User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 81

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4th Era 171, 7th of Second Seed, Pyandonea
Curwe instantly saw that she should have worded that sentence some other way...a better way. The effects were seen immediately: the light in Talgando's eyes dimmed, and his smile faltered, though he kept it up.

"No, no!" she cried, waving her hands, "I didn't mean it that way. Blame my faulty sentence on travel jitters." She smiled hopefully, praying she'd be forgiven. "I meant I was sad when I heard your story about the stigma here against brown hair such as yours."

"She was ready to swim to Pyandonea and give them all a lecture that hair color doesn't make a person bad," Balasian added, smiling down at her. "I just managed to keep her at Summerset."

There was a nearly imperceptible pause in between their explanation and Talgando's response, and she was gladdened by the rekindling of the light behind those white eyes and the brightening of his smile once more.

"Oh," he began, blushing a little. "Thank you, but I don't think lectures would convince everyone. It's just something you have to get used to, more or less." He cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I ruined this moment by dropping the plate. Now you will take away this memory, and my clumsiness."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, though being careful to not be too loud. Talgando really was the sweet person she'd always heard about. "You were surprised, is all. I likely would have done the same thing; in fact, I toss things at Orthendar when he surprises me."

"She does." came the ghost's wry response. A quick glance back showed he was smiling like it was a good joke. Looking back at the priest, she asked, "Can I help you? We could get the cleansing done faster if we do it together."

He shook his head, brown hair swishing. "No...no. It's my mess, and I should clean it up. Besides, I don't want you to cut yourself." he said apolegetically, retrieving a broom and dustpan from a shadowed hiding place. "However," he noted, carefully brushing the shards into the pan, "Alana, my wife, should be back any time now from town. I know she'd love to meet you."

* * *

The basement was cozy and felt like a home and not a basement. She avoided the bedroom, however. It felt like invading his personal space.

Although it had seemed like Talgando had forgiven her for her mistake, she still felt guilty. Orthendar, standing near the exit, noticed her mood right away, of course.

"You explained what you really meant," he explained, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "I know he has seen that it was simply misspoken words. Don't worry."

She nodded to herself, trying to forgive herself over it. She felt the ghost's eyes on her.

"He really has forgiven you," he insisted gently. "If anyone knows what someone is thinking, it would be me." He smirked a little. "Trust me."

She smiled a little, the corners of her lips turning up. "Okay." Unfortunately, Talgando had been right: she would take away an uncomfortable experience. However, it was not him that she'd be remembering in a shadowed light, but herself.

She gave herself a mental shake and forced the thoughts and jitters away. Just have fun while you're here, she told herself. How many Altmer could say that they set foot on Pyandonea? None, that's who. She was the first, and for the most part, she wasn't an enemy. She was a friend. She smiled at that thought, just as Balasian came from a side room, a change of clothes in each hand.