He was not accustomed to listening to voices even from personages clearly and distinctly present and palpable. Certainly not to those that came in almost musical sounding wisps or from such an entity as the one now before him. He could barely comprehend what he was seeing, let alone reconcile the solidity of what he saw with the almost liquid nature of the articulations. The sudden distinction between what he'd thus far known with certainty and what he now recognized as something far more absolute was a disorienting one. And yet the actual thoughts attached to this profound antithesis flashed past his consciousness so quickly that one might hesitate to call them thoughts at all.
Not listening to voices was a habit Sedrick had formed long ago. A time that, should he pause to consider it, would seem more mirage than material experience. A spirit of insurrection, one might say, that he would both acknowledge and deny, even within himself.
Yet Leala had heard. It was evident from the slight smile he watched form on her lips, as if the words were, for her, a kind of secret and delightful acknowledgement - something recognizable - while her gaze remained fixed on The One standing, at last, in their presence.
Also noted was the fact that her constant companion had ceased his usual antics and, quite out of character, now lay in relaxed respite at her feet, as if these enigmatic events had provided what Sedrick considered a long overdue calmness in the puckish little creature.
© Rachelle
This little story is a work in progress, so who knows if or when you'll see more.
See Beginning: Sedrick of Anwyn
Or Leala's Refuge
