I had to travel for more ink, since last time I spilled my supply. This is a daunting task, as it involved asking Mardhaka for help in hauling both the gold in and the item back. Out of the goodness that she denies but nevertheless nests in her heart, she deigned to do me this favor. I don’t know if I will be ever able to repay her, more so when bringing the item on my own would have been months of toil and struggle against my own nature. Cirruin doesn’t mind me using single pieces form his hoard to buy writing supplies, as he considers this an extension of Terus’ legacy, in a way. A book of Zenvo, a book about Zenvo. A book of Terus, a book about Terus.
Now, onto the daunting task of narration. Lately my existence has been unstable. I pick up the pen and it falls through my fingers. The work isn’t in peril, or at least I don’t believe it is. I made sure to put the bobber on the ink bottle. This is unsteady sleep. I am afraid to check what nightmares is Cirruin dreaming outside the cave. So I won’t. My obligation is solely the completion of this book, it doesn’t lie with the world anymore.
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When I returned to Dariel’s workshop, two days after the visit of Mardhaka to the city., I found him sitting at the tea table he used to drink mate, doing precisely so, alone.
“High time you showed up, I thought I had taken the day off for nothing. We need to talk, Terus.”
I took a seat in front on him and poured a mate for him. “Greetings, friend. Why would that be?”
He took a long sip and dedicated me a serious stare, one that meant business. “You should know. I know you don’t, and I know to not expect from you the manners I expect of men. But you called her fat, Terus, and she is … mighty mad at you. Not only or mainly for that, but it doesn’t help. At all.”
“But she is fatter than when we met, Dariel. In the same way you are older, balder and …woolier on the face.”
He laughed heartily and gave the drink another sip. “Those would be fighting words if you were in a bar, Terus. People don’t appreciate being told how things are sometimes. Specially not when concerning the facts about their appearance they are uncomfortable with.” He pointed to his balding head when saying that last line.
“But, you have lost hair.” I put the emphasis on the first verb.
“Indeed. Go on.”
“And Orphela has accumulated fat, not for the winter I presume. I know for a fact you don’t hibernate. I got some memories of the dragon I was unable to recall before, so I have a wealth of newfound knowledge about humans. So, the reality is that Orphela grew fatter and I consider that this fact is unrelated to the reasons of bears. Am I correct?”
“You may be correct, but you aren’t right.”
“Those are synonyms,” I stated flatly, reminding myself to raise an eyebrow to better communicate my doubt. What a chore facial expressions are.
Dariel’s eyes went upwards, setting on the roof. “This will be a long conversation.” He lamented, and then snickered a bit. “You see, Terus, just because you have a speck of truth it does not allow you to unleash it on the unsuspecting, not in the societies of men. “
I cleared my throat and raised my index finger. “Among dragons, the rule of thumb is that you are far more likely to offend them with lies, than with truth. Anybody can call Cirruin a murderer or Mardhaka a plunderer and they will boast on your face about it. But dare call a yellow dragon green and they will take it personally. So there should be no trouble if I call you bald or Orphela fat, by dragon standards.”
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“Terus, your shining intelligence constantly seems to be weaponized and at the service of idiocy. I begin to believe you are dreamed to life by a Retriever dog. This is a very easy concept to understand.”
“That is an insult no dragon nor dream has heard before, friend. Are these retrievers yellow?” I asked the question I considered most urgent. I needed to get a mental image of the dogs to know how insulting had his words been, exactly.
“Some are,” he said between sips.
“Red eyed?”
He lowered his head slightly and poured another mate. “Some are.”
“I suppose it would be not that bad, then: they have at least two things in common with my dreamer.” I smiled without showing my teeth and closed my eyes.
“There is something uncanny about you trying so hard to seem agreeable, keep your deadpan or slight smile expressions, I am used to them.”
I forced myself to blink, scratched the side of my head, and averted my gaze. It was harder than dealing with Mardhaka, infinitely so. I could find a grasping point into a dragon’s thinking processes, climb up from there as the argument escalated. Humans were like a soft, smooth, slimy, unsurmountable wall that made me cringe and shiver by its height and unkind surface. Not even with the amends done between dragon and human logic made by Cirruin as his understanding of Terus grew were I close to understanding the minutiae of my friends’ minds.
Dariel sighed, stood and paced along the workshop. “how to explain so it becomes easy for you to understand… Lie, lie to people so they feel good. If a woman is fat, tell her she is thin. If a man is bald, don’t comment about his hair or compliment his hat if he has one. If Orphela blames you for something you didn’t do and insists that it is your fault, you say sorry and make her happy.”
“Why, if I didn’t do it. Incriminating myself won’t cause a tangible improvement of the situation.”
Dariel groaned, pulled the hair to the sides of his head. “It just does with people, Terus. Sometimes. And sometimes, sometimes is enough,” he said, grinding his teeth.
“But it doesn’t make sense. You live in a word of truths: the truth of the steel cuts you, the truth of the winter gives your people frostbite. Informing you about truths you could be unaware of should be seen, therefore, as an invaluable aid. I know it bothers you, I know it bothers her. So please help me, friend of mine, to understand the why. I humbly beg you.”
Dariel sighed, returned to the table, gave a sip from the mate and frowned. “Ugh, it got tepid.” He went to put the kettle over the fire and returned with lazy step. “I cannot, Terus. There are things of people that you don’t question, just… You remind me of my daughter. Little Sihea. She questions everything as children are wont to do. “
“Well, but she is vulnerable to attacks, I am not. You can reasonably suppress her. She is small. Maybe agile, but it should be easy to get her to stop asking questions.” I proposed. Dariel looked at me with tired eyes. “I suppose people don’t get violent with their offspring during the teaching process.”
He shook his head and began giggling. “Not me, but some do. You have a lot to learn about men, Terus. What do you say we go home, and we try, together, to convince Orphela to pardon you?”
“I conscientiously examined my actions and I believe I have done nothing that would need pardoning.”
“How many times are we going to return to square one, Terus?” he slapped the table and, after a few seconds of pondering, smiled. “Maybe as many as necessary, eh? I will try to reason with Orphela about considering this behavior from you non offensive, but, please, resort to hiding these small truths from people you don’t know. You could get us in trouble by association, and we are a humble family: a working father; a respected, well cultured mother; and last, but not least, little Sihea, and if gods will, a little brother or sister for her when the winds of life act kinder to us. Could you do me that favor?”
I shook my head in a slow movement. “I shall try, however.”
A small dip of the head and a smile from Dariel let me know he was satisfied. “Now, shall we go see my blessed girls? If you have time, of course.”
I checked my hand. The dream burned steady. “Fear not, I have time.”