36 Traitor

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Erdil

    'Brushä!' The Mage called from the other room, and the boy's limbs trembled as he stood and trudged to the wooden door. At the last moment, he glanced back over his shoulder with terror in his wide eyes, and then he was gone. Färin dusted his worn clothing and searched the floor for his pack. The boy's innocence seemed like a farce to him, and he hoped never to lay eyes on the little rat again.

    Ahh, there lay his pack in the dust at Denir's feet. From the ground he grabbed it, avoiding her poisonous stare and glimpsing the shade of her legs for a moment from where he crouched. What was wrong with him? Was he crazy? Obsessed? Why did this woman's alien body entrance him so? This moment in time should have had more meaning than a woman's glimpsed leg, Father's sake.

    The bloody child from the prophecy stood a few feet away, and the end of a time was upon them. Why could he not leave the Apprentice be for a while? There was no answer to this question, and while he tried to look nonchalant and important, his eyes drifted to her shaded form every now and again.

    Fathers and all the glorious heaves, he could imagine those crimson lips of hers hidden just past her hood's shadow. And the shape of her luscious hips was like a fingerprint on a dusty table, obvious under her cloak in the way it hung about her. Fathers. He had to stop thinking this way... this was improper. And what of Asrya.

    Guilt hit him like an arrow, and the burn of ache spread from his chest as he recalled his rash commitment to her, and her young innocent love. What was he doing lusting over this creature, when she awaited him at home? No, this was enough. He would remember her curls, her... her, skirt?

    Crap. What had been so attractive about her again? Somehow it was hard to recall. He tried to imagine her naked body on the forest floor, his hands rubbing the outside of her curved thighs, but when he looked up to see her pure heart-shaped face, Denir stared him in the eyes.

    Thëlon's Ass, now he'd done it! With as much speed as he could muster, he crouched low, a lump forming in his pants. Crap, crap, crap. A bulge in his pants was embarrassing enough without being amidst strangers. Fathers, why did he always have to go too far. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nostrils, but images of a naked and delectable Denir assaulted him and his eyes flew open. This wasn't working.

    The wooden door on the other side of the room opened, and the Mage spotted Färin crouching, pretending to dig through his pack for something. Desperate, Färin tried to find some excuse to leave the building. Cold wind and weather was just the thing for an inappropriate stand at attention from his... other parts. All he needed was two minutes.

    Denir's hood moved a bit, and he spotted a glimpse of red. Okay, maybe five minutes.

    'Färin, boy,' The Mage said, looking straight at him. Did the Mage know about his awkward predicament? 'You need to get out there right this instant. Avétk and the traitor await you.' Everyone in the room looked at him now. If he played it right, he would make it out without any further embarrassment. Before the telling bulge he held his pack and coat in a strategic placement, hoping in the Fathers' mercy that nobody would ask any questions.

    'Yes, sir. I mean Kijs.'

    On his way out, he met the girl child's eyes. At least he thought she was the one. He wasn't sure, but he guessed it was Emeline. The other woman was too boisterous and, well, not child like.

    Emeline's green eyes stood out like gems on her pale skin, and something inside them put shivers on his skin. Something haunting and terrible lay there. Maybe he wouldn't need the cold to fix his problem after all. Into his soul her eyes seemed to pierce, as if she saw him and everything he had ever done wrong in truth. What was it with him and women today?

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