Heather's eyes flit down when her finger begins to warm, but in an instant it's burning. She yelps as she pulls her hand back, fingers clasped in fingers, shock on her face.
It's the sound of a shout that brings Zandros crawling out from his hiding place in the crowd. He weaves and winds his way toward his darling fiancee and the family of their friend, red-faced and huffing.
"What has happened!" he worriedly asks.
Heather tosses her head toward Isidor and shouts, "She burned me! She burned me!"
Zandros, anxious as ever, holds his hands out and hurries toward Heather. He takes her fingers in his palm and rushes to placate her with soft assurances. "There must be some misunderstanding! Did you touch her? My dear, she's been warded every which way. It must have been the magic, my dear. The passive magic. I assure you most certainly, Isidor would never aggress against the innocent."
As he cups Heather's fingers in his palm he turns his face toward Isidor and, out of sight of the Weatherhills, casts a pointed look her way. Correct? It hardly lasts a half-second before he's got his lovely green eyes on Heather's red fingertip.
"Heather, my dear, it is all superficial, yet no wound is below the embrace of the Light."
The magic that he works is so small as to be invisible, but Heather feels something by the look of relief and small surprise on her features. His work done in an instant, Zandros turns his gaze to Heather's face.
"And what has caused such conflict between friends?"
Heather's brow knits again and, quietly, she says, "She wants my children to starve."
"My!" Zandros exhales with greatest remorse. He keeps one hand on hers and puts the other squarely on her upper arm to jostle her slightly. "There must be some misunderstanding. Isidor would never. Family is the most important thing in the world to her! From where did this notion arise?"
Heather looks away. After a prolonged silence Jacob offers, "We were sharing our rations with our son. We won't do it again, Lord Alter, I swear."
Zandros quickly withdraws his hand from Heather's arm and instead claps Jacob on the shoulder. "You need not apologize, my friend. I appreciate your honesty, and see now where all of this began."
Looking between the two he firmly announces, "We all know in our hearts that what you have done is no crime. Indeed, it was an act of great love, of highest selflessness. Within your chests are martyr's souls, and you are driven by purest Compassion, Respect, and Tenacity to give of yourselves for the betterment of your young children."
Both Weatherhills watch him as he smiles softly for the both of them. They find it in themselves to smile, too, if only just.
"But it is not nourishment they seek, Dear Weatherhills. They are not empty of food, but of hope. In this place they have been deprived of normalcy, as have we all. They seek the reassurance and love of their parents, and you, naturally, seek to give it to them. But Weatherhills... These are not normal times. These are times of necessity in which the only things that bind us are our shared struggle... And our mutual agreement to live as if there were still norms to follow. It is only for this reason that we live by seemingly selfish rules. For when all abide by one law, all are as one. It is the most delicate of peace predicated only on equality. And if that balance tips... So goes our society. It is for this reason alone, I assure you, that each of us must continue to subsist merely on what we are given, and seek neither to give nor receive any less nor any more."
He turns a most remorseful gaze toward Isidor, and the couple looks to her as well, each silently thoughtful.
"Isidor," he pleads, "It is not reprimanding our friends need now, but hope. A light in these darkest of times. Permit me, if you would, to arrange a rallying of the spirit for each of us survivors. To boost the morale of those of us who toil and sacrifice -- indeed, even those among us too young to understand their own bravery. Help assuage their children's pain and comfort these soul-wounded parents, Lady Durant..."
no subject
It's the sound of a shout that brings Zandros crawling out from his hiding place in the crowd. He weaves and winds his way toward his darling fiancee and the family of their friend, red-faced and huffing.
"What has happened!" he worriedly asks.
Heather tosses her head toward Isidor and shouts, "She burned me! She burned me!"
Zandros, anxious as ever, holds his hands out and hurries toward Heather. He takes her fingers in his palm and rushes to placate her with soft assurances. "There must be some misunderstanding! Did you touch her? My dear, she's been warded every which way. It must have been the magic, my dear. The passive magic. I assure you most certainly, Isidor would never aggress against the innocent."
As he cups Heather's fingers in his palm he turns his face toward Isidor and, out of sight of the Weatherhills, casts a pointed look her way. Correct? It hardly lasts a half-second before he's got his lovely green eyes on Heather's red fingertip.
"Heather, my dear, it is all superficial, yet no wound is below the embrace of the Light."
The magic that he works is so small as to be invisible, but Heather feels something by the look of relief and small surprise on her features. His work done in an instant, Zandros turns his gaze to Heather's face.
"And what has caused such conflict between friends?"
Heather's brow knits again and, quietly, she says, "She wants my children to starve."
"My!" Zandros exhales with greatest remorse. He keeps one hand on hers and puts the other squarely on her upper arm to jostle her slightly. "There must be some misunderstanding. Isidor would never. Family is the most important thing in the world to her! From where did this notion arise?"
Heather looks away. After a prolonged silence Jacob offers, "We were sharing our rations with our son. We won't do it again, Lord Alter, I swear."
Zandros quickly withdraws his hand from Heather's arm and instead claps Jacob on the shoulder. "You need not apologize, my friend. I appreciate your honesty, and see now where all of this began."
Looking between the two he firmly announces, "We all know in our hearts that what you have done is no crime. Indeed, it was an act of great love, of highest selflessness. Within your chests are martyr's souls, and you are driven by purest Compassion, Respect, and Tenacity to give of yourselves for the betterment of your young children."
Both Weatherhills watch him as he smiles softly for the both of them. They find it in themselves to smile, too, if only just.
"But it is not nourishment they seek, Dear Weatherhills. They are not empty of food, but of hope. In this place they have been deprived of normalcy, as have we all. They seek the reassurance and love of their parents, and you, naturally, seek to give it to them. But Weatherhills... These are not normal times. These are times of necessity in which the only things that bind us are our shared struggle... And our mutual agreement to live as if there were still norms to follow. It is only for this reason that we live by seemingly selfish rules. For when all abide by one law, all are as one. It is the most delicate of peace predicated only on equality. And if that balance tips... So goes our society. It is for this reason alone, I assure you, that each of us must continue to subsist merely on what we are given, and seek neither to give nor receive any less nor any more."
He turns a most remorseful gaze toward Isidor, and the couple looks to her as well, each silently thoughtful.
"Isidor," he pleads, "It is not reprimanding our friends need now, but hope. A light in these darkest of times. Permit me, if you would, to arrange a rallying of the spirit for each of us survivors. To boost the morale of those of us who toil and sacrifice -- indeed, even those among us too young to understand their own bravery. Help assuage their children's pain and comfort these soul-wounded parents, Lady Durant..."