Her gaze flicked to him, her expression veiled, both literally and figuratively. “Train?”
“You’ve worked with Grim,” he voiced. “I could help you keep sharp.”
She peered at her hands, fingers loosely clasped. “I see to that already.”
“I know,” he replied, his voice gentle. “But it may be nice to have additional guidance.”
Ilys’s eyes lingered on the letter where it sat unopened.
Baron turned back to her, his expression curious and voice self-conscious. “You do not have to decide now. About the training. But think on it.”
He stepped toward the door, pausing as his hand brushed the frame. “Good night, Ilys. Be kind to yourself,” he said in farewell, his tone summery.
“Good night,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the desk.
Baron left discreetly, door closing with a soft click behind him.
Ilys hovered over the letter as she tenderly unfolded it, focus shifting to the familiar scrawl of messy handwriting on the parchment. She was used to receiving notes from him late at night, detailing their schedules for the day to come. Not receiving one while he tended to duties away from her.
She moved to the bed, running her fingers over the twine before unraveling it. The parchment cooled her fingertips as she freed it.
A blade is made for cutting, child,
Not pondering its weight,
The whetstone does not ask the knife
If it regrets its fate.
The fox is trained to track the geese,
And when the chase is through,
No prayer nor hymn will call it back,
It does what it must do.
The crow does not lament the feast,
Nor question why it caws,
The hangman does not braid the noose
To meditate the laws.
Yet here you sit, with steady hands,
And wonder at the deed,
As if the fruit might bloom again
Once severed from the seed.
The wheel turns, the blade falls, and the world remains unchanged. Waste no thought on what was never yours to keep.
-Grim
She marveled at his detachment, yet held the parchment close, yearning to smell where he resided.Where was he now?
