The Little Jewel

[Thalia]

He saw them. The small jewel of a child shifted back into her quiet shell, pressing her body against Nimeda’s legs, her arms gripping a tight circle round the clammy skin of her thigh. Nimeda swayed beneath the weight of holding herself still, marvelling at how difficult it was not to overburst those banks and let every whim flush into reality. His words washed over her unheeded. Grim’s accusation made little sense to her at all in that moment, though she did not try very hard to understand the reason for his cold anger. She could simply push him back into his body. Head tilted with the consideration, the fingers of one hand flexing idly, she realised for the first time that she might even do so whilst robbing his memory of the encounter. In fact it might solve more than one problem.

Silence soared, like he expected more answer from her than her wide-eyed stare. Nim’s reticence had not much to do with tides of morality, and a whole lot more to do with the desperate need not to be forgotten -- even by him. The bore of his amber eyes had never been particularly pleasant, yet she had never shunned his presence either; had even helped him when she could, as she helped all those who sought her aid. She could not cut even the most fragile of cords. Such realisation did not leave her proud, knowing as she did what he sought from the lake. Her hand lowered, fingers now pressing light against the silky strands of the child’s head. Bright eyes peered up, afraid and trusting.

“Oh,” she said instead. Amber eyes. Though the sudden understanding was not complete; curious questions perched on her lips, like why the little one did not even recognise him, before he reached for her and the thought was lost. She jerked away from Grim’s touch, remembering the bruising pinch of his grip before. He demanded more from her, but her focus slipped dangerously away along with her arm from his hold. 

Distraction claimed in its stead, and her gaze moved away to the horizon. By now her temple was throbbing an insistent warning; the need to retreat into darkness and silence and sleep. But she twisted like someone who’d heard the call of their name. No words travelled, yet familiarity beckoned like the curving walls of a cave, or the shelter of folded wings. It wasn’t the first time she had sensed the Watcher, she did not think, yet his resonance was so strong it might have been the memory of an echo, or something that stretched back further. Such shadows felt strangely like home. But not a welcome. They never revealed themselves. They never claimed.

“Why did you come to the island, Nimeda?”

Her gaze searched the skies. She could not even say why.

“Questioning you is pointless, and maddening,” the grimnir continued in frustration that she barely acknowledged. The child’s grip tightened. Her skin prickled cold, like the veil thinned between worlds. “You said I would not find where the creature had gone, but I am here. I will not harm it if you help.”