Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.
Go figure I'd have something to post when the Traffic Stats aren't working. I really need to get a beta reader, it would make this easier (well, and I'm sure you may agree, being more consistent, but that's just an issue with my free time).
Really, if anyone reading this has any input - good or bad - it is welcome, I promise. Seeing a review on would be fun for a change.
Either way, no matter your choice: Enjoy!
Chapter Sixty-Three: Contemplation
Compared to the temperature and horrors outside, the inside of the cave was a decadent great room heated by a picturesque fireplace. The echoes of Bakura's shuffling feet kicked around in D's ears while those already present were trying to introduce themselves to their new and bewildered benefactor. The inquisitive chattering subsided when the last pair entered the modified chamber, and it was here that D noted with immense relief that the blue tinge was leaving Etsu's lips. Perhaps he should have been grateful that she could put up such a fight in the way she had. It could have been much worse; she could have been lethargic. Thankfully, the tendrils of hypothermia were at bay again.
In fact, all except for Theo looked to be in much better spirits—having bypassed being eaten or freezing to death in the elements. Their former adult supervision was currently undoing his bandaging, flashlight nestled between his teeth, and flinching at what was underneath while Albert brought him something unmarked from a back storage chamber. Jounochi gave D and Bakura a little wave from his seat around the small fire, and once again the boy was wracked with emotions so deep, words failed him. Did Jounochi know? Would he understand?
But before he could try to explain himself as for why Mai was not with them or share his anger at their folly in the first place, Bakura guided him to the other side of the fire. Smoke billowed upwards and lazily followed some path in the air to filter to the outside while a middle-aged woman checked at the roiling contents of a pot nestled between low flames. She looked up, and D could see the reserved annoyance of another mouth to feed in the flicker under her left eye. That or his caretaker had aggravated her in another way.
D offered his hand to the woman, and felt her gaze connect with his. Unsmiling, but with a clear and grateful tone as he had been taught to have during moments like these, he stated,
"Good afternoon, Ma'am. I am known as D, and if no one has expressed this yet, we thank you for your hospitality."
Her frigid expression relaxed and a slight curve to the corner of her mouth settled in. "More like a good evening, now. Thank goodness for this bit of luck, but with all of the misfortune it was bound to happen."
"Misfortune?"
"You've been through a bit of your own, wouldn't you say? I'll not trouble you with mine. You know this man?" she asked, jabbing a thumb in Bakura's direction. He appeared to be listening with great intent, but D could see from the furrowed brow that he was lost when it came to their conversation.
"I do," the boy replied, allowing himself a moment to grin.
"Ah, what true luck, then. Please tell him that I appreciate all his attempts, but that he is a terrible conversationalist, and he has been letting in the cold."
D relayed the message to a bemused and self-conscious Bakura.
The man's expression seemed to cheer her more. "Trying's better than nothing, let him know that as well. Please, sit. The both of you. And if you could, please act as my interpreter, D. There is much I would like to clarify."
The boy offered a brief nod and learned of their position as he communicated her words to the rest. Some of her rules were simple, such as what schedules they had right and wrong, when fires needed to be doused or tended, what natural and man-made ventilations needed inspection. Other bits allowed him insight as to why she had chosen this particular cave as home and had found it in her heart to help the ill-prepared strangers passing by. Apparently, the cavern had been well known for harboring a pair of brothers during a terrible time in the past, and since the world had gone the way it had, the old ways looked better and better each day.
And Marta had the knowledge of the "old ways" in droves. She did not speak of her former occupation, but it was clear as she regaled tale after tale about the wildlife and what food could still be found out in the frozen wastes that she knew her stuff.
"What about those creepy things that chased us?" Amami asked through D. The woman cocked her head and looked to the boy who explained the naked yet hairy beasts that hooted as they flung themselves after their prey.
"Ah, those. I do not know what they are," Marta said, curling the greying hair by her ear between her fingers, "but they are invasive, I know that much."
"You are familiar with them, though? When did you first see their kind?"
She regarded the boy with raised brows. "Some point in time last year I believe. First, I saw a juvenile. At least it seemed younger than the ones that have roamed this past autumn. They are strange. I've never seen their like. The wolves like to chase them if you let them."
"We saw that. They've never attacked you?"
"Many things will attack now. They are hungry. It is a bad time for all out there—In fact, the very wolves you no doubt saw could attack me at any moment. But I feed them, and so they like me. I have had your friends feed them for the very same reason."
"But…didn't you train them?"
She smiled and the fine wrinkles accentuated the light in her eyes. "Maybe. I was bored. But they did not have to listen, did they? Just like the ones you know could have robbed me instead."
"They would never."
"I see that now. But I had no real way of knowing back then. I also see that this storm is fickle and may return even worse. What do you intend to do when this on-again off-again squall finally silences itself?" Her eyes turned to Bakura with this question, and D looked to him with as much curiosity as the woman.
"We appreciate your generosity, and we don't wish to be a burden. I would ask that we could remain just long enough to make it up to you before getting out of your hair?"
"Making it up to me?"
"Work," Bakura said and motioned carrying something. The woman raised an eyebrow once more and her lip curled into an amused smirk. D tilted his head down and squished his cheek to his hand, appreciative but embarrassed at his attempt.
"Don't you think it is better if you rest for a while longer than that?"
"We might only cause you trouble," the boy mumbled against his better judgement before translating her response.
She shook her head at the child's utterance. "I advise you stay here," Marta said, pointedly staring at Bakura as D relayed her statement begrudging in its accuracy. "People tend to stop thinking straight and make terrible choices when they are stressed and tired."
"Children," she continued, her eyes sweeping over all of those in the cavern, her words including even the adults, "from what I gathered, your traveling seems frantic. You need to rest, to go back to simpler lessons, and learn about this world around you. Yes, it is changing, but some things remain without question. I will teach you how to survive with things you make with your own hands, so that you do not need to waste your time like so many others out there. And when I've taught you all I can, you may leave. That is my one stipulation for taking you all in, and not dumping you into the elements you should rightfully be in for your hubris."
"We don't wish to eat you out of house and home."
"You won't. As your friend, Bakura, said…you will work."
January 3, 2005
We've been snowed in.
Marta wasn't joking. I thought I had been worried about the others before, but there is no way that we (I mean, I probably would have just disliked how cold it was, but I digress) would have survived out there. Thankfully, while everyone quietly complains of the cold with their sour expressions, they can say they still have all their limbs.
For now, at least. Marta pulled out a bunch of medical texts and has been having me direct Albert, Bakura, and Jounochi in tending to poor Theo. He wavers between feeling better and feeling worse, but with this last swing it looks like better is the way he is going. They had to cut more away the other day, but Marta said that it looks like he will heal cleanly this time, and with luck he will only have minor movement issues in that arm.
As for us children, we've been relegated to other tasks. Mending, fire tending, ventilation checking, all things we knew how to do prior or don't take much to teach, but she said certain things must be taken care of before anything substantial and new is learned.
It is oddly frightening, being so close to where my father is stationed. We aren't right under his nose, per say, but we are close enough that with all his planning, we might run into his men on our way out. I hope not.
As for Marta knowing about my condition, Bakura had made me explain it, and I felt a sort of relief just letting it out immediately for once. Perhaps it would be better if we got kicked out sooner rather than later—at least then both parties would know friend from foe. Although, since I am writing about this now, it is probably obvious that she let me stay. She didn't even seem particularly surprised. Now, I find that surprising.
Ah. I must go. She is yelling at Bakura for something.
January 17, 2005
I saw that strange book peeking out of Bakura's bag today. Every time I am reminded of it, I get more and more curious as to what it is. I should probably also open that gift he gave me, too. We've just been so busy. It is surprising considering we have not been able to go outside. One would think we would have more free time, but since we're new, there is a lot we must acclimate to. We've had to make sure the airholes don't get covered up, on top of our "usual" tasks of major clean up, and making, and cooking, and identifying. Snow's been trying to clog the way, and by the sound of it, it is really storming out there. Must be a blizzard.
Then there are the new things that she is teaching us. Old methods of making knives when blacksmithing is not available, creating rope, setting fire with flint (after assessing which stone that is in the first place), water gathering, basket weaving…I don't think I have ever seen anyone braid something tighter. Even I struggled with it initially.
…I over did it. I broke a lot of what she gave me to work with. To her credit, and our good fortune, she did not seem too angry about it.
I do wonder how she had enough to aid Bakura and everyone else, never mind the fact that she has shared enough to tend to our needs without so much as a glance back to her stores. Us children have not been allowed back there, but Bakura has assured me that I do not need to worry about it. Naturally, my left hand was dismissive of his claim, saying he wasn't particularly credible for all he had put us through, but I did not get the feeling he was lying. It helps that Bakura is acting more like himself, instead of overly positive or aggressive. Seems he appreciates this moment of respite, as well, which is a relief.
The wind outside is creating a melody in the cave that reverberates against the walls. To me, it seems lonely. To Claire, she said it sounds creepy.
I know I shouldn't waste space. You, dear journal, are a finite thing. However, it's still nice to just write sometimes and I haven't had much of a chance to do so. Oh! And…
Happy Belated "Birthday" to Me.
Completely forgot.
"D," a soft voice echoed through the cave and the boy looked up from his writing.
The fire within did little to heat the whole expanse of the cave, but it did offer more comfort than the world outside. The bustle of new lessons also helped keep his friends warm, and their minds off idle discomfort. Why worry about such things when active discomfort was so ready at hand?
Amami had taken to their benefactor best, and Claire the least, much to no one's surprise. The peevish girl was often found beside Bakura, muttering distastefully as she wound and rewound twine until it was to Marta's high-quality specifications. She could not move ahead in her personal lessons until such an "easy" task was performed. D pitied her, as her impatience made her situation worse.
But now, on their off time, she whispered to him from her "hiding place"—a smattering of stalagmites that rounded the bend from the corridor leading into the hall they camped in. It hardly had enough room for the two of them to nestle themselves between the rocky formations and into the shadows for a second of "privacy". He went to her without question, with his finger holding his place within the bound book.
"Tell me, why am I always the one who gets in trouble?"
D felt the muscles in his face tense as he tried to maintain his expression. "Is that an honest question?"
"Yes." She pouted in the darkness, the flickering light creating a fine, bright line on the inside of her outstretched lip. "I get the general idea already! Doing this stuff isn't even my usual job anyway…"
"She's trying to prepare you in case you happen to be stuck out there on your own. Then it would be your job."
"She doesn't have to be mean about it. I can tell, y'know. I know how she's saying it, even if you explain it."
"She's irritated that you complain and try to get out of it. She's not being mean. And she talks like that to the others, too."
"Not you or Amami."
"Well…" D bit his lip. "Amami and Marta just get along."
"Ha. I like how you didn't mention yourself there. C'mon. She thinks you two are perfect."
"Hardly. I think you're forgetting the basket incident."
"Oh yeah!"
D frowned at her pleased tone but continued to listen as she griped. If it made her feel heard and less antagonistic, then all the better. Who knew how long they would be trapped together, or when Marta would deem them prepared enough to go?
"I hope she knows that the only reason I listen to her is because of you guys and not her."
"Don't be petty," D chastised.
"I'm stuck in here with a lady who picks and picks and picks. I'll be as petty as I want."
"You…" he inhaled in exasperation. "You do realize you're just making it worse on yourself, like with Simon, right?"
"Simon," she snarled, an aura of darkness clouding her visage at his mention. "If you're going to bring anyone up, bring up Mr. Sam. I miss Mr. Sam—him and his vampire father-in-law. They were cool and would have been way better to get stuck with."
"This at least beats being outside, right?"
"Well, duh," she snickered. "Don't get the wrong idea. I don't hate Marta. I just think she's rude."
"So are you."
Claire scowled, but in an instant, it was replaced by a grin. She scratched at one of the stalagmites and checked under her nail for what accumulated there, but he noted that her gaze trailed toward his journal. "There's that saying about people that are alike and butting heads. Do you think it's like that?"
"…Perhaps? I'm not sure."
"Well, if she's like me, maybe I can forgive her…just a little."
"Children!" came Marta's barking order for them to appear before her. Apparently, their moment to unwind was over.
"That wasn't even a real break," the girl grumbled, but stood up to dust the back of her pants.
"Remember," D prodded with his small grin, "forgive her…just a little."
She swatted at him, and he dodged, swinging himself between two larger protrusions. Her laughter rang in his ears, like the sound of soothing rain or like the dripping of the melting snow sneaking into their shelter. He agreed with Claire on one thing. Their current position was not perfect, but the boy did not hate it here.
"Waste no more time!" Marta snapped.
The pair hurried to where the other two children were seated, but not before D dropped off his journal and took a lingering look at Bakura's closed backpack. The girl grabbed his arm and tugged when he took too long, and it seemed to garner her interest. An interest in which she made clear once they reached their assigned spots.
"Whatcha' lookin' at?"
"Oh," he murmured as he sat down beside her. "Nothing."
"Snooping?" she pressured, while Marta doled out their next activity. Claire once again took the strands of inner bark she was supposed to use to create her cordage and began before Marta had even taken her seat on the other side of the fire. Her fingers twisted the fibers in her hand until it began to flip upon itself. Then she let her other finger tug the opposing side upward until it overlapped, and she formed it into a rope like thing that this time looked like it would remain what she willed it to be. She repeated the process.
"You're getting better at that," D congratulated before looking over what he was supposed to do. His brow furrowed when he saw a collection of dried herbs and nothing else. He supposed he would have to wait for an explanation; they had already gone over identifying plants and he was pretty sure these were the same as those before. Etsu was busy tracing letters, while Amami had a pile of…jerky?
"And you're dodging the question."
"No, I'm not," he replied, his mouth drawn in a thin line, "I just wasn't snooping."
"Then what were you looking for?"
"Like I said, nothing."
Marta began with Amami, and D listened to how she would learn how to properly cure meat to make it look like the meals that they sustained themselves on, but kept one ear out for Claire, and he was glad he had.
"'Cuz I don't know about you," she mumbled as she wound, "but that book he's got in there looks really important…"
"You're curious about it, too?"
"Yeah, it…gives me a bad feeling," Claire said, and shuddered.
"Why?"
"I dunno. The color of it, and from what I could see, the texture too. It looks weird. Surprised you didn't react to that. Hasn't he brought it up to you? He normally does since he always shares those things with you."
"Not always."
"Uh huh. Well, whatever. It sucks enough as it is that we finally got confirmation that He," she said wiggling her fingers fanglike before her face before returning to her task, "was following you for so long. Apparently you were right on the money."
"I was?" D's head jolted quizzically. "When had I said that before?"
"When? What?" Claire intoned. "How do you forget something so important like that? You told me that ages ago. Hang on, you mean to tell me I have a better memory than you?" She poised to stand as she took in a breath to belt, "Hey, you guys I can—"
"Knock it off!" D snapped, his expression sour. His vague recollections did remind him he had concluded his father had been monitoring him—why else had that damnable van appeared and set all this insanity into motion?—even before reaching that seaside city. Yet, the shock of seeing him again, of hearing his reminder of whose fault it was had left a fresh stab of insecurity, which…must have been the reason he had forgotten, no matter how briefly. However, he did not ever recall telling her about any of this.
"Let's see your progress," Marta interrupted fortuitously, skipping over the boy, and launching her discerning eye towards his less than patient friend. She took Claire's work into her hands and turned it over and around. This time, instead of dismantling it, or throwing it into the fire, she handed it back to the girl who blinked in surprise.
"I did it?"
"You need to finish, but yes, you're getting the hang of it," Marta's translated mild praise put the flame of rebellion right back in the girl's glare.
"But I barely did anything different than what I did yesterday!"
"Yes," Marta responded. "And that difference means everything. You are their hunter, correct? You are the one with the rifle? You need to see the tiny details, just like you showed me right now. Otherwise, how are you to spot the prey in the brush? To be able to pounce without alerting others?"
"I can do that already…"
"You probably could do it…roughly. Now your eye is more trained. You showed me that when you said you noticed you were doing something different. Soon you will not need as much time to set up to strike. Nor will you need to find string when there is none. You can make it yourself."
"So…I was doing okay before, but it's better now?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you do that with D, then?" she fired back, her cheeks exuding a warmth that D could differentiate from the heated puffs from the nearby flames.
"He already showed me he could do that. At any rate, he must be trained in other things. You are their hunter; he is your Hunter. There is a difference."
D's body tensed as he relayed that, as if caught in some duplicity. By inference alone, it was like she knew his inner turmoil, but not once had he expressed such a thing to Marta. How could she—?
"What?" Claire asked, blinking. She prodded D with her finger. "Hunter and hunter are the same word. Did you mess that up?"
"Come," Marta said entirely on her own, taking his friend's hand and leading her off, leaving the boy to stare uselessly at the dried leaves in front of him. Leaving him to have his mind wander off to the wooden needles in his pack, his (finally) oiled sword, and to his hand—which to its credit had been silent for the duration of their stay thus far.
Resting his chin in his right palm as he stared into his left, D felt the faint tingle of the chaos within. What gift had he really been given?
What had he co-signed himself to?
Dark worlds swirled around him once more, and D leaned against the edge of the stone table, wondering why this moment felt less accidental than all the previous times before.
Then it showed itself.
"So," it began, its usually smiling mouth pursed and downturned. "How is your end of the bargain coming along?"
"I haven't had much time to think about it," he replied. The attack from the last time still stung in remembering. Plus, Bakura's response to the whole thing did not add to his willingness to press on in things he did not fully understand.
"I can tell."
"To be fair," he countered its snide reply, "it isn't like I can easily access this place consciously. It would probably benefit the both of us in this endeavor if you TOLD me how."
"And your use of my gift was just sheer luck," came the retort. Its crimson eyes narrowed.
The boy shrugged. His success had come from a feeling and an application of a hypothesis that had suddenly wrenched his party from the regular world, so he would not disagree with such a statement.
"I just don't understand," it stated, hopping onto the table, and seating itself in the barren middle. "You have had plenty of chances. Your connection is so strong. Didn't you even start to have one with him?"
"Start to have one? What are you talking about? Start to have a conversation? You mean when he tried to attack me?"
The creature let out a great guffaw that rang cacophonous in his ears. It gripped its sides, leaning to this side and that, like he was some famed comedian. Yet just as sudden as its blasting joviality had appeared, it silenced itself and faced him, calmed.
"Ask him about the book."
"The book?"
"Yes, the one you're so curious about."
D frowned. The book he was curious about? "Wait. I'm confused. Are we talking about your friend, or are we talking about Bakura?"
The creature grinned, and just the way it did sent chills down his spine. All angles—unexpected for the way the discussion was turning out.
"I suppose beggars can't be choosers," it tittered. "You have done well thus far, and I can hardly blame you for situations out of your control. However, you now have some control. That boy, that 'darkness', he has tucked himself away, and only you can get him out. I botched my timing when speaking with him last, and now he's throwing a fit."
The creature leaned forward, placing both void-like taloned hands on his shoulders from its seated position, its face inches from his own. He could smell the scent of blood, and it sparked a hunger in him that had been more like a dull ache before. And he was tired…so tired.
His mouth tasted of ashes.
"You are my last hope, D. I'm trusting you in this. Don't make me regret it."
The boy struggled to make the words spring from between his lips. He fought against everything that this creature seemed to be calling out of him. And for all his anguish, it grinned, amused.
"Why me?" he finally gasped. He could feel the sharp points of his fangs pinching at his lower lip. That cloying smell…how he wanted…no needed…He shook his head. "Your last hope for what?"
The ground beneath him shook and the creature looked upwards, distressed. The creature was distressed?! The boy tried to parse what it meant but suddenly everything was falling, he was falling, and even the air around him shook with the vibrations of the sudden destruction of their speaking grounds.
He was waking up. As a whoosh of air buffered the fall into nothingness, he heard as if from a recording of a memory:
"Walk the earth with my own two feet…"
D snapped awake in the darkness of the sealed in cave. He could hear his breath puffing in the stagnant air, and if it was not for the scent of earth and rock and wet blended with the amalgamation of sleeping bodies, he would have assumed he was still asleep.
He did not know why that phrase rocked him so, just that it had enough power to pull back the blanket of exhaustion and leave him shivering with unfettered anxiety.
He had heard it before, that phrase. In a dream? In a waking nightmare?
There was no answer to be had. The boy shuffled to the mouth of the cave and poked the hole they had dug for breathing purposes open a little wider before pattering back to bed. Resting his head against the makeshift pillow, he glanced at Claire with her unkempt hair, and then to Bakura, his fair, marred skin an easy contrast to the deep browns of the cavern's floor. He sighed. Another cloud expelled from his lips, faint, like the presence of a ghost.
As he drifted off to sleep once more, his mind kept running to and from between that phrase and one more recent. "A promise." The darkness had promised, and he had promised.
But what was the first promise for again?
"Walk the earth…
With my own two feet…"
Had the darkness promised that?
Why tell him about the book?
Bakura had the book.
They both had a scar.
Bakura would never.
Would he?
D failed to finish the circle of thoughts as he fell asleep, and by morning, he was left with an unpleasant nagging sensation that his memories were not as solid as they seemed and the curious inkling that Bakura was tied to this far more than he had ever expressed before.
That scar…
Ultimately, the important talk he wished to have eluded him, as privacy within the cave only extended as far as one's manners. So, instead, D finally turned his attention to the rectangular gift Bakura had been asked to give to him. An unassuming little thing that he appreciated but could not fathom its purpose.
The boy unwrapped the packaging so meticulously done that he wondered if she had prepared it specifically for hard travel. Edges creased around extra layering, tape, and string throughout. Perhaps it would have taken others some time, or impatience would have torn the whole thing to pieces, but the straight line of D's concentrated features softened as he enjoyed his little personal puzzle. It did not take him long, but what he saw surprised him.
A pretty little book with colorful, fanciful, region favored art and a plastic wrapped cover lay in his hands. The title, in Romanian, touted it held an array of folktales for all, but the name of who assembled it meant little to the boy, other than they had once been a living, breathing individual that compiled this little taste of culture for others to experience. Without bringing it to his nose, he could smell the age and baked in scents of a home now distant, yet he still brought it close and breathed in the unreadable tale there.
D pulled it away after a second to flip it over. It continued to remain unassuming, and he wondered just why he had thought there would be anything more to it. Not everything had to be a test or contain some underlying message. His thumb flipped through the pages of the small book, and he tried his best to remember the title of at least one. For all the texts he had read in his life, it seemed the fictional ones of his earliest youth could only be brought forth as hazy "I think I've heard of that" recalls. He frowned; yet another concerning development of his mind he had not been aware of before. When had he started to forget?
In a moment's panic, the boy thought of his mother, worried he would have forgotten her completely. Yet he need not have worried. Her face came to the forefront, and her scent as well. A whispering, singsong voice that muttered unremembered words, but the notes remained. The notes remained.
However, memories (he knew he once had!) of siblings he had met, however briefly, were near non-existent. A blocker, he wondered, but would that not have required his activation? The boy touched at his back, wondering why he had made such a gesture, but focused hard on the moment to remember the action. He could not forget that…whatever it meant.
At one point in his manipulations of the book, a page caught, and several flipped over at once as if weighted down or trapped together by something. Cocking his head in interest, he pinched the book at its spine and shook until something slid between two of the middle pages. The boy leaned forward and lifted the bulky doubled over paper, flipping it between his middle and index finger so it caught the light on either side. A letter.
Curious—and wishing more than anything to distract himself from the uncomfortable truths he was waking up to—D unfolded the page and began to read.
Dear lordling,
At least that's what you look like, child, forgive my bad joke.
For the sake of sense, I have written a few old herbal remedies passed down from my grandmother to aid you and your father on your strange journey. I've included some other helpful bits of information, but not everything you do in life needs to be sensible. Please take this book and enjoy it, share it with your friends if they have not had the chance to experience much of your culture. However long we are so lucky to keep it, it should be spread. Let's keep that tradition, little wanderer.
I wish you and yours safe travels. May God bless you.
Sincerely,
E. Lazarescu
D searched both sides of the page for any postscript in the same elegantly looping handwriting. He found none. It seemed it was just as the letter said. A little gift to pass the time…one to share with his friends. Maybe this time, he would read to Bakura.
The idea made him smile.
In fact, that was exactly what he planned to do. The boy leapt to his feet and asked for everyone to circle around the fire. It was not too long before everyone sat before him as he presented the little book for all to see. From Bakura's expression, he was pleased to hear of the gift, and the intended use expected of its giftee. That joy the boy could recall from the early days of the man's care filled D in that instant, and he could not help but clutch the book to his chest with a glee he had not felt in ages. Suddenly, the unpleasant sensation from the nasty not-dream disappeared entirely. It was like they were back in Domino, a time when hope was so easy to grasp for.
Yet, as D read through the tales for his enraptured audience, he noticed a strange pattern forming. Numbers and letters underlined. Random looking but purposeful markings at the edges of the pages. His mind wondered and calculated even while keeping his even tone when reading about the girl dressed as a man and her adventures with her father's talking horse.
It was a code.