- Messages
- 982
- Character Biography
- Link
Fife listened, eyes forward and trained on his as she absorbed every word. When he finished she nodded in understanding. The boy – Leifric, Masselin had called him – was probably a preteen. The only reason she could estimate his age was because there had been several kids his age training at the Silver Coin headquarters. Early to be showing signs of practiced use of his abilities, but not extraordinarily so.
She had been shockingly young, she realized; Fife hardly recalled life without Empathy. Tamping that thought down for later rumination, she chewed her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest.
What did she want to do? Fife's brows twitched, caught between incredulity and surprise. What did she want to do? She started to lift her hands, to tell him she couldn't do anything, regardless of her feelings, but she lowered them just as quickly. Could she do something? Was there more than one option? How had he known what to do?
Without answering his question, Fife sat down on a wrought iron bench.
Deciding what to do when Raigryn had been in peril had been easy. She had recognized what needed to be done and had done that. Much of her life had been making a choice today to carry her into tomorrow. Even then she had barely had agency, resorting to her limited options.
Now the endless possibilities of true agency overwhelmed her. They could do many things, but which one was the right one? Fife turned over each possibility in her mind. She mulled on them, thought of their various outcomes and the dozens of unknown variables that could upset any one of them.
It felt like Fife sat pondering for hours, yet her silence lasted for only a few breaths before she answered.
I want to know more. About the boy. About the father. Reconnaissance. If they knew more about his situation then they would know how best to help Leifric. Ultimately that was what she wanted. She wanted to help him.
Her dark gray eyes slid upward to meet his gaze momentarily before she sighed.
You will have to do the talking, she resigned with the huff. Start with Masselin. Tomorrow, she added after a brief pause.
Her brother's mood had been raw that afternoon when they had left the tanner's. Fife could have compared it to the fresh scrape of the palm after falling on rocks. He would need time to recover, for his emotions to settle and replenish.
She had been shockingly young, she realized; Fife hardly recalled life without Empathy. Tamping that thought down for later rumination, she chewed her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest.
What did she want to do? Fife's brows twitched, caught between incredulity and surprise. What did she want to do? She started to lift her hands, to tell him she couldn't do anything, regardless of her feelings, but she lowered them just as quickly. Could she do something? Was there more than one option? How had he known what to do?
Without answering his question, Fife sat down on a wrought iron bench.
Deciding what to do when Raigryn had been in peril had been easy. She had recognized what needed to be done and had done that. Much of her life had been making a choice today to carry her into tomorrow. Even then she had barely had agency, resorting to her limited options.
Now the endless possibilities of true agency overwhelmed her. They could do many things, but which one was the right one? Fife turned over each possibility in her mind. She mulled on them, thought of their various outcomes and the dozens of unknown variables that could upset any one of them.
It felt like Fife sat pondering for hours, yet her silence lasted for only a few breaths before she answered.
I want to know more. About the boy. About the father. Reconnaissance. If they knew more about his situation then they would know how best to help Leifric. Ultimately that was what she wanted. She wanted to help him.
Her dark gray eyes slid upward to meet his gaze momentarily before she sighed.
You will have to do the talking, she resigned with the huff. Start with Masselin. Tomorrow, she added after a brief pause.
Her brother's mood had been raw that afternoon when they had left the tanner's. Fife could have compared it to the fresh scrape of the palm after falling on rocks. He would need time to recover, for his emotions to settle and replenish.