Snippet #2169107

Gwyn followed Faulkner's description with her mind's eye. She could envision the place he described so vividly it was as if she were there, just then, the riverbed-stone so smooth under her boots she might have slid along it where the slant was too steep. And she had not, to her knowledge, ever been there herself. His gruff voice simply carried images across with each word, and whisps of thought with each syllable. And the surety with which he spoke was infectious.

Perhaps it really was the same with one's identity. The memory of making decisions and learning lessons did not necessarily effect their impact. She did not remember the hours spent training her eye to carry an arrow to its mark. She did not remember crafting her bow, or learning how to carve at all. She did not remember her parents' names, but they had still shaped her into the person she would become. She would still be Gwyn, even if she did not know had she had become so.

Smiling in spite of herself, Gwyn stood to follow Faulkner back towards Tova's home. Her smile widened as he continued, though she could not be certain which response she was more pleased with. She addressed both with an airy lack of caring that was betrayed by the smile as she folded her arms around herself, briefly, to stave off the chill. "I dare say you should take greater care in where you issue your challenges, Lord Faulkner. You never can tell when someone will be willing to accept them..."

Then she quick-stepped in front of him, turning about so that she took her steps up the path in reverse, meeting his gaze evenly. "But is it really Lady Tova's desire to stay in Rauwic that prevents you from keeping one another? Surely she could work her magic on women in other towns...you could take her away in haste, and settle somewhere new, and quiet.

"Nay, I think what stays your asking her along is your unwillingness to live as you once did. You say you hate it here, but I do not think you are speaking of Rauwic itself."

She stopped as she bumped into the little fence around Tova's garden. Her head tilted a little in curiosity. Faulkner's problem--as she perceived it--was similar to Gwyn's as she had tried to explain to Kit what her future plans were. They shared a lack of desire for civilization. Gwyn's was natural, Faulkner's was acquired, but it had been his nature for at least half of his long life. And he had experience in, no doubt, disappointing one who had a natural proclivity to the organized, clean, decent lifestyle that came in a town or a city. Surely Tova would have been willing to come with him--even if she disliked the woods. If it was a matter of love...what did discomfort matter, really?

But then, perhaps it hadn't been a matter of love at all, and Gwyn was getting too far ahead of herself.

Gwyn leaned back against the fence, her hands laced behind her back. "Lady Tova said that you never were tame, even when you lived at court. I think you've gone positively native, whether purposefully or not. And there's nothing the matter with that. But it is a mite difficult to explain to those more suited to having roots, isn't it?"