An overcorrection, then. It's flawed. It's also mollifying. She knows the particular irritation of an absent tool.
"Where do you travel?"
Which must pass for: Good, we're agreed, or thank you, I appreciate it. Too proud to stoop to gratitude — not so much that she won't begin winding a loose skein of thread. If you spy a problem, you pitch in.
"I don't much any more but I used to. I came here from Nevarra and I stopped at most places in between.
"How about you?"
Doubtless she came here from some place else. She smiles when she sees the skein being wound. Gela doesn't need the promise of gratitude to want to be accommodating but the help is a silent little thank you of its own.
"Seheron," She's learned not to expect that name will ring here. The jaws of the Imperium eclipse its prey. "Big island in the north. Many more islands, before ocean and Qunandar. Places in between."
Across the ocean — no, never. She has paused in the middle of gathering buttons in one palm to tip into a jar, intrigued, and now sits up a little straighter in order to lean in. "What's it like?"
Dangerous, she'd told Strange. It is. That isn't what passes before memory's eye:
"Climb a tree and your head finds mist. The bark hangs red with rain, any time of year, but in seasons it is hard to breathe for sweetness of flowers."
"It sounds strange." Beautiful should be the first word here perhaps but it doesn't seem right to say that though the mist does sound ethereal. Looking down to deliver the buttons to the jar, "You're good at describing it.
"Do you feel... like you could be home, here? Somewhere so different?"
"Home is the Qun." That isn't a lie, but it's only one truth. You learn to hold them together, the pieces side-by-side. Dangerous, strange, home. "And your harbor has fog enough."
"Is it?" Gela looks up again. "I don't know very much about it."
And she's tempted to sit and wait for her to answer that prompt instead of pivoting to her past but Gela's missed her opening. She nods and caps the button jar. "Very different. Good-different. I liked travelling and seeing everything I could but it was hard to keep much money and I missed having the same bed."
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"Where do you travel?"
Which must pass for: Good, we're agreed, or thank you, I appreciate it. Too proud to stoop to gratitude — not so much that she won't begin winding a loose skein of thread. If you spy a problem, you pitch in.
no subject
"How about you?"
Doubtless she came here from some place else. She smiles when she sees the skein being wound. Gela doesn't need the promise of gratitude to want to be accommodating but the help is a silent little thank you of its own.
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A sidelong smile in return.
"I do not go this far south before."
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Across the ocean — no, never. She has paused in the middle of gathering buttons in one palm to tip into a jar, intrigued, and now sits up a little straighter in order to lean in. "What's it like?"
The big island, in the north.
no subject
Dangerous, she'd told Strange. It is. That isn't what passes before memory's eye:
"Climb a tree and your head finds mist. The bark hangs red with rain, any time of year, but in seasons it is hard to breathe for sweetness of flowers."
no subject
"Do you feel... like you could be home, here? Somewhere so different?"
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"This is very different from road,"
A prompt. Gela had traveled light.
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And she's tempted to sit and wait for her to answer that prompt instead of pivoting to her past but Gela's missed her opening. She nods and caps the button jar. "Very different. Good-different. I liked travelling and seeing everything I could but it was hard to keep much money and I missed having the same bed."