sforzando

Caspa Al-Fateh · 11-29-2011, 12:07 PM

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Word Count :: 8+

Caspa did not have the quicksilver wit nor the pride to return the sort of discourse he desired. A straightforward politeness was about as far as she would go towards humbleness, even in the presence of a lordly soul such as this; even though she was having to work hard not to let her fear rise. At least she had teachings in this field - a she-wolf surrounded with a tangible aura of harmony and equilibrium had shown her how to switch off the outside world entirely, and by utilising this skill to a degree, she could find herself at ease and at one with the present moment, at least for a time - as long as she could hold her concentration. There was good cause for fear now, though, and she knew she would be unwise not to listen to those stirrings. She was vulnerable, in her unarmed and inferior physical form. Caspa could only remind herself that she knew herself to be protected by a higher power, which she had served without straying once - and although she would accept death when her Maker called, she did not think her time had come yet.

She had perhaps taken Sirius aback by her assent - she had even surprised herself a little, because every fibre told her to make her excuses and put land between them at all speed. But the path that she followed she believed to be ancient and true, and while upon it nothing could touch her - indeed, he may well have been sent her way in order to deliver her sustenance, not only for her own sake but to redeem some unspoken or even unconscious sin. It would have been blasphemy for the pilgrim to deny him whatever salvation he might need, whether he knew it or not. Of course, this was only an example of the age-old arrogance of a religion that weaves individuals into its canon whether they like it or not, and maybe even without their knowledge. If Caspa had been less intrinsically bound with her beliefs, she might have noted the unfairness of her assumption and the insulting leap of judgement it would be to think of some as Bad and others Good based on an intangible force. She would certainly not wish to label him a sinner aloud, so perhaps she did realise the error, in some unexamined part of her mind. But then, it could also be said that she would never presume to truly know the actual truth of any circumstance: his generosity could be ordained for some other purpose. If he had sinned, she did not care, nor want to know, for fear her destiny might turn out to be to absolve him after all.

It was with an anxious intensity she watched him skin the rabbit, her slim figure still straight and unmoving - hardly condusive to a companionable atmosphere. Her voice was calm and easy, though, belying the aloof posture. "Caspa Al-Fateh," she answered, "my father gave me mine." She had not heard his name before, but she knew the first part had something to do with the stars. Her family had held a certain importance on the stars, and she'd memorised lists of names, which had never fitted with the random assortment of dots in the dark night skies. To her the name was as incomprehensible as those puppy-hood lessons, and the man who bore it. She was relieved, though that he did not necessarily plan to strike up a fire and make a truly lengthy ordeal of the repast. She could escape sooner, this way. Or perhaps this was unfortunate, because if they did take their time and prolong the wayside meeting perhaps they would have found a level of understanding and rapport which would have allowed her formal exterior to relent. The delicate and caring act of preparing her some food was already making her ice-heart an infinitesimal fraction less frosty, as it was such a wonderful juxtaposition in the actions of the dangerously muscled and handsomely proud male.

"I prefer raw. My tastes are simple," was her reply and now she lowered herself to his level, near the ground with bent knees, still only the balls of her feet touching the earth though - hovering above the grass like a bird ready to flap away. She could not seem to drag her gaze away from his face, and those eyes, although she knew her attentiveness was dangerous. She would still feel fear of him, if she allowed it to penetrate. "But you must be used to a modest diet yourself, if you travel here and North to the mountains often." She wondered if he would tell her any more of his journey, for she could not ask as leading a question as she might like - she knew that he was of the mysterious Salsola by his scent, and she also knew that the residents therein did not speak of their home. A vague inkling thought told her that if she did not betray that little information she already had, she might be lucky enough to glean some more.

Image courtesy of ®DS @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!

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