But all things that Tasa has seen potential in and collected.
I wonder, wryly, if she would include me among them.
Imagining the keenness in her gaze as she fixates on a new idea makes my lips curve.
Imaging that same gaze at seeing me in here... I banish the thought with a scowl, my good humor dropping away.
She is not for one such as me to want.
Not a man inhiding, who has nothing to offer.
Not a failure of a sage.
A sage might have much to offer to the world, in theory.
But not to a person.
At least, not a sage such as I am.
In fact it strikes me that I can’t sense any magic whatsoever in this workshop. I have no idea if that’s because of the magic dampening field, or because of her nullifying powers.
What an absolute marvel. If the priesthood were smart, they’d have recruited her long since—just imagine how useful she could be in a battle of magic.
This idea bothers me too, now—not just because of how I am now thinking about the value ofusefulness, but also because I find that I would not trust the priesthood with her, and given that I have spent my entire life being useful to them, that is damning—of me or them, I’m not yet sure.
Perhaps both.
But I gather that instead Tasa has spent her life as a kind of pariah, and I’m not sure if that is better or worse, only that I hate it.
There appears to be no particular organization in this room, so I bring the load in that she left outside in her worry for Zan. This, at least, I can do.
The load is heavier than I expected. Sages train daily, but Tasa has been carrying weights up a mountain.
And apparently thinks nothing of it, compared to the prospect of living near her neighbors.
That is also damning.
I fold the bread.
On the other side of the main living area are two rooms, a bedroom and a bathroom: a toilet, a sink, and the largest bathtub I’ve ever seen, which fills me with unexpected, fierce pride for her.
If she feels she can’t be comfortable elsewhere, if she has to live alone and build her own house and hike a mountain twice a day,then shedeservesa comfort this extravagant, and I love that she has taken it for herself.
Even if she’s embarrassed by it.
Someday, the thought comes to me, I want her to feel that she can show it, and her ingenuity, off with pride.
It’s not quite resolve, because I don’t know how to make that happen, ifIeven can.
But it’s a thing Iwantto feel resolve about, and right now, that is a gift.
The bedroom is fairly bare—no surprise, as she hasn’t even quite finished building the house, let alone had time to decorate.
There is a single pot of dirt that I stare at for too long, wondering if I should water it; how to know.
And there is space for more, but what strikes me is that there is only one bed.
I banishthosethoughts too, disgusted with myself.
