Chapter 7 - Possibilities
"How would one weigh the value of a success over the countless iterations and attempts it took to achieve that end? By what measuring stick is self-worth determined when the first and most damming critic is always going to be the person who created the work in the first place? Is there ever a point when stopping work on that project is enough to constitute it being 'done' in the eyes of the world? When it haunts our waking dreams, taunts us with 'one more thing' we could do to make it 'just right', is it ever truly done?
More importantly still, if you're not satisfied with what you have produced. Is it wrong to start again?
Are you strong enough to say you have failed?
Have you indeed failed at all?
The mind does wonder what it's capable of if it didn't criticize the value of what it has produced. For most people this isn't a question that crosses their mind- but these people are the ones who enjoy and deride the creator's work last. When the tears have stopped and the blood is staunched. First, my friend, comes the voice within: Start. Stop. Start again.
We don't get to choose our creative impulses; like it or not, we are slaves to them."
-Unknown
~Sarah~
Sarah paced restlessly at the edge of the treeline, green eyes flitting left and right, scanning the growing darkness for what she thought she'd seen- movement, it had to have been roughly humanoid. She'd seen it from across the back yard after Caldion had left and it was only growing more resonant as afternoon trickled into night.
Snap. Crack.
Oh, gods dammit, where was that boy? Of all the things she'd agreed to, standing 'guard' while the others slept and Caldion went off to forage- in the opposite direction, no less!- was going to be put into the secret book of 'misplaced ideas' she kept filed in the back of her mind. Hesitantly she reached for her pistol and crouched into the shadow of a tree. Watching. Waiting.
Snap.
Carefully she leaned over her pistol to muffle the sound of the arm being cocked back. The flintlock felt cheap and worthless in her sweaty fingers, but just that sound. The metallic 'snick-snack' of it it being brought into readiness gave her a tiny level of assurance. Keiter and Tessarie were curled up near the carriage behind the barn making it impossible for her to get to them without exposing herself to whatever horror was lingering in the woods. Calling out? No. That would be stupid.
So she waited. For ten long minutes she sat in her tiny slice of shadow wondering what would spring from the woods.
Crack. Pop. Snap.
Leaves shuffled around. And yet nothing came. Sarah became more restless by the moment until finally she decided to stand and peek. Her mind hadn't prepared her for what she saw.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, was carefully making his way down the hill with a sled behind him. He looked every part the traditional 'Forgotten Lands barbarian' covered in patchwork rabbit furs and a cloth netting with rows upon rows of leaves tied to it. No part of his skin except for his face was visible making him look like some kind of shambling mound born of the wilds. If not for the fact that his hood was back, Sarah easily imagined he could have disappeared into the thicket with no problem.
He was alone save for the massive deer he was dragging on his sled, no doubt a prize meant for a month or more worth of meals. It instantly set Sarah's mouth watering at the idea. She stayed hidden, waiting for him to draw nearer, already rehearsing the lies she hoped would get her a full stomach- and keep either of them from being put in irons. When he was some few dozen feet away he stopped and crouched down.
He looked right at her hiding spot. Right through her.
Not through.
At
her.
Sarah's heart sank as she realized she'd been caught. She held up her hands, dampened her lips and stepped out. "I do apologize for making a nuisance of myself, good man, I had only thought to ensure my safety before announcing myself!" A cursory glance around revealed no obvious signs he was being followed, so she played her best innocent noble's voice: "I'm not alone but don't worry, I mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact!"
He stared at her for several beats which she let play out.
"My name's Sarah, might I know the name of the brave and fruitful hunter who's so taken my breath I dare not speak out of turn?" She offered a placid smile.
Another pause.
This was getting them nowhere. Sarah carefully decocked her pistol and tucked it into her belt, raising her hands once more. "I won't hurt you, good man. You've my word as a-" Emissary? Noble? Cleric? "-fan of full stomachs and gentle smiles."
The boy squinted at her a bit as though she was some oddity. Maybe not all that surprising, but Sarah still felt a twinge of irritation. She lowered her hands and started a measured half step forward. She had no plans to meet him on elevated ground and there was plenty of room to run yet, but still she tried for approachable. To her surprise he produced a small hunting bow from under his furs and held it up sideways, his palms against it. A display of non-aggression, perhaps.
Sarah's smile was more genuine. "Can you understand me, then?"
He nodded, raised a finger. Then turned his head and stuck his finger in his mouth, digging around and removing something. He was discrete about it, at least, but eventually when he looked to her his lips were marred black by whatever had been in his mouth. In a groggy, tired voice that sounded out of place for someone so young, he said, "Forgiv'n my pardon. Long week." He dug a canteen out and took a swig, spitting the brackish looking swill into the dirt. His face said he enjoyed it nearly as much as Sarah did watching it. "Are you lost?"
"You might say that!" In so many ways. "My carriage broke a leaf spring and suddenly I find myself outside this beautiful home, and I pull around hoping to meet the man of the estate! Surely had I known the wait would deliver such a vibrant and. . . successful man, I'd have begged the gods to double the time."
That seemed to throw the young man for a loop; he stared at her. Then, slowly, she saw his gaze start to actually take her in. Not in a covetous way but one of naked curiosity. Something Sarah knew all too well how to exploit. She arched her back a little to accent her curves, placing her hands on her generous hips and smiling as though she didn't have a care in the world. Non-threatening wasn't just good business, it was a survival tool.
"So," Sarah prompted, "May I know the name of the man who's feet I may soon be massaging?"
The young man hefted himself up into a slow approach that made his movements seem lumbering under the furs and camouflage. Dragging the sled and the deer obviously took a lot out of him but somehow he managed to remain clear and focused, smiling- if tiredly- as he made his way down the hill. By the time he was several dozen feet away he had apparently made up his mind about her. "Chase, miss."
