Hair of Woven Sunlight (May 2986) - [Talfryn]
Feb 28, 2018 9:47:33 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Feb 28, 2018 9:47:33 GMT -5
“I jest be an honest merchant. Jest letting her play… shewing her my stones, while we looked for her parents. Now that yer here, I'll be getting my donkey back fer water n' supper.”
Torsten growled, the sound like an avalanche of gravel in his throat and he strode forward, long legs whisking the tower of a man forward with the same power as a battering ram. “You lying rat!” He said. “Halt! I said halt, under order of the Eored—!”
While the tall man’s voice carried like thunder through plain, the old codger continued to speak as if he was not being hailed, and the people about began to glance to him uneasily, and the towering man that was barreling after him.
“You'n keep the pretty pink stone, little one. Fer yer birthdey. Jes remember the kind man en the street.”
“I said stop!” Torsten bellowed.
The bearded man, however, was already prodding the donkey on quicker, eyes downcast and unassuming as he went.
“Tor! Tor, that’s enough,” Brandr said, frowning.
“That bast—” Torsten began to growl, turning. However, he saw Runa’s bright eyes looking at him, and he bit his tongue, swallowing the last word before he screamed it for all the market stretch, and for little Runa to hear. “Are you all right, Runi?” He asked.
“All safe,” Brandr answered, pointedly looking to her brother with eyes that hinted perhaps the matter of the cartman was not entirely over. He had in mind to suggest taking the concern of the man’s attempted kidnapping—for indeed, it could have been nothing else—straight to the guard captain. However, that was for another time; Runa did not need to be made frightened.
Torsten sighed, dropping his eye to Runa. Now that he could see her, she looked mostly in tact, if not a little tearful for the spill she had taken onto the street. Her hands were scuffed, perhaps her knees as well, though Brand had seemingly already done the healing kisses she required. “Whewe’s the wock, Uncew Towe?”
“Oh,” Torsten stammered. He was unsure if he wanted Runa to have the trinket from the man, but her keen eye was already scanning the ground for the shiny pink rock, and she gasped, pointing with her hand.
“Dewe it is!” She trilled.
“Oh-ho, so it is,” Torsten offered uncomfortably. It was just a stone; he knew the man could not have enchanted it to finish a kidnapping. Perhaps there was no harm. He bent and picked it up, placing it in his nieces hand, and she immediately smiled and lifted it nearly up to Brandr’s nose.
“Wook, Uncew Bwand! It’s pink!” She giggled and trilled.
“It certainly is,” Brandr answered back.
“Runi, little one, why…why did you run off? You scared us half to death, you know,” Torsten asked next.
“I wanted to pet the pony. You knew whewe I was going! You said I could go,” the girl countered pointedly, drawing the rock against her chest.
“The pony?” Brandr repeated. He remembered Runa asking him something back in the bakery, though was unsure now what it had been. Had he answered ‘yes’? Shame pressed his lips together and he shared a long look with Torsten. They could not tell Hildred. Or Amalric. Perhaps…perhaps kids were not their gift.
“Yes, the pony. It was small, had clippity cloppy feet, and wobbly legs—oh!” Runa’s explanation was interrupted by a wild gasp of delight and she pointed one more. “Dewe it is!”
Her uncles glanced, seeing a grey foal waiting outside the leather shop. It looked as if the owner was inside, ordering custom tack. It was trying to reach, perhaps humorously so, to nibble a single sprouting weed that was growing under the eaves, just out of reach of the tied lead.
“Oh, a foal?” Torsten said. “You want to…pet it?” He asked.
“Yes, pwease!” Runa trilled. “Down, Uncew Bwand!”
“How about this time, we go together, hm?” Brand offered settling the girl on the ground and taking up her hand. “And hold my hand. I don’t want to get separated again.”
“Oh, that’s Halvar,” Torsten announced. “Must be his new foal he was talking about.” He paused, sighing, seeking to re-center and calm his wild heart. “Let’s go say hello, and ask to pet his new pony, hm?”
Pony.
It was a horse, but Torsten had learned quick you did not correct the little girl of the home. She was right—even when she was wrong.
“All right!” Runa preened, and she immediately began to pull them toward the little foal, her towering uncles ambling along beside. “I want a foawl fow my birfday!” She chimed up to them.
Brandr laughed; perhaps the day could still be salvaged. “Do you? Well, that will be up to that Mama of yours, I’d think.”
“Huwwy!” She giggled. “Befowe it gets away again!”
Torsten growled, the sound like an avalanche of gravel in his throat and he strode forward, long legs whisking the tower of a man forward with the same power as a battering ram. “You lying rat!” He said. “Halt! I said halt, under order of the Eored—!”
While the tall man’s voice carried like thunder through plain, the old codger continued to speak as if he was not being hailed, and the people about began to glance to him uneasily, and the towering man that was barreling after him.
“You'n keep the pretty pink stone, little one. Fer yer birthdey. Jes remember the kind man en the street.”
“I said stop!” Torsten bellowed.
The bearded man, however, was already prodding the donkey on quicker, eyes downcast and unassuming as he went.
“Tor! Tor, that’s enough,” Brandr said, frowning.
“That bast—” Torsten began to growl, turning. However, he saw Runa’s bright eyes looking at him, and he bit his tongue, swallowing the last word before he screamed it for all the market stretch, and for little Runa to hear. “Are you all right, Runi?” He asked.
“All safe,” Brandr answered, pointedly looking to her brother with eyes that hinted perhaps the matter of the cartman was not entirely over. He had in mind to suggest taking the concern of the man’s attempted kidnapping—for indeed, it could have been nothing else—straight to the guard captain. However, that was for another time; Runa did not need to be made frightened.
Torsten sighed, dropping his eye to Runa. Now that he could see her, she looked mostly in tact, if not a little tearful for the spill she had taken onto the street. Her hands were scuffed, perhaps her knees as well, though Brand had seemingly already done the healing kisses she required. “Whewe’s the wock, Uncew Towe?”
“Oh,” Torsten stammered. He was unsure if he wanted Runa to have the trinket from the man, but her keen eye was already scanning the ground for the shiny pink rock, and she gasped, pointing with her hand.
“Dewe it is!” She trilled.
“Oh-ho, so it is,” Torsten offered uncomfortably. It was just a stone; he knew the man could not have enchanted it to finish a kidnapping. Perhaps there was no harm. He bent and picked it up, placing it in his nieces hand, and she immediately smiled and lifted it nearly up to Brandr’s nose.
“Wook, Uncew Bwand! It’s pink!” She giggled and trilled.
“It certainly is,” Brandr answered back.
“Runi, little one, why…why did you run off? You scared us half to death, you know,” Torsten asked next.
“I wanted to pet the pony. You knew whewe I was going! You said I could go,” the girl countered pointedly, drawing the rock against her chest.
“The pony?” Brandr repeated. He remembered Runa asking him something back in the bakery, though was unsure now what it had been. Had he answered ‘yes’? Shame pressed his lips together and he shared a long look with Torsten. They could not tell Hildred. Or Amalric. Perhaps…perhaps kids were not their gift.
“Yes, the pony. It was small, had clippity cloppy feet, and wobbly legs—oh!” Runa’s explanation was interrupted by a wild gasp of delight and she pointed one more. “Dewe it is!”
Her uncles glanced, seeing a grey foal waiting outside the leather shop. It looked as if the owner was inside, ordering custom tack. It was trying to reach, perhaps humorously so, to nibble a single sprouting weed that was growing under the eaves, just out of reach of the tied lead.
“Oh, a foal?” Torsten said. “You want to…pet it?” He asked.
“Yes, pwease!” Runa trilled. “Down, Uncew Bwand!”
“How about this time, we go together, hm?” Brand offered settling the girl on the ground and taking up her hand. “And hold my hand. I don’t want to get separated again.”
“Oh, that’s Halvar,” Torsten announced. “Must be his new foal he was talking about.” He paused, sighing, seeking to re-center and calm his wild heart. “Let’s go say hello, and ask to pet his new pony, hm?”
Pony.
It was a horse, but Torsten had learned quick you did not correct the little girl of the home. She was right—even when she was wrong.
“All right!” Runa preened, and she immediately began to pull them toward the little foal, her towering uncles ambling along beside. “I want a foawl fow my birfday!” She chimed up to them.
Brandr laughed; perhaps the day could still be salvaged. “Do you? Well, that will be up to that Mama of yours, I’d think.”
“Huwwy!” She giggled. “Befowe it gets away again!”