Vernacular

After that night, after the flames within my head had finally been doused, I made an attempt to return to a sense of normalcy.

Surprisingly, I managed to find Maharet in the garden that night without incident.

She was alone, in a well deserved solitude, writing in a book, which was more than likely her personal journal. Deep in the back of my mind, I craved to know what secrets lay hidden within its pages, what memories remained locked within the tight confines of ink and graphite. For now, however, I was sure her company would suffice.

We made the courteous greetings, as always, and I was struck again by her beauty as we spoke. I must admit, even I found it hard to maintain my composure within her presence. Although there were plenty of clever, witty things I could have said, all I could conjure was a simple, "How goes your night so far?"

For all the pride I have in my words, I was fairly disappointed at the moment.

"Fairly well. A bit brighter now."

I smiled broadly, inwardly, of course, but I hid the emotion, for fear of seeming the fool. Never had another of my kind said something so sweet, or, rather, anything warm at all.
Indeed, the night was quite brighter.

With such a lovely start to our encounter, the remainder of the night was marvelous. After, rather childishly, playing a foolish games with our respective journal pens, I convinced Maharet to take a stroll with me. I must admit that I gave a start when I felt her arm link with mine; the sensation was so unfamiliar to me, something long dormant in some distant place and time.

I had missed it so.

We began walking among the paths surrounding the mansion, making conversation upon the deep beauty of the sky. It was rare to me indeed, even given the immense amount of time I had been allowed to view this material world, to hear responses such as hers. They were the responses I had always craved from the stars, and the trees, even the wind, if it had bothered to answer me. And yet, here she was, completing my thoughts.

"It's amazing, isn't it? That we, the damned, cursed things that we are, are allowed to solely exist in this perpetual Night, one that far surpasses her brother Day in beauty, wonder, and mystery...What say you, milady? Are you cursed, or are you blessed?"

"I find it a hard thing to decide as I find things in this world are never black or white. Like all beings, we are both blessed and cursed. Blessed for many things, cursed for many others. I find it prudent and more beneficial to focus on our blessings. Only way I've coped with my existence."

Was it sensible for me to believe that such a vibrant light was allowed to burn in our shadowy domain? It was an answer from a god that had surely rejected me the moment I woke into this immoral existence...simply breathtaking.

But, as I have said before, our nights may not end, but sometimes, the pleasantries within them do--or, in this case, grow just a bit brighter.

What I mean to say is that, right about this time, I noticed that someone had come up behind us. It was easy enough for me to identify the individual as Oliver; be that from his scent, or the lingering feeling of contempt I felt from him, I am still not positive on.

Upon hearing us identify his presence, Oliver came out of his hiding place--for all the good that did him--and seemed the figure of awkwardness in my eyes.

"Yeh caught meh." Oliver said in his odd, still a bit difficult to understand, accent, laughing to himself. I felt I knew what he had come here for, but I wanted to see where things led.

When his movements began to become as awkward as his stance, my hopes--and yes, they were hopes--were confirmed.

"Where yeh from...?"

His hand moved all about his head, and I could see how much of a task this was for him. I think, at that moment, I had never appreciated someone more.

Ruining the perfection of that moment--Maharet's hand with mine, and Oliver making the struggle to repair the rift that had instantly formed between us--was the fact that I could not properly answer his question. I knew where I had been, and where I still wanted to go, but from a simple root, a home? I had not the slightest. I said as much, and felt Maharet's hand press against mine.

Nothing could have comforted me more.

"Look. I may be young, but' don' undahestimate meh. An' don' call meh a bloodeh dog anehmore. "

For all of the added toughness in Oliver's speech and action, I understood the comment for what it was: an apology, and an offer of continued friendship.

For the first time, my tongue did not feel like coming off as sharp; for once, I wanted it to heed what my emotions told me.

"I shall not call you a dog if you try to keep your nails out of my wrists, my friend. We shall learn not to underestimate each other." I said, smiling and extending my hand, knowing that I completed the tone of his apology. I was elated when he shook my outstretched fingers.

The night continued in that fashion for quite a while, though Maharet took her leave when she believed Oliver and I were about ready to partake in sparring.

Oliver, in that situation as well, completed my night when he confessed to me intimidating him.

I could do nothing less then release him from the chains of our new friendship for the time being to tend to his matters with Maharet; at any rate, I needed some time in the forest again, despite the lovely company I was keeping. I was already eagerly looking forward to another night, just as breathtaking.

And that is how Oliver, the one most vehemently opposed to my residency, became my dearest friend.