‹ Prequel: Lead and Gold
Vernacular
Apprehension
The first thing I was aware of was the sensation of being grabbed.
I had sensed them approaching; who couldn't have? The sheer strength emanating from them was impossible to ignore; deep down, I knew where that strength had stemmed from. It was all of the legends, all of the texts and stories and remnants I had seen made material. This, if anything, was what drew me from my stupor. This, and the feeling of being grabbed.
My instincts begged me to react; I was not a weak creature, and never had allowed myself to be. I had encountered Fledglings before, countless times; wild upstarts eager to make their first handful of kills, seeking to elevate their status by bringing home a kill that far exceeds what they were expected to take. Such Fledglings had found their eternal sleep as such; newborns to this world that I have known for more years than I care to remember, ignorant to their foolishness in approaching me. However, this Fledgling that had me securely by the wrists was different. Although the scent of years on him was fresh and unlearned, his strength spoke something differently. I had never felt such a grip, and I considered myself upon the better side of physical strength. As hard as it was to admit, this boy, this Fledgling had obtained the Gift that many of our kind had been seeking for centuries, millenniums even. He had that blood.
I may be hasty at times, despite my upbringing, but even I was not foolish enough to attempt to be belligerent. I stood calm and collected, deciding not to take risks with speech; things would become apparent soon enough, as they always did.
I suppose my speech would have faltered quickly, at any rate, for what I was about to witness.
She stood only feet from me, as tall and proud in the way she carried herself as I had always dreamed she would be. Her eyes, though, at the time, showing contempt for me, still riveted me to the spot; I would not have felt the grip on my wrists increase, even if they had snapped the bone. My eyes had stolen all of my focus.
Even without hearing the introductory speech of my captors, I knew who this woman was:
Mekare, one of the very Founts of our race.
Was this a failure of my instincts, or a success of the machinations of Fate? It was hard to tell; our race was a very manipulative, malicious, and fickle one. The mannerisms of the perfectly seeming Noble could become horrifically brutal in a heartbeat, so to speak. Not even I could begin to guess at how this legend among legends would react to my presence.
I knew that Rogues were not welcomed in areas such as this; whatever the risk, this was worth it.
The hands tightened on me; I think my tongue had slipped, which was characteristic of me in such corned situations. My tactics had always served me well in the past, and I had no reason to believe they would fail to do so now.
Moments passed until I was released by the one Mekare called Oliver; her mate, perhaps? I did not know, though I had foolishly referred to him as dog; in retrospect, it was not the wisest of decisions. As I have said, in my defense, I believe it was necessary.
I continued to work my elegant speech, hoping to appeal to some deeper sense in my Mistress before me; not all of our kind was as grotesque and brutal as the legends depicted them
And I waited, counting imaginary heartbeats.
And finally, the invitation came.
I had sensed them approaching; who couldn't have? The sheer strength emanating from them was impossible to ignore; deep down, I knew where that strength had stemmed from. It was all of the legends, all of the texts and stories and remnants I had seen made material. This, if anything, was what drew me from my stupor. This, and the feeling of being grabbed.
My instincts begged me to react; I was not a weak creature, and never had allowed myself to be. I had encountered Fledglings before, countless times; wild upstarts eager to make their first handful of kills, seeking to elevate their status by bringing home a kill that far exceeds what they were expected to take. Such Fledglings had found their eternal sleep as such; newborns to this world that I have known for more years than I care to remember, ignorant to their foolishness in approaching me. However, this Fledgling that had me securely by the wrists was different. Although the scent of years on him was fresh and unlearned, his strength spoke something differently. I had never felt such a grip, and I considered myself upon the better side of physical strength. As hard as it was to admit, this boy, this Fledgling had obtained the Gift that many of our kind had been seeking for centuries, millenniums even. He had that blood.
I may be hasty at times, despite my upbringing, but even I was not foolish enough to attempt to be belligerent. I stood calm and collected, deciding not to take risks with speech; things would become apparent soon enough, as they always did.
I suppose my speech would have faltered quickly, at any rate, for what I was about to witness.
She stood only feet from me, as tall and proud in the way she carried herself as I had always dreamed she would be. Her eyes, though, at the time, showing contempt for me, still riveted me to the spot; I would not have felt the grip on my wrists increase, even if they had snapped the bone. My eyes had stolen all of my focus.
Even without hearing the introductory speech of my captors, I knew who this woman was:
Mekare, one of the very Founts of our race.
Was this a failure of my instincts, or a success of the machinations of Fate? It was hard to tell; our race was a very manipulative, malicious, and fickle one. The mannerisms of the perfectly seeming Noble could become horrifically brutal in a heartbeat, so to speak. Not even I could begin to guess at how this legend among legends would react to my presence.
I knew that Rogues were not welcomed in areas such as this; whatever the risk, this was worth it.
The hands tightened on me; I think my tongue had slipped, which was characteristic of me in such corned situations. My tactics had always served me well in the past, and I had no reason to believe they would fail to do so now.
Moments passed until I was released by the one Mekare called Oliver; her mate, perhaps? I did not know, though I had foolishly referred to him as dog; in retrospect, it was not the wisest of decisions. As I have said, in my defense, I believe it was necessary.
I continued to work my elegant speech, hoping to appeal to some deeper sense in my Mistress before me; not all of our kind was as grotesque and brutal as the legends depicted them
And I waited, counting imaginary heartbeats.
And finally, the invitation came.