Eyes of a Child
May. 11th, 2006 07:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shosen"There," I say, holding up the purple shirt, "finished. What do you think?"
Grunth looks at it for a moment, and I watch an odd expression flicker over the child's face before I receive a shrug in response. I think about it for a moment, before taking a guess.
"I could make a bag for you to keep it in," I venture softly, "something easy to hide."
This time the answer is a firm nod, and I smile as best I can when my throat's choked up. I pull out some more cloth and a bit of leather, keeping the bag simple, plain, worth little.
Grunth watches me work for a few moments, as quietly as he had watched everyone at the Zhevra earlier, even the poor, odd, and very drunk troll. As quiet as he had been since I'd greeted the dwarf on her horse as we passed on the way to the Rampart, but not quite as uneasy a silence as the one that had followed the Night Elf at the dock gently patting his head. I start to worry about the lecture the Matron will give me when she hears about his Alliance-friendly, drunk-filled trip, when he surprises me with an actual question.
"Did your mother teach you to sew?"
Simple question, but I still hesitate over the answer. "She taught me needlepoint when I was growing up, but I learned to sew from someone else."
He makes a face at the mention of needlepoint, then looks out over the water of the pond before speaking again. "My mother's dead."
"I know," I answer softly, "I'm sorry."
Another shrug, and then another question. "Is your mother dead?"
"I don't know."
"You're dead, shouldn't your mother be dead, too?"
I blink at him for a second, and then answer slowly. "I died because… I got sick. My parents lived somewhere else. People weren't sick where they were."
"So, why don't you know if they're alive or not?"
"I never looked for them."
This earns me a stern look that would have been more appropriate on a much older face. A second later, he looks away again and I barely overhear the whisper. "If I thought my parents were alive, I'd look for them."
I pretend I didn't hear it, and stare resolutely at the needle moving through the fabric. "Here," I say as I finish the last stitch, "see if the shirt will fit inside."
Grunth does, and then secures the bag in an inconspicuous position, which I hope will be enough to prevent someone from trying to steal it. I think about the last place on Grunth's list of places to see, and then decide to add one of my own instead.
"Would you like to go down to the Faire?"
The suggestion earns me an actual smile, and an unfortunate flight from the cannon, before we ride Vinegarra back to where the Dark Moon Faire has made camp. We spend the rest of the evening in the Faire, petting the animals, having our fortunes told, and eating Deep Fried Candybars. By the time we ride the elevators back up, Grunth is half asleep. He's all the way there the second I put him into one of the Inn beds, and I watch him for a long moment, thinking about family.
My parents never looked for me. I accepted that a long time ago, when I finally realised just how easy it would have been to find me. While I had considered looking for the farm, I hadn't really considered looking for them. That decision didn't seem the same when viewed from the perspective of one whose family had been stolen rather than left behind.
I didn't want to hear from my parents, didn't want to send them anything, but it would be nice to know, one way or the other. I shook my head and sighed, another item for my list of answers impossible to obtain.
The Inn was growing dark and quiet now, and I slowly prepared for bed, letting my mind wander. I looked over to check on Grunth one more time, and frowned as the dim light played tricks on my eyes.
Young child sleeping, tusks, light blue skin and darker blue hair, her hand wrapped tight around the handle of a dagger that's nothing more than a letter opener sharpened to a dangerous point.
I tried to chase the image, find its place, but it danced away, moving from the shadows in the room to the ones in my mind, and then it was gone, leaving only Grunth sleeping quietly in the bed. I wasted a few more moments trying to puzzle it out, and then brushed it away with the ease that came from years of practice.
With a sigh, I sat down on the only bed under a light and pulled out some more cloth. There had been a little room left in the bag, after all. Stitching carefully, I began to make a pair of pants to match the shirt, and tried to prepare for the next day's visit to Lordaeron.
Grunth looks at it for a moment, and I watch an odd expression flicker over the child's face before I receive a shrug in response. I think about it for a moment, before taking a guess.
"I could make a bag for you to keep it in," I venture softly, "something easy to hide."
This time the answer is a firm nod, and I smile as best I can when my throat's choked up. I pull out some more cloth and a bit of leather, keeping the bag simple, plain, worth little.
Grunth watches me work for a few moments, as quietly as he had watched everyone at the Zhevra earlier, even the poor, odd, and very drunk troll. As quiet as he had been since I'd greeted the dwarf on her horse as we passed on the way to the Rampart, but not quite as uneasy a silence as the one that had followed the Night Elf at the dock gently patting his head. I start to worry about the lecture the Matron will give me when she hears about his Alliance-friendly, drunk-filled trip, when he surprises me with an actual question.
"Did your mother teach you to sew?"
Simple question, but I still hesitate over the answer. "She taught me needlepoint when I was growing up, but I learned to sew from someone else."
He makes a face at the mention of needlepoint, then looks out over the water of the pond before speaking again. "My mother's dead."
"I know," I answer softly, "I'm sorry."
Another shrug, and then another question. "Is your mother dead?"
"I don't know."
"You're dead, shouldn't your mother be dead, too?"
I blink at him for a second, and then answer slowly. "I died because… I got sick. My parents lived somewhere else. People weren't sick where they were."
"So, why don't you know if they're alive or not?"
"I never looked for them."
This earns me a stern look that would have been more appropriate on a much older face. A second later, he looks away again and I barely overhear the whisper. "If I thought my parents were alive, I'd look for them."
I pretend I didn't hear it, and stare resolutely at the needle moving through the fabric. "Here," I say as I finish the last stitch, "see if the shirt will fit inside."
Grunth does, and then secures the bag in an inconspicuous position, which I hope will be enough to prevent someone from trying to steal it. I think about the last place on Grunth's list of places to see, and then decide to add one of my own instead.
"Would you like to go down to the Faire?"
The suggestion earns me an actual smile, and an unfortunate flight from the cannon, before we ride Vinegarra back to where the Dark Moon Faire has made camp. We spend the rest of the evening in the Faire, petting the animals, having our fortunes told, and eating Deep Fried Candybars. By the time we ride the elevators back up, Grunth is half asleep. He's all the way there the second I put him into one of the Inn beds, and I watch him for a long moment, thinking about family.
My parents never looked for me. I accepted that a long time ago, when I finally realised just how easy it would have been to find me. While I had considered looking for the farm, I hadn't really considered looking for them. That decision didn't seem the same when viewed from the perspective of one whose family had been stolen rather than left behind.
I didn't want to hear from my parents, didn't want to send them anything, but it would be nice to know, one way or the other. I shook my head and sighed, another item for my list of answers impossible to obtain.
The Inn was growing dark and quiet now, and I slowly prepared for bed, letting my mind wander. I looked over to check on Grunth one more time, and frowned as the dim light played tricks on my eyes.
Young child sleeping, tusks, light blue skin and darker blue hair, her hand wrapped tight around the handle of a dagger that's nothing more than a letter opener sharpened to a dangerous point.
I tried to chase the image, find its place, but it danced away, moving from the shadows in the room to the ones in my mind, and then it was gone, leaving only Grunth sleeping quietly in the bed. I wasted a few more moments trying to puzzle it out, and then brushed it away with the ease that came from years of practice.
With a sigh, I sat down on the only bed under a light and pulled out some more cloth. There had been a little room left in the bag, after all. Stitching carefully, I began to make a pair of pants to match the shirt, and tried to prepare for the next day's visit to Lordaeron.