08-14-2010, 11:58 AM
[html]394.
Conor was straightforward and kind, and the girl had never found it difficult to talk with him. As he indicated, Nayru took a seat upon the couch, her eyes passing by the titles of books she couldn’t read but one day wished to. Settled she sought the lavender eyes with her bright cherry ones, relieved that Conor seemed only concerned and not angry at her nighttime escapades. They had never been angry with one another, and truthfully, Nayru had never been angry with or angry at anyone in Dahlia de Mai. The cow colored girl was eager to please and pleasing the others she found was not difficult at all. Yet perhaps that was what was so troubling at times, for she wasn’t quite pleased with herself.
At his questions she hesitated. Was everything okay? Speaking of the white woman was out of the question, but what the white woman stood for, well she could confide that in Conor, couldn’t she? Always the white woman was directing her, guiding her, telling her how to act and think and be in her waking life. And she was never satisfied. Perhaps because Nayru was not satisfied. For a long moment she did not say anything, and when she did her voice was soft and searching, as if saying out loud her concerns made them concrete. "I don’t think I’m good enough for Dahlia de Mai, Conor. I don’t think I can give back what you guys have given me."
There it was, so very simple. Perhaps it was just adolescent insecurities, but what skills had she to offer the pack? Sure, she could be silent and thoughtful and polite, but she was never consistent. Too often she fell back into foolishness. She could be cautious and alert, but would put down her guard without a second thought. Reading and writing eluded her and she had no special knowledge to offer them. She could scout borders all day long but she would allow whoever and whatever to come and go as they pleased, if they knew the right things to say. And hunt? She didn’t even think about hunting. And she wanted to fill in all the gaps, become great like she thought Conor or Cwmfen or Bris to be, but she wasn’t them. Not close, she was just Nayru and that wasn’t very much at all.
Conor was straightforward and kind, and the girl had never found it difficult to talk with him. As he indicated, Nayru took a seat upon the couch, her eyes passing by the titles of books she couldn’t read but one day wished to. Settled she sought the lavender eyes with her bright cherry ones, relieved that Conor seemed only concerned and not angry at her nighttime escapades. They had never been angry with one another, and truthfully, Nayru had never been angry with or angry at anyone in Dahlia de Mai. The cow colored girl was eager to please and pleasing the others she found was not difficult at all. Yet perhaps that was what was so troubling at times, for she wasn’t quite pleased with herself.
At his questions she hesitated. Was everything okay? Speaking of the white woman was out of the question, but what the white woman stood for, well she could confide that in Conor, couldn’t she? Always the white woman was directing her, guiding her, telling her how to act and think and be in her waking life. And she was never satisfied. Perhaps because Nayru was not satisfied. For a long moment she did not say anything, and when she did her voice was soft and searching, as if saying out loud her concerns made them concrete. "I don’t think I’m good enough for Dahlia de Mai, Conor. I don’t think I can give back what you guys have given me."
There it was, so very simple. Perhaps it was just adolescent insecurities, but what skills had she to offer the pack? Sure, she could be silent and thoughtful and polite, but she was never consistent. Too often she fell back into foolishness. She could be cautious and alert, but would put down her guard without a second thought. Reading and writing eluded her and she had no special knowledge to offer them. She could scout borders all day long but she would allow whoever and whatever to come and go as they pleased, if they knew the right things to say. And hunt? She didn’t even think about hunting. And she wanted to fill in all the gaps, become great like she thought Conor or Cwmfen or Bris to be, but she wasn’t them. Not close, she was just Nayru and that wasn’t very much at all.