For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.
Who: Zhah’ra Savaptha; Silvienne (NPC)
What: Silvienne has idle curiosities.
Where: The Stray Inn, The Black Shroud
When: Relatively recently.
Content: Warnings for implied child neglect, mild dissociation.
Written for MAHI prompt words: VILLAGE, LISTEN
Zhah'ra looked up from his book, his ears lifting in surprise. "Where I grew up?"
"Yes!" Silvienne offered him a smile as she settled her spectacles back into place. "You're forestborn, aren't you?" Her pen scratched quietly as she looked from document to ledger to schedule. Of late she had taken to working in the back corner of the tavern, spread out over one of the banquet tables. Too stuffy in the cellarage, she had said. Zhah'ra wondered if she was just wanting for company.
"I -- yes. I guess so," he replied. "I'm not entirely sure where I was born."
Silvienne tilted her head. "Oh, did your mum never say?"
Zhah'ra shook his head, his ears folding back. "She -- we avoided settlements. The Calamity changed so many of the natural landmarks, the weather... it's hard to know for certain, just from memory."
Silvienne hummed. "Strange, ain't it, going back to a familiar place and finding it's... almost like it's somewhere else entirely."
Zhah'ra's gaze fell back to the book in his lap, so new that the binding creaked when he turned a page, the ink of the illustrations bright against the paper.
His fingers brushed over the painted blossom with its layers on layers.
Clematis. Climbing habit. Large, showy blooms. With careful dosing, treats headache and nervous disposition. Causes stomach bleeding when consumed in large amounts.
(The cool dark of the overhang, smell of wet stone and loam and greenery falling, curtain-like, across the opening - purple petals opening to the rain.)
(Later, clearer: trailing vines draping from the edges of the outcropping near Hawthorne Hut, broad leaves and familiar flowers.)
"I think... it must have been in part of what is now the East Shroud, near Baelsar's Wall. But not on the other side of it. My mother's older sister lived out there - what's called the East End now, I think. When I was very little, she came to live with us for a while, because the wall being built destroyed the village she lived in."
"Horrible!" Silvienne clucked. "Damnable Garleans...." But she did not look up from her ledgers. This was old news.
Her words barely reached him. Gathering his legs against his chest, he tucked his chin behind his knees. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the floor.
Voices murmuring, half-obscured by the crackle of the fire. Woolen blanket scratching at his nose, trapping his breath, keeping it silent; suffocating. Ears straining.
"What do you think you're doing with the boy? The long hair, all of it. Are you so desperate?"
"You lost your girl. You of all people should understand."
A scoff. "I understand. I also understand - as you must, too - that he's not to be kept. Let him go, like the rest."
"Pray to the Lover, Zhah. Beg forgiveness. She may yet break this curse."
At the edge of the camp, lying in the dark: a small boy struggling to breathe.
He bolted upright. "I'm sorry!"
Silvienne was leaning forward across the table and wearing a puzzled expression. "What're you apologizin' for, Zhah'ra? It just seemed like we lost you for a moment. I wasn't sure if you had heard my question."
Zhah'ra felt himself freeze and cursed himself, knowing it was showing on his face. More and more, he was slipping.
Gently, Silvienne repeated: "I was just asking if you want some tea. I was going to make some."
Zhah'ra's stomach churned at the thought, but he summoned a smile. "That sounds lovely, thank you."
"Alright. You sit tight, now."
Image: Clematis botanical illustration by Vracovska, Shutterstock. Resized and color-adjusted.