The Warrior's Return (Pt. 1)
The Story of Eindred and the Witch Continues!
In which Eindred reflects on his past and Severin begins to form a plan.
Hands are reflections of habits - that is, if you know how to read their secrets. In the calluses caressing curled fingertips, one can find mapped out in dried, hardened skin, coordinates of an existence.
Eindred did not particularly like looking at his hands. For if a hand’s marks are a map, Eindred’s spoke of particularly cruel and treacherous waters. It wasn’t that he ever forgot his life before Severin’s curse. Mostly, he just disliked the stark, jagged reminders etched in overlapping patterns across his skin.
Most days though, there was no helping it. Especially with hands necessary for work, as Eindred’s so often were.
Today, for instance: He was halfway through whittling a pair of wooden bowls.
The old ones were wearing out, and it was well past time for a replacement. With this practical need in mind, Eindred had settled into his rocking chair (it was his, Severin insisted), and set about carving. As we worked, Eindred frowned in steady, silent focus, running the edge of a short carving blade through thin layers of wood; against his multitude of pale, cross-hatched scars, he felt a near imperceptible tickle from the curled shavings.
Severin was working nearby, humming an unrecognizable tune beneath his breath. It was accompanied by the hiss and sigh of softly swaying wind chimes beyond the open windows.
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