Private Tales The Long Road

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Papa, what did you do before I was born?

You know what the answer is going to be

Yeah, but-

Then why are you asking?

I'm not a kid anymore. I want to know. For real

We've gone over this. I was a sorcerer. You know that, I've told you that. And that's the end of it, alright? Keep the fire going.​

The campfire was hot. Dark was the night as it fell on the flickering embers that spat from the crevices and ravines that split the wood, the heat bending and burning the tinder, igniting the warmth that surrounded the area. The man was clad in traveller's ware, common threads a-topped by layers of thin leather, a cloak resting on his shoulders, its hood leant back. His boots were old and worn from years of use, cheap metal buckles hung from its sides. A tattered, albeit thick tome, as well as an old, greasy, semi-gold mask, flecked with rust from the alloy it was formed out of. His face was youthful, for what seemed to be a much older man, but showed extreme signs of fatigue and tire - much like his clothes. It was complimented by the severe burns that blew past the sides of it. Grey eyes, vacant.

A girl sat across from him, dressed in very similar attire, however being in far better condition than her father's; boots new and well shined, her leather freshly formed. Her face bright like a field of grass in summer, eyes set in deep brown, her cheeks dotted with freckles of a similar colour. She must have only been a youth of 14, maybe slightly older.

I've seen drawings Papa. I've heard rumours, Rhatha's father told me-

I don't care what her father told you. Tired old soldier has no idea what he's talking about. Lose your mind in that desert...

What desert Papa?

Enough. That's... that's enough, yeah?

Ok, Papa. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry too. Fire's gone out.

But Papa can't you just-
​

The father gave her a cold, strong stare.

__________________________

As rain fell on their tents, and the girl slept, the man stared at the cold, passionless ashes for what seemed like hours. Before his eyes turned maddened with hate and memory, as with the mere thought, the dead greys turned to searing hot flame, the shadow of his sins becoming darker around them. And the steeled terror of the flame glistening in his eyes. The warmth a comfort to the girl, and a reminder to her father.