03-28-2020, 07:20 PM
Noctua did not join her in the waters, but a small smile tugged the edges of his wry lips, and even if it was only amusement for her own antics she was glad to see it. This world beckoned immeasurable freedom for those who understood its strangeness; not without risk, of course, but that only required a oneness. Despite the flickeringly brief desire to swim, she wondered if he was still afraid from the wild flooding, but she did not know how to explain that she would not let that happen now. Abruptly the currents changed direction, entirely unnatural. Her head tilted. But then he spoke and Nimeda grinned.
She did not bother to wade from the waters, only appeared suddenly within the grasp of his outstretched palms. Noctua had a newness about him she did not think he would appreciate to hear, given his fatherly manner, and it could be foolish to trust the manipulations of those newly minted, yet she gave over both trust and control willingly enough.
Water rushed and swirled when they emerged beneath the surface of some other place, but she only decided there was plenty of air to fill her lungs. She swam often enough in this world; explored places most would never think to look for physical limitation. Bubbles zipped from her mouth, curls floating like a dandelion around her round face. She laughed and pushed up until the water broke over her head, and she could see what lay above.
Curiosity roamed eagerly over where he had chosen to take her. Jon had gifted a similar experience once, when he still thought her a child of the dream, but usually it was Nimeda tugging visitors into such spectacle. It was rarely reciprocated. Sodden fabric flattened against her body as she climbed out of the pool, and remained so for she did not choose to feel discomfort. The garden was well manicured, all the wild things urged into pretty patterns. It suited him somehow, that order. She squatted to run her fingers over soft petals amongst the green, then stood to tiptoe to discover the view of old buildings below.
He gave some details that honestly meant very little to her, but she was glad to receive them anyway; they buzzed excitedly through her mind like freshly plucked treasures, even though she knew she was likely to forget them before long. And then he commanded her attention away from the place he had brought her. She turned to meet his serious gaze, the pierce of his eyes like harpoons, capturing her in the moment of here-and-now. Like water cupped in hands, she stayed for a while.
Nim glanced at her palm, the pebble he had given her revealed in its centre as her fingers slowly fanned out. The spokes of the scar surrounded it, flesh jagged and red. It did not hurt. Her brows lowered a little with the effort of ordering herself for another’s benefit. A sigh pushed out from her chest. “Not me,” she said. “I do not leave here, Noctua. There’s little that could truly hurt me here.” Her eyes bounced back up to his face. If she was the drift of the current, he was the patience of the rock bed.
“It happened to my Other,” she said again, confused that he did not appear to understand the distinction. “In the world you live in when you wake?” Her other palm opened then, revealing another stone, identical to the first. She felt it between paint-speckled fingers, then held it out to him. “I don’t know what happens there. I don’t even know where she is. Moscow, perhaps. Jon said he saw her in Moscow once, but time is unusual here.”
She might have left it there but for his enduring nature, and his silence. Her expression crumpled a little. The first little bites of fear nipped at her ankles; the fear that had chased her through the dream countless times of late, submerged by the presence of lighter company, but now coaxed to the fore. “Oh dear,” she said suddenly. Her legs folded to bring her delicately to the ground, dripping all over the neat path. “Oh dear.”
“The grey lady said the mark brands me a thief, and oh but he was very angry, Noctua. She does not know -- my Other, my Other does not know, and I cannot warn her.”
She did not bother to wade from the waters, only appeared suddenly within the grasp of his outstretched palms. Noctua had a newness about him she did not think he would appreciate to hear, given his fatherly manner, and it could be foolish to trust the manipulations of those newly minted, yet she gave over both trust and control willingly enough.
Water rushed and swirled when they emerged beneath the surface of some other place, but she only decided there was plenty of air to fill her lungs. She swam often enough in this world; explored places most would never think to look for physical limitation. Bubbles zipped from her mouth, curls floating like a dandelion around her round face. She laughed and pushed up until the water broke over her head, and she could see what lay above.
Curiosity roamed eagerly over where he had chosen to take her. Jon had gifted a similar experience once, when he still thought her a child of the dream, but usually it was Nimeda tugging visitors into such spectacle. It was rarely reciprocated. Sodden fabric flattened against her body as she climbed out of the pool, and remained so for she did not choose to feel discomfort. The garden was well manicured, all the wild things urged into pretty patterns. It suited him somehow, that order. She squatted to run her fingers over soft petals amongst the green, then stood to tiptoe to discover the view of old buildings below.
He gave some details that honestly meant very little to her, but she was glad to receive them anyway; they buzzed excitedly through her mind like freshly plucked treasures, even though she knew she was likely to forget them before long. And then he commanded her attention away from the place he had brought her. She turned to meet his serious gaze, the pierce of his eyes like harpoons, capturing her in the moment of here-and-now. Like water cupped in hands, she stayed for a while.
Nim glanced at her palm, the pebble he had given her revealed in its centre as her fingers slowly fanned out. The spokes of the scar surrounded it, flesh jagged and red. It did not hurt. Her brows lowered a little with the effort of ordering herself for another’s benefit. A sigh pushed out from her chest. “Not me,” she said. “I do not leave here, Noctua. There’s little that could truly hurt me here.” Her eyes bounced back up to his face. If she was the drift of the current, he was the patience of the rock bed.
“It happened to my Other,” she said again, confused that he did not appear to understand the distinction. “In the world you live in when you wake?” Her other palm opened then, revealing another stone, identical to the first. She felt it between paint-speckled fingers, then held it out to him. “I don’t know what happens there. I don’t even know where she is. Moscow, perhaps. Jon said he saw her in Moscow once, but time is unusual here.”
She might have left it there but for his enduring nature, and his silence. Her expression crumpled a little. The first little bites of fear nipped at her ankles; the fear that had chased her through the dream countless times of late, submerged by the presence of lighter company, but now coaxed to the fore. “Oh dear,” she said suddenly. Her legs folded to bring her delicately to the ground, dripping all over the neat path. “Oh dear.”
“The grey lady said the mark brands me a thief, and oh but he was very angry, Noctua. She does not know -- my Other, my Other does not know, and I cannot warn her.”