Reoite, Gabhta as an Speir
"Reoite, Gabhta as an Speir"
The city of peace holds its own aura of calm, even in this troubled time, the quaint
buildings and streets stand as ever, full of life, with the usual street clientele,
spilling out from the Cafe, walking, sitting, thinking, relaxing.
Brin sits quietly on a low bench by a high wall, which borders a narrow street near
the road to the cathedral, eyes half-closed, as if dreaming lucidly of this place.
The Dream. He's had a few experiences with it now, and yet, he feels as though he
cannot mention it to Citan, or Sigurd. Perhaps he _is_ mad. Who knows?
---
Reoite prowls, stalking the taller flowers, and small shrubs among the grasslands.
Nemesis of shrubs, and destroyer of tall flowers he, as another daffodil bites the dust.
-Puny flora-. I could crush you like _twigs_. But, I've found something more interesting
now...
Reoite investigates where this field appears to end, a stone precipice, and people beyond.
Pah. People. I could crush _them_ like twigs, too. I just don't want to. Edging ever closer
to the precipice, he peers over, and spots a young Etone sitting below, half-asleep in the
anaesthetic warmth of the evening sun. An Etone he...recognises?
---
To sleep, perchance to dream, eh? Brin's eyes falter, and begin to close, as his brain
turns to cotton-wool, and...a low thud is heard on the bench beside him. The eyes open, and
a haze of attentiveness turns to wide-eyed disbelief. He is awake, yet...
---
...And Reoite purrs lightly. Yes, it's him. I've found him.
---
With an almost frightened lurch, Brin gets to his feet, and looks around. Still Nisan.
He looks down. Still Reoite. He pinches himself. Hard. Still Nisan, Still Reoite. He looks
to the sky. Where did _you_ come from, then? I thought you were just...
---
A figment of your imagination? I should think not. The cheek.
---
Brin grins, lightly, slowly getting used to the idea. Almost like an automatic gesture,
he holds out his arm, the cloth of his robe drooping down several inches. Reoite leaps
into his sleeve, and begins to purr lightly, as Brin heads back to the Yggdrasil.
"I could get used to this...", they thought.