J'role shook his head.
"Well, you will soon. The wounds are clean now. You just need time." She sounded confident, but J'role knew she was lying. Releana couldn't know for sure. Without a healer he might well die. They both might. Wounds were like that. They started as one obvious point of penetration, and if they didn't kill you immediately, they often festered slowly, draining all the life out of you, corrupting your health until …
Until what? How did you actually die? J'role didn't know. Maybe your body just got too tired to go on.
A drop of rain plinked against his temple, startling him. His muscles tightened, but instead of the deluge he expected, the rain began slowly. Big drops that splashed into the fire and fizzled with steam. They landed on his face, cold at first, but soothing somehow, He raised his hand to his forehead and smeared the drops over his cheeks, across his lips, and onto the tip of his tongue.
Bevarden tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide. J'role did the same, rolling onto his back. The drops fell into his mouth at unexpected moments, but they tasted wonderful.
“I've never seen you do that before," Releana said, her voice teasing.
J'role looked at her, puzzled and curious.
"Smile," she said. "It's the first time I've seen you smile. You are often Grim, but I'm glad to see you've got more to you than that."
He looked away, uncertain how to respond. Unable to respond. Why was the creature in his head …?
Seeing his deep concentration, she changed the subject with a bright tone, "So? Where are we headed now? Do you have a goal, or were you just wandering like I was? Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and I'm not saying one is better than the other. But if there's some place you're going, and you wouldn't mind, I'd like to come along with you. If that would be all right with you. I mean, I don't have a destination, and I'll tell you," she said smiling, "I'd sure like to have some place to go."
He hadn't thought about that: about her actually coming along. How would he explain it?
How could he possibly explain it all to her? How could he communicate the enormous complications of a magical ring, a hidden city, the strange, blind wizard with the eye in his hand, the one-eyed ork, and so on. . Just thinking about it overwhelmed him.
He decided to start with little bits of information. She was a magician. She was smart.
J'role figured she'd be able to put some of it together herself.
He propped himself up on one arm and raised his other hand a few feet off the ground.
Releana looked at him quizzically, then her face lit up as she realized he was trying to answer her question.
"A child?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"A short stick? A wand! No? Longer? A staff!?'
He shook his head and rolled back onto the ground, already frustrated.
"No, no, no," she said quickly, her voice happy and excited. "We just need to make up more rules. Listen, when I get closer, point your thumb up. When I start guessing worse, point your thumb down. Now. Is a child closer than a wand?"
J’role propped himself back up. She waited for his response, leaning in hungrily, a child waiting for the next round of a game. He found that he liked her immensely.
He held his thumb up.
"A child. It's like a child. A person?"
He mined stroking a beard, just as he'd seen his father do years ago, in the kaer, when telling a story about dwarfs.
"An-old man!"
He raised his hand again, then lowered it closer and closer to the ground. "A small old man!"
He shook his head.
"A dwarf!"
Her correct guess started him for a moment, and then he smiled. It had worked. And it hadn't been too difficult. "You're going to see a dwarf." she asked.
Not exactly, he thought. How do I communicate Throal?
He did it just as he had communicated dwarf. With patience.
"I've. . the dwarven kingdom. Actually, I've never seen a dwarf. Only heard about them.
Strange, isn't it. I'm speaking to you with their language, but I have no connection with them. Or, I have a strong connection with them, but it's so strong I'm not even aware of it.
I'm babbling. Sorry." She stood quietly for a moment.
J'role realized that she wanted to talk to him. He was supposed to answer. A conversation. Not his father's incessant apologies and dreams, but an actual exchange. At the same time, unable to do anything about it, he felt his fever winding its way into a headache. The pressure to interact was too much to bear.
"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked, abruptly curious.
He looked at her, exaggerating the confusion on his face so she'd know he had no idea what she was talking about.
"Look like that, I mean. So upset. You're always so serious. Not always. But you seem to retreat to it all the time. Retreat? Is that what I mean?" She thought about her question for the briefest of moments, then answered herself. "Yes. That's what I mean. Retreat. I called you Grim as a joke. But you seem too-serious. I don't know." She drew in a breath and looked at him.
Her words made him feel bad, though he didn't know exactly why. Then he realized that the words struck a chord because they were true. He was often serious. And all he wanted was to be light-spirited.
He could not speak, so he said nothing.
"I'm sorry," she said, realizing she'd depressed him even more.
The words, echoing his father's perpetual refrain, sent a buzz of frustration through his head. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for making Releana sound like his father. He got up quickly and took her hand-in his. Looking into her eyes he shook his head slightly.
As he touched her hand he realized how good it was to have someone near him who actually paid him enough attention to tell him the truth about himself, even if it was truth he didn't particularly like. How else was he going to know how others saw him? How else would he know if his behavior was actually different from what it could be?
Could be?
Yes. Exactly. He was serious all the time because it was his defense against all that had happened to him in his life. He'd assumed it was the only way to survive. Releana questioned his seriousness. Implicit in the question was the — notion that- he didn't have to be serious.
She assumed he could be happy. She wouldn't have asked the question otherwise.
She met his gaze briefly, then looked down at their hands, then removed her hand from his. J'role sat back down, almost disappointed to lose her touch, but not really. Someone had really paid attention to him. It was so wonderful in itself.
"I. . uh. .," she began faltering. He smiled at her. In the two days they'd known each other it was the first time he'd seen Releana at a loss for words.
He raised his hands, waving them, signaling that she dismiss her concerns. She stopped trying to talk and he stood up, carefully. When he was up he gestured for her to sit down.
She did.
With Releana and his father watching, J'role began to do something he'd never done before. He began to tell a story, just as his father had done in the kaer years earlier. His father had used words, but he had also portrayed all the people and creatures with his body. Drawing on the memory of his father's talents, J'role began to tell Releana of the day he stood in his village seeing Garlthik One-Eye approach. He mimed how they had met and later gone to Brandson's Tavern, and how J'role had seen Garlthik gazing spellbound at the ring on the stairs at Brandson's.
As he introduced new elements of the story, he and Releana played a guessing game of nouns and words until she guessed correctly. It took time, but she was curious and energetic and full of life and loved the challenge of figuring out what J'role was doing.