amiss with my life for several passes now,” she said. Korlandril reached out a hand in a half-hearted gesture, beckoning her to come closer. Thirianna sat next to him and took his hand in hers. “I am changing again. The Path of the Poet is spent for me. I have grieved and I have rejoiced through my verse, and I feel expunged of the burdens I felt. I feel another calling is growing inside me.”
Korlandril snatched his hand away.
“You are going to join Aradryan!” he snapped. “I knew the two of you were keeping something from me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thirianna rasped in return. “It is because I told him what I am telling you that he left.”
“So, he did make advances on you!” Korlandril stood and angrily wiped a hand across his brow and pointed accusingly at his friend. “It is true! Deny it if you dare!”
She slapped away his hand.
“What right do you have to make any claim on me? If you must know, I have never entertained any thoughts of being with Aradryan, even before he left, and certainly not since his return. I am simply not ready for a life-companion. In fact, that is why I cannot be your inspiration.”
Thirianna took a step closer, hands open in friendship.
“It is to save you from a future heartache that I decline your attentions now,” she continued. “I have spoken to Farseer Alaiteir and he agrees that I am ready to begin the Path of the Seer.”
“A seer?” scoffed Korlandril. “You completely fail to divine my romantic intents and yet think you might become a seer?”
“I divined your intent and ignored it,” said Thirianna, laying a hand on his arm. “I did not wish to encourage you; to admit your feelings for me would be to bring them to the light and that was something I wished to avoid, for the sake of both of us.”
Korlandril waved away her arguments, pulling his arm from her grasp.
“If you have not the same feelings for me, then simply say so. Do not spare my pride for your comfort. Do not hide behind this excuse of changing Paths.”
“It is true, it is not an excuse! You love Thirianna the Poet. We are alike enough at the moment, our Paths different yet moving in the same general direction. When I become a Seer, I will not be Thirianna the Poet. You will not love that person.”
“Why deny me the right to find out? Who are you to judge what will or will not be? You are not even on the Path and now you think you can claim the powers of the Seer?”
“If it is true that you feel the same when I have become a Seer, and I feel the same too, then whatever will happen will come to pass.”
Korlandril caught an angry reply before it emerged, his mind catching up with Thirianna’s words. Hope blossomed, bright flowers stifling the angry serpent.
“If you feel the same? You admit that you have feelings for me.”
“Thirianna the Poet has feelings for you, she always has,” Thirianna admitted.
“Then why do we not embrace this shared feeling?” Korlandril asked, stepping forward and taking Thirianna’s hands in his. Now it was her turn to pull away. She could not bring herself to look at him when she spoke.
“If I indulge this passion with you, it would hold me back, perhaps trap me here as the Poet, forever writing my verses of love in secret.”
“Then we stay together, Poet and Artist! What is so wrong with that?”
“It is not healthy! You know that it is unwise to become trapped in ourselves. Our lives must be in constant motion, moving from one Path to the next, developing our senses of self and the universe. To overindulge leads to the darkness that came before. It attracts the attention of… Her. She Who Thirsts.”
Korlandril shuddered at the mention of the Eldar’s Bane, even by euphemism. His waystone quivered with him, becoming chill to the touch. All that Thirianna said was true, enshrined in the teachings of the craftworlds; the whole structure of their society created to avoid a return to the debauchery and excesses that
Korlandril snatched his hand away.
“You are going to join Aradryan!” he snapped. “I knew the two of you were keeping something from me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thirianna rasped in return. “It is because I told him what I am telling you that he left.”
“So, he did make advances on you!” Korlandril stood and angrily wiped a hand across his brow and pointed accusingly at his friend. “It is true! Deny it if you dare!”
She slapped away his hand.
“What right do you have to make any claim on me? If you must know, I have never entertained any thoughts of being with Aradryan, even before he left, and certainly not since his return. I am simply not ready for a life-companion. In fact, that is why I cannot be your inspiration.”
Thirianna took a step closer, hands open in friendship.
“It is to save you from a future heartache that I decline your attentions now,” she continued. “I have spoken to Farseer Alaiteir and he agrees that I am ready to begin the Path of the Seer.”
“A seer?” scoffed Korlandril. “You completely fail to divine my romantic intents and yet think you might become a seer?”
“I divined your intent and ignored it,” said Thirianna, laying a hand on his arm. “I did not wish to encourage you; to admit your feelings for me would be to bring them to the light and that was something I wished to avoid, for the sake of both of us.”
Korlandril waved away her arguments, pulling his arm from her grasp.
“If you have not the same feelings for me, then simply say so. Do not spare my pride for your comfort. Do not hide behind this excuse of changing Paths.”
“It is true, it is not an excuse! You love Thirianna the Poet. We are alike enough at the moment, our Paths different yet moving in the same general direction. When I become a Seer, I will not be Thirianna the Poet. You will not love that person.”
“Why deny me the right to find out? Who are you to judge what will or will not be? You are not even on the Path and now you think you can claim the powers of the Seer?”
“If it is true that you feel the same when I have become a Seer, and I feel the same too, then whatever will happen will come to pass.”
Korlandril caught an angry reply before it emerged, his mind catching up with Thirianna’s words. Hope blossomed, bright flowers stifling the angry serpent.
“If you feel the same? You admit that you have feelings for me.”
“Thirianna the Poet has feelings for you, she always has,” Thirianna admitted.
“Then why do we not embrace this shared feeling?” Korlandril asked, stepping forward and taking Thirianna’s hands in his. Now it was her turn to pull away. She could not bring herself to look at him when she spoke.
“If I indulge this passion with you, it would hold me back, perhaps trap me here as the Poet, forever writing my verses of love in secret.”
“Then we stay together, Poet and Artist! What is so wrong with that?”
“It is not healthy! You know that it is unwise to become trapped in ourselves. Our lives must be in constant motion, moving from one Path to the next, developing our senses of self and the universe. To overindulge leads to the darkness that came before. It attracts the attention of… Her. She Who Thirsts.”
Korlandril shuddered at the mention of the Eldar’s Bane, even by euphemism. His waystone quivered with him, becoming chill to the touch. All that Thirianna said was true, enshrined in the teachings of the craftworlds; the whole structure of their society created to avoid a return to the debauchery and excesses that
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