(103)
For the moment, I let numbers and formulae dribble out of my head. I stuff my feet into the old boots came from a relative--one of my father’s. I’ve been wearing them for two or three years, and I still have to put on extra socks, because my mother doesn’t care about fashion when it’s being worn to the barn.
Tonight is cold, so I put on an extra skirt over the leggings and heavy skirt that I already wear. Bundled up like this, I hardly look romantic, but I don't expect to actually see Boron. If his light is on, that little hope of him will be enough to see me through one more night. Tomorrow is the weekend, so after I milk and feed, I can crawl back in bed for a little extra sleep.
Cold air always bites when I first step outdoors, and I hunch down into my coat and scarf to keep the breeze from trickling down my neck. After one look back to make sure that no one at home has woken up and noticed that I am gone, I set my boots walking over the stubby ground. I wear my lumicube around my neck, but I keep it dark. I can see enough by the waxing crescent and the stars to know where to put my feet. I’ve walked this way many times before, and the goat-cropped grass doesn’t trip me up.
Maybe I should have stayed and put something together, but my brain was getting tired, and the experiment I’m planning can wait for tomorrow. Actually, I’m not sure if it would be called a spell or a charm, but I’m quite positive that it’s illegal. Not that it’s immoral, though. In another week, I’ll have passed my Exam. In about two weeks after that, I’ll be able to apply for a Class C license, and then it won’t be illegal. So it’s a question of timing more than of right or wrong. Normally it’s not a problem since most graduating students don’t actually know any practical magic. A few know a little, but not much.
Except for me. I’m just interested in it, and it also helps that I have a grandmother who knows greenwoman magic. My mother explicitly told her not to teach me any of her magic--but she did anyway. It’s not the right kind of magic; it’s not academic magic. But Anen, my grandmother, knows about things that have nothing to do with crystals and the normal mechanical uses of magic. She knows about spells.
I still feel a little bit guilty about the idea of trying a perception spell on Boron, but it’s not like he hasn’t shown interest. It’s just that I don’t know if he realizes that I’m running out of time. What happens if I’m forced to take an apprenticeship because he hasn’t proposed yet?
And while I’m convinced that I can make him happy, I’m not convinced that his love can stand up to a separation, especially if he would be getting engaged to an apprentice. Maybe, if I can get a philosopher internship, but since the most I can realistically hope for is an engineer novice, then that would be the end of Boron. I’m certain that he likes me, but I’m not deluded enough to think that situation doesn’t mean anything.
Lessons with him have become less often. That’s a problem.
Just when I’ve reached the dark part of my walk, the part near the creek where willows grow in thick clumps, where foxes--and sometimes wolves--come to hunt for rabbits, I hear rustling and talking. Instantly I duck down, more from an instinct to keep from getting caught out at night than from any idea of my safety. It is only when I hear men talking that quick-beating of my heart is joined by the sinking feeling in my stomach. They talk back and forth, their words a low muttering that I can’t distinguish the individual words.
And while I am frozen, debating about if I should creep away quietly or stay put until they go away, suddenly the world is filled with light and and sound. I roll over before I know what is happening. Light and smoke roll upward, climbing along the willows and up into the night. I feel my brain straining to gather information, to piece together some kind of idea about what is happening, to decide what to do. I smell burning. People yell, and I hear a horse whinny that sounds more like a scream.
My feet don’t wait for orders. I’m still looking around while I’m running. My lungs catch up quickly, gulping cold air that stings. In spite of my heavy boots, I touch the ground lightly because the less time my feet spend on the ground, the less likely I am to catch the toe of my big, brown rounded boot on a stray root that will mean a quick twist of pain and a fast path to the ground. I leap small sagebrush and service berries.
At first I don’t hear the footsteps behind me, then I hear feet hitting the ground hard, keeping pace--then closing the gap. Footsteps match the blood I hear thumping in my ears. Fortunately, it is dark. In darkness I can probably see better than he does. In darkness, I use my ears to know who is behind me instead of turning my head to see and then losing my balance.
“Stop! Wait!” His pace drops a fraction because he spent his air on words. There is no way that I will stop for a man chasing me from the middle of an explosion "Kestrel!" he yells. "Kestrel, I need your help. Stop!"
For the moment, I let numbers and formulae dribble out of my head. I stuff my feet into the old boots came from a relative--one of my father’s. I’ve been wearing them for two or three years, and I still have to put on extra socks, because my mother doesn’t care about fashion when it’s being worn to the barn.
Tonight is cold, so I put on an extra skirt over the leggings and heavy skirt that I already wear. Bundled up like this, I hardly look romantic, but I don't expect to actually see Boron. If his light is on, that little hope of him will be enough to see me through one more night. Tomorrow is the weekend, so after I milk and feed, I can crawl back in bed for a little extra sleep.
Cold air always bites when I first step outdoors, and I hunch down into my coat and scarf to keep the breeze from trickling down my neck. After one look back to make sure that no one at home has woken up and noticed that I am gone, I set my boots walking over the stubby ground. I wear my lumicube around my neck, but I keep it dark. I can see enough by the waxing crescent and the stars to know where to put my feet. I’ve walked this way many times before, and the goat-cropped grass doesn’t trip me up.
Maybe I should have stayed and put something together, but my brain was getting tired, and the experiment I’m planning can wait for tomorrow. Actually, I’m not sure if it would be called a spell or a charm, but I’m quite positive that it’s illegal. Not that it’s immoral, though. In another week, I’ll have passed my Exam. In about two weeks after that, I’ll be able to apply for a Class C license, and then it won’t be illegal. So it’s a question of timing more than of right or wrong. Normally it’s not a problem since most graduating students don’t actually know any practical magic. A few know a little, but not much.
Except for me. I’m just interested in it, and it also helps that I have a grandmother who knows greenwoman magic. My mother explicitly told her not to teach me any of her magic--but she did anyway. It’s not the right kind of magic; it’s not academic magic. But Anen, my grandmother, knows about things that have nothing to do with crystals and the normal mechanical uses of magic. She knows about spells.
I still feel a little bit guilty about the idea of trying a perception spell on Boron, but it’s not like he hasn’t shown interest. It’s just that I don’t know if he realizes that I’m running out of time. What happens if I’m forced to take an apprenticeship because he hasn’t proposed yet?
And while I’m convinced that I can make him happy, I’m not convinced that his love can stand up to a separation, especially if he would be getting engaged to an apprentice. Maybe, if I can get a philosopher internship, but since the most I can realistically hope for is an engineer novice, then that would be the end of Boron. I’m certain that he likes me, but I’m not deluded enough to think that situation doesn’t mean anything.
Lessons with him have become less often. That’s a problem.
Just when I’ve reached the dark part of my walk, the part near the creek where willows grow in thick clumps, where foxes--and sometimes wolves--come to hunt for rabbits, I hear rustling and talking. Instantly I duck down, more from an instinct to keep from getting caught out at night than from any idea of my safety. It is only when I hear men talking that quick-beating of my heart is joined by the sinking feeling in my stomach. They talk back and forth, their words a low muttering that I can’t distinguish the individual words.
And while I am frozen, debating about if I should creep away quietly or stay put until they go away, suddenly the world is filled with light and and sound. I roll over before I know what is happening. Light and smoke roll upward, climbing along the willows and up into the night. I feel my brain straining to gather information, to piece together some kind of idea about what is happening, to decide what to do. I smell burning. People yell, and I hear a horse whinny that sounds more like a scream.
My feet don’t wait for orders. I’m still looking around while I’m running. My lungs catch up quickly, gulping cold air that stings. In spite of my heavy boots, I touch the ground lightly because the less time my feet spend on the ground, the less likely I am to catch the toe of my big, brown rounded boot on a stray root that will mean a quick twist of pain and a fast path to the ground. I leap small sagebrush and service berries.
At first I don’t hear the footsteps behind me, then I hear feet hitting the ground hard, keeping pace--then closing the gap. Footsteps match the blood I hear thumping in my ears. Fortunately, it is dark. In darkness I can probably see better than he does. In darkness, I use my ears to know who is behind me instead of turning my head to see and then losing my balance.
“Stop! Wait!” His pace drops a fraction because he spent his air on words. There is no way that I will stop for a man chasing me from the middle of an explosion "Kestrel!" he yells. "Kestrel, I need your help. Stop!"
(106)
1) The sound of my name makes me slow and then turn. I don't recognize him, but with a soot and sweat-smeared face, that doesn't mean much."Your face is all black," I say carefully. "Who are you?"
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1cd.html
(107)
2) I take one quick glance over my shoulder, but I don't quit running, and neither does he. Just because he knows my name doesn't mean that I will head towards danger.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1cc.html
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1cc.html
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