fingers he flapped with the scissors. Took another one… Copper snakes fell to the floor, silently, sadly slipping down the tunic on Spellbinder's shoulders. Gryvon tried to concentrate on their length, making sure each lock was on the same level. He felt as if his childhood fairytale in which he had been living the whole time, was slipping through his fingers.
The door to the room opened, two servants went inside.
"At last! – Ashka exclaimed. - When my Apprentice finishes dawdling, clean everything. And quick!"
This is it – "dawdling". Not trimming, not working, but dawdling. Feeling as a real barbarian, Gryvon observed the result.
"Is it all right or you want shorter?" – he asked trying to imitate Ashka's caustic intonations.
The Spellbinder went to the bathroom where there was a big mirror. Her hair, getting such an unexpected freedom, became shorter and curling a little. Strange, but Ashka, touching her new hairstyle looked even more beautiful.
"This is fine, Apprentice, - she smiled wryly, - perhaps, I should add the trimming to your duties?"
Horrified, Gryvon stepped back, nearly hitting the wall. He'd rather not have done it at all. The Spellbinder came closer, as if she felt his mood.
"Sentimentality doesn't suit you, Gryvon, - she touched his chin and looked in the eye, - it suits no one, actually. And now let's go back to something you came here for".
Gryvon, almost forgetting about his lessons, went into the room. The servants worked quite quick but he had time to lift a delicate ginger lock from the floor that they hand't noticed. Despite the words about sentimentality he had been keeping this lock for a long time. But it was until the next argument during another lesson, unfortunately. After that in a fit of a temper Gryvon threw the hair into the fire. And felt very sorry later…