User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 86

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4th Era 171, 7th of Second Seed, Pyandonea
"Mom," Balachil began, sitting in front of his fireplace. "I'm worried. The storm...Balasian's right there. He's going to be hurt or...or..." he trailed off, looking up and over from the fire to the kitchen, where his mother was making bread dough. He didn't want to give voice to the last two words, though he thought them: "get killed."

She glanced up from the bread dough, sitting limply on the countertop. It looked a little like a golden-tan pillow, with fist marks from her hands denting its surface. Strands of hair had escaped her bun and hung into space or onto her shouders. "Hon, I'm sure Orthendar's looking into it. You know how he is; he sees and hears everything. I'm certain he'll save them from the storm. Don't you worry about it any longer." she tried to assure him, before turning her attention back to kneading the dough.

Balachil, however, was not so easily placated. He stared at the fireplace, feeling the tears of frustration and fear threaten and burn behind his eyes. He tried blinking and rubbing them away as the questions and doubt mounted up inside his head. Even a ghost as powerful as Orthendar had limitations. He'd even said that himself. What if he couldn't protect them? What if the storm was more powerful than he was? What if they got hurt by the storm? What if--

"They are fine, Balachil," Orthendar mentally assured him.

Thoughts of doom interrupted, the Elf jerked up his head, staring at the fireplace and its fire without seeing them. "How do you know that? Are you there on Summerset with them?" He glanced over at his mother; she was still busy with the cooking, though every Liberator knew that questions out of the middle of nowhere and to apparently nobody likely meant someone was in conversation with Orthendar.

"I am not. I brought them here for their safety." the ghost's thoughts smiled.

Balachil jumped out of his chair in surprise. It fell backwards and landed on the floor with a clatter. "What? He's...they're here? On Pyandonea?" he exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.

"Yes. I brought them here. It was the only way to keep them safe." Orthendar replied. "They are in the basement of the Temple of Mara. Do you want to see them?"

"Oh, yes!" Balachil cried, beyond excited. "Yes, yes, yes!"

"Remember to act as if you are coming for counselling. Do not act giddy. And tell no one else where you are going." he told him sternly. "We need to keep this as quiet as possible, lest the King find out. Too many visitors at the Temple would cause suspicions."

"Oh, of course. I know, I know! I'll be carefull!" he cried, running and getting a cloak off the rack in his bedroom, ready to head out the door.

Almost forgetting about his mother in his excitement, he made a quick dash into the kitchen as he whipped on the cloak and pecked her on the cheek, saying as quietly as he could (lest he yell in her ear), "I've got to go, mom. Some great news came up. I'll be back in a little while."

She sighed. "Very well. Make sure to come back when the bread is still warm from the oven," she reminded him. "And heed Orthendar's words," she added, revealing her own comunication with the spirit.

"I will, mom." he said as he sprinted for the door, just remembering in time to put on a "going for counselling" expression before he exited onto the street. He hoped he could keep in on without it slipping. He was so excited, he couldn't wait. He felt like running, but couldn't. He made himself walk normally, even though he felt as if he should cry out at the top of his lungs and run down the street in exhilaration. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so great.