[ he turns the cloth overhand, examines the seams. stitches inexpert as his own mended elbows. there is a well of,
something, there, ill-named. easier to consider the sense of it: a dozen textures of memory, rough and soft and steady and thin. the picked gold wire of vestments. the thick stains of dye. the sweat-drenched pad between gauntlet, palm; gambeson, heart.
it's a few days before the letter is returned. his own doesn't flow so pretty, blocks of clear, efficient print: ]
Miss Tavane,
Thank you for the letter, and the kind words. Told you I was grateful for your trust, and I meant it; takes guts to face that.
Back when they taught us on spirits, it was like this: Spirits are one thing, simple. People are different – you can’t hold half a feeling. Can't be peaceful unless you've been angry, can't be sad unless you've seen joy. So it follows, right, that you can't be brave unless you've been scared.
You've been plenty brave.
Had an old lieutenant kept a marble, the kind kids play for. Used to roll it in her hand before battle. After. We were on a hill one day, when I caught her holding it to sky, squinting through the glass. She let me try, and it sent everything bubbling strange; blue. Said it gave her a different perspective. New way to see.
[ the other half. wrapped within page: a small thing, irregular; some fraction of green bottle salvaged from rocky shore. the sea glass frosts, semi-translucent. smooth under thumb. ]
Reckon you’ve had no shortage of new. Maybe, some day, that'll look more like home.
no subject
[ he turns the cloth overhand, examines the seams. stitches inexpert as his own mended elbows. there is a well of,
something, there, ill-named. easier to consider the sense of it: a dozen textures of memory, rough and soft and steady and thin. the picked gold wire of vestments. the thick stains of dye. the sweat-drenched pad between gauntlet, palm; gambeson, heart.
it's a few days before the letter is returned. his own doesn't flow so pretty, blocks of clear, efficient print: ]
Miss Tavane,
Thank you for the letter, and the kind words. Told you I was grateful for your trust, and I meant it; takes guts to face that.
Back when they taught us on spirits, it was like this: Spirits are one thing, simple. People are different – you can’t hold half a feeling. Can't be peaceful unless you've been angry, can't be sad unless you've seen joy. So it follows, right, that you can't be brave unless you've been scared.
You've been plenty brave.
Had an old lieutenant kept a marble, the kind kids play for. Used to roll it in her hand before battle. After. We were on a hill one day, when I caught her holding it to sky, squinting through the glass. She let me try, and it sent everything bubbling strange; blue. Said it gave her a different perspective. New way to see.
[ the other half. wrapped within page: a small thing, irregular; some fraction of green bottle salvaged from rocky shore. the sea glass frosts, semi-translucent. smooth under thumb. ]
Reckon you’ve had no shortage of new. Maybe, some day, that'll look more like home.
— Cedric