[Closed] For the Lark

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Dentis 10, 2719 - Morning | Brunnhold Campus

In the end, Aurelie had chosen something simple and seasonal. She longed to show off, perhaps to prove that there was something more to her than just blue uniforms and poor conversational ability, and accordingly had considered and discarded many a showy option. Yet, they all seemed to be a poor fit--too involved, too expensive to produce, too hard to carry and to consume. There was also the consideration of how often she really, truly could say she made any of these things. Were they something she could be proud of? The answer was often no. Aurelie fretted over it all the rest of the day after she left Aremu's company, and long into the night. It was when she came in that morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, that Aurelie realized she knew exactly what she wanted to make.

Baking was precise, and required care and attention paid to a great many factors at once. Aurelie liked this about it--she enjoyed the attention she had to pay to the temperature of her hands, to the way ingredients were mixed together. Unlike other kinds of cooking, a great deal of consistency was required to not only bake but bake well. Aurelie found this almost meditative, easily getting lost in the pleasure of taking each step as it was meant to be taken. A puzzle with an end result that could be shared and enjoyed by others.

That morning, at the early hour with which Aurelie arrived, the kitchen was sparsely populated; just a few of the girls overseen by Matron Rosalis that morning, including Aurelie herself. More would drift in as the morning progressed and the breakfast hour approached for both staff and students alike, but for now it was empty and Aurelie had room and relative privacy. There was some difficulty, balancing her tasks against the time and care needed to make her gift, but she managed. She found herself smiling to herself as she pressed her thumb into each small round of spiced dough before spooning in tart jam, made with the last of the summer's damsons. Each cookie, she knew, would not be particularly beautiful look at: this was no elegant thing, meant to be observed before consumption. But there were good, and they were warm, the tart edge of the jam cutting the buttery sweetness of the base. And they were, it had to be admitted, a personal favorite of hers. She wasn't sure what Aremu's taste was, but there was something in making something one enjoyed to give to another that was meaningful in itself.

Nervous hands wrapped fifteen finished cookies (five of the batch given to Matron Rosalis herself) carefully in a bright cloth that she tied together as a bundle of sorts. Oh, she did hope that he'd like them. For a moment she considered not bringing them at all, pretending that she hadn't had the time or opportunity to bring anything, but in the end she steeled her resolved. She had promised, in a way, that she was making something. Aurelie did like to live up to her promises, if she could. And she was much better at baking than embroidery.

Still, her journey from the kitchen was plagued with doubts. What if he had only been being polite, or she had wanted to make a friend so badly she had seen something that wasn't there? Or what if the offer had been sincere, but upon being inflicted with her company once more he would think better of it? That she didn't see anyone as she approached did nothing to soothe her concerns. She had made a mistake, she thought. An error in judgement. But then she thought to look up.

"Aremu...?" Aurelie called out quietly. She squinted at the tree he'd been in the time before. He had been there before her, when she'd come yesterday--was this the case again? She wasn't sure if she could linger too terribly long if it wasn't, but she would try.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aremu had lost track of the time, studying the leaves. He had not tried to keep it, not in the first place; they had not made anything like a precise plan, and he had not known, quite, when Aurelie would arrive. She did not need to know, Aremu thought, that she was his only business in Brunnhold; perhaps she did already, but perhaps not, and there was no sense in burdening her with it if it was not necessary.

In the end – for all its difficulties – Aremu felt, tucked against the branch and the trunk, watching the yellow leaves patterned against the green, a strange, uneasy gratitude. He was content to sit in it; he was tired enough that he did not need to think, did not need to wear down the tracks of his mind with steady, uneasy pacing, but could merely sit, and watch, and wonder.

The soft voice from below brought him back to himself, but it was not unpleasant, not as it could have been. Aremu doubted anyone else could know him there, or his name; all the same, he shifted gently against the branch, and looked through the screen of leaves. When he saw Aurelie, he eased himself over the side, and climbed down the trunk, facing outwards, hand and feet sure against the wood.

He dropped the last few feet with a soft thud, and smiled at her; his right wrist was already finding his pocket. It wasn’t necessary, of course; she hadn’t so much as flinched, when he had set it in her face. But Aremu found it easier; he did not wish to force anyone to decide whether or not to look at it, to choose between it and his face; he did not wish, generally, to give anyone reason to look at him twice.

“Aurelie,” Aremu said, with an easy, gentle bow. He straightened up; he came a little closer. He was not quite sure –

Aremu sat, then, on the bench, finding what he could of a comfortable position against the damp. He wore the same coat he had the day before, although a different suit beneath, cut in the Anaxi style. He thought it best to sit; he wasn’t sure what Aurelie might want to discuss, or whether she would want to discuss anything at all, but Aremu had long since learned that many discussions were best had side to side, rather than face to face; it was easier to speak to the darkness behind your eyelids, or the distant screening branches, or tsug trees and rows of sugar cane, than another person’s face, with all its careful, worrying complexity.

Aurelie looked little different from the picture he’d made of her in his mind; still small, still slightly anxious, but he thought her glad to see him, and Aremu was grateful that she had come. He had known, coming across the stone bridge one step at a time, crossing into the walls and aching not to have sealed himself within, that she might not come; he had made the journey regardless. He would not have regretted it, even if he had waited the day in vain; all the same, he was glad he had not.

Aremu smiled again; he wasn’t sure when he’d lost it, but it wasn’t hard to find.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Ah! She had been right to look up, after all. It seemed a funny thing to be doing to her, sitting up in trees in this way, but she did try not to judge. Too much. Trees were a good enough place to not be seen, she supposed. And perhaps the climbing of them was more fun that she thought; she had never tried, after all. She had often wondered at it, but it was unlikely she would ever find out. Likely something best done as a child, or a man--not easily accomplished in a petticoat and corset, she thought.

Aremu smiled and Aurelie smiled back, happy to see that her worries were unfounded--at least to a degree. There was always room for more, of course. Especially with her, especially when conversation hadn't even started. She could turn it sideways at any time, really. Aremu moved to the bench and she followed, more careful with the damp on her skirts now then she had been yesterday. She clutched her little packet of bright cloth and cookies in front of her, unsure of how to offer them. Should she wait, or...?

"G-good morning! Er. I hope you, ah, slept... well?" Aurelie turned a little pink at the tips of her ears. Bells and chimes, had she really said that? She truly was a poorly socialized creature. She hadn't much idea at all what to say to someone you had seen yesterday but were unlikely to see again. 'Good morning' was safe enough--she should have stopped there.

Aurelie's fingers worried at the cloth on her lap and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Luckily they were sitting next to each other, so it was perfectly reasonable for her not to make any eye contact. It was--very strange, but she just now realized how unused to being alone with anyone she really was. Except--well, that was different, entirely. Completely. Anxiety set her foot to tapping a little. Maybe now was the time, after all, because she didn't know that she had anything else to say, not as of this very day, hour and minute.

"I, ah--here, these are for, er, you. I hope they're--well. I think they turned out well, but they might not, uhm, suit your taste." Aurelie held the cloth out gingerly, not really looking at Aremu as she did so. Oh chimes, she was being very strange about this whole thing. "T-they're all, ah--think of it as a. Thank you, of sorts? You don't have to--it's okay if you don't want them," she added hastily. She didn't want to put any undue pressure on him to like them, or even try them, but if she left them on her lap the whole time they were sitting they would get mashed into little crumbs out of her own nervousness.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

There was something sheepish in Aremu’s smile, in response to Aurelie’s question. ”Yes,” he said, evenly, as if it wasn’t a strange thing to have asked. He did not ask how she had slept; it didn’t seem to him an appropriate question, but he couldn’t quite have said why. Neither could he quite manage to think of what else to say.

Aremu settled his left hand on his lap. It was difficult, sitting like this and keeping his right wrist against his pocket. It was an uncomfortable angle for his wrist, elbow and shoulder all at once; held too long, it left aches all through him. He eased his wrist out; he settled the prosthetic gently against the outside of his thigh, out of sight unless one looked closely.

“Thank you,” Aremu said, gently, into the midst of Aurelie’s worries. He took the small piece of cloth from her, and settled it against his legs. He unwrapped it, carefully, with the fingers of his left hand, smoothing the cloth against his pants.

“Oh,” Aremu said, admiringly. He took one of the small biscuits out, holding it carefully in his hand. There was a soft, buttery feeling to the dough; it was, he thought, jam in the center of it. “They are - cookies?” Aremu offered the half-remembered Anaxi word, somewhat tentatively. He had seen such things in the shops in Old Rose; he couldn’t think of ever having eaten one. He had eaten his fair share of non-Anaxi sweets; there had been puddings and custards and delicate ices, and strange layered cakes at one dinner or another. But he was not sure he knew anyone who baked cookies; he was not sure he had known anyone who baked cookies, Aremu corrected himself. Niccolette disdained all sweets; he doubted she had ever considered as such. Willie, and the other non-Mugrobi he had flown with, had never attempted them either.

He considered it, carefully. It seemed to him a little crumbly; he was not sure if it would come apart, if he tried to eat it in more than one bite. So, trustingly, unafraid, Aremu ate the little cookie in a single bite.

It was very good; it was sweet and tart together, with some familiar spices in the buttery dough. Aremu grinned, carefully brushing a few crumbs from the edge of his mouth. “They are excellent,” he said, appreciatively. It would have been easy to lie, with the worried look on her face, but there was no need. “I had never had one before. May I offer you one?” Aremu smiled at her, again, carefully taking one of the small cookies, and extending it to Aurelie.

“How are they made?” Aremu asked, curiously. He looked back down at the cookies; it was, he thought, very tempting to eat another. There were plenty to savor; he did not wish to rush through them. All the same, they were lovely, and Aremu more hungry than he had known.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie didn't look when Aremu took his right hand out from his pocket, although she had to admit she was a little curious. She hadn't looked terribly closely before, and wouldn't now, but the impulse was there. Not because it was strange, or at least not strange in a way that she felt was bad, but just because. It was a detail of a person she was speaking to and thought she might like, and she wanted to know a little more. But Aurelie held herself in check, because she thought that was maybe the thing she should do given the way he so carefully kept it out of her sight.

Easy enough not to think about it anyway, when he took the cookies from her and unwrapped them right at that moment. She hadn't been sure--well. As much as Aurelie tried to keep an expectant, hopeful look off her face, she had made them for his sake. Was it any wonder she was watching his expression so intently, searching for signs of his opinion? He seemed to study one for an awfully long time before finally putting the whole thing in his mouth at once. Did they have cookies, in Mugroba? Aurelie was suddenly unsure. She would have said, had she been asked, that surely there were cookies of some sort or another everywhere. Maybe not thumbprint cookies with jam, like these, but something. Surely.

Excellent! Excellent, he'd said! Aurelie let her breath out in a little rush, followed closely by a shy, but pleased, grin. Excellent! Of course, she thought they were quite good as well. That was why she'd made them, after all. Still, it was gratifying to hear. The pink on her ears spread to her face, and she bit her lip against any further foolishness in her expression.

"Oh--of course. I'll take one. They are best shared. Er. In my opinion, at least. I'm sorry we don't--really I feel that they're also best enjoyed with tea, but... Well. Ah. I'm sure you understand why I couldn't, er, bring that with me." Aurelie laughed a little. She took the cookie Aremu held out gingerly. Her eyebrows raised, thinking about it. "Never? They're not always--sometimes the jam is a little different, or the dough. T-This combination is my favorite, though."

She took a bite of the cookie in her hand, holding her other hand out under her mouth to catch any crumbs that might fall. The sugar cookie was, after all, notoriously rather fragile. It made it important not to overwork the dough, when kneading it together--otherwise they were entirely too tough and unpleasant. While she chewed her bite, she thought of how best to answer his question. Aurelie wasn't sure how much cooking Aremu did himself, really.

"They're simple enough, really," she confided after finishing her cookie. She licked a few crumbs from her thumb and brushed the rest gently into the grass. She really did like damson jelly. "Er--not to, ah. I don't know how much cooking you do yourself...? Or baking, really. Hmm. But they are--it's milk, and butter, and egg. Flour, obviously. Oh and sugar, of course. Spices are optional--I just, er, like it that way. Myself. And then rolled into little balls and you--" Aurelie mimed the action of pushing her thumb into the center of each ball to make the little well for the jam. Words escaped her to describe something she did as readily as breathe; she possibly could have written instructions, or shown how to do it if the circumstances were different. Describing the process was unexpectedly difficult.

"D-do you like them, then? I mean--er, well. They're my--they're rather seasonal, to my mind, and my favorite which is why... Yes. P-please have as many as you want. They're all--I made them for you, er, so. Please. Oh! I do, ah--I have a little more time today. Er. Not much but--a bit. Just, ah, so you know."

Bells and chimes, she sounded like a child. Why, precisely, had she asked Aremu to come back to talk to her? So she could prove that being here had truly rotted her mind away? At least she could bake. That was something. She comforted herself with that.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aremu smiled at the mention of tea, nodding slightly. He did see how the cookies would be good with bitter, milky Anaxi tea, although he thought they would be better with kofi; the bitterness of it went well with many of the sweetness of many Mugrobi desserts.

Aurelie had attempted the cookie in two bites. Aremu took a second, gingerly; he held it between his fingers, and turned his hand, carefully, in the hope that his palm would catch the spilling crumbs. He took a smaller bite from the edge this time, enjoying just the taste of the dough, and then ate the rest of the cookie with the jam with a broader grin. He dusted the buttery clinging crumbs from his fingertips into the ground, careful.

Aremu listened intently to the recipe. He imagined at the end of the description the cookies went into an oven; it made sense. There were ovens in Mugroba, although not so widespread as here; they did not have one that he thought she would recognize in the islands, although much the same effect could be achieved with a careful use of clay pots in the stove.

“I like the spices,” Aremu agreed with a little grin for her. “Cinnamon, I think? I am not sure of the others.” He thought it would be a bit plain, otherwise, although he liked the butter taste of the dough, and the jam alone was really very nice.

Aremu nodded when Aurelie said she had a bit of time. He hesitated, waiting - wondering - but she didn’t add anything else, or ask anything else. “Please have another, if you like,” Aremu offered, quietly, into the silence, between them.

Aremu had felt foolish, wasting Aurelie’s time on matters of cooking; he was not sure if there were weightier matters she wished to discuss. He frowned, faintly; he did not want to impose with the discussion of anything heavy. Perhaps she had had enough of that the day before.

All the same, he eased into it.

“I do cook,” Aremu said with a little grin for Aurelie. “Ovens and your baking are not very common in Mugroba. We are a desert people; it is hot enough without running a heavy fire inside. In Thul Ka, most people have a small cook fire for their kitchen. Bigger houses will have a stove, and some an oven, and restaurants may have them.”

Aremu watched the girl from the side of his gaze; if she seemed interested, he would go on. “I like to make bread,” Aremu said with a little grin. “We have mostly flatbreads; they require only a little kneading and a short rest, and one cooks a small circle on a hot pan above a flame, one at a time. But I have tried to make your Anaxi bread also. It takes a long time, but the texture is very good.”

Aremu sat back a little; he looked down at the little pile of cookies on his lap. He would wait, he decided, just a little longer; he would not rush through them. The gift would still be there with him when the cookies had gone; the memory of them would last longer than the food itself. But he would be glad for the food to last a little bit longer too; the taste of it was very sweet.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

A smile crept across Aurelie's face, watching Aremu have a second cookie and taking it in two bites this time. Were she alone, it was more than likely she would have scarfed them all down in one bite herself--the mouthful was just a bit much for witnesses.

"Cinnamon, yes! And ginger, cloves and-- well, today it's nutmeg but allspice works as well. N-Nurse showed me how to make-- it's her recipe. When I was... as a child." Talking about baking was unexpectedly pleasant. It wasn't often she was asked, really. For all that she worked in the kitchen with others, she didn't much talk about the work itself. She suspected most of her workmates drew no pleasure from cookery, not like she did. Aurelie was happy to talk about it, although she did worry that it was a frivolous subject, given the circumstances. She supposed, really, she should bring up something else, but she wasn't sure what or how.

Aremu offered her another cookie and though she'd made them, she was happy to comply. She ate this one even slower, mostly to give her hands and mouth something to do while Aremu talked about cooking in Mugroba. Aurelie turned her face a little to watch him while he spoke, fascinated. She had not thought about--well. Of course she hadn't really considered cookery outside of Anaxas, or even outside of what Brunnhold University offered on their menu, but she liked hearing about it. A desert country--Aurelie tried to picture it, a place that was too hot for ovens all year 'round. Her image was hazy at best. She nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging way, indicative of her interest, as Aremu went on to talk about bread.

"It can take--quite a while," Aurelie agreed. "Flatbreads sound--less involved. I've never had... Well. I wonder if I could... Hmm." For a moment the girl was lost, thinking about shapes of bread and their preparations. "I like making sourdough the best," she added almost dreamily. "Of course, keeping the mother alive takes work... It's worth it though. I think."

Aurelie hesitated. She liked talking about bread, and cookies, and spices. Absently she brought a hand to her mouth and worried at the corner of a nail before realizing what she'd done and abruptly pulling it back down to her lap.

"Sometimes, I... Well, it's very silly but I--I used to, well. To think about if I-- about if I weren't... About having a-a proper. Bakery. N-not that... It's just a silly... a silly daydream. I like baking, though. Er." Her voice was halting and quiet; it would have been impossible to hear, if they were sitting much further apart than the bench allowed.

Sweet Lady, why had she said that? It had seemed a natural turn of the conversation. But what a foolish thing to admit to. Hadn't she just said she couldn't imagine a life outside of Brunnhold yesterday? And she had meant it, then. She meant it still, even with this shy and quiet admission. The bakery wasn't anything real, not in a meaningful way. Just a pleasant little thing to think about in her idle hours. It sounded childish when she said it out loud. Aurelie usually kept this to herself. She was grateful that they were sitting side by side, so she could look at her knees and not his face. What an absolutely silly thing she was.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aremu understood, he thought, something of what the cookies must have meant to her, when Aurelie explained the origin of the recipe. He wondered. He knew as a boy he had not been allowed in the kitchen, other than to creep in for a snack; he doubted very much that Niccolette had ever learned anything of cooking as a girl, or Willie. He did not think, here in Anaxas, that it was so common.

Had she been as shy as she was now? As hesitant? Aremu could trace himself back, he thought, to a quiet, serious boy who had listened and obeyed, and tried hard to be something he never could. And Aurelie? What had the shape of her been, as a little girl? It wasn’t hard to imagine, somehow, a small, red-headed little girl comfortably at home in a warm kitchen, with a plump, smiling nurse, pressing her little thumb into the heart of a cookie.

He was glad, then, that those memories were fond; he was glad what had come later had not spoiled them for her. He knew how he felt, still, about the places where he had been happy.

“I am not sure I know the difference,” Aremu said, regretfully, “between sourdough and other breads. I’ll have to find it.” He smiled at Aurelie. He wasn’t sure, either, why bread would have a mother, or how it would need to be kept alive. He was more than a little curious about it, but the conversation had drifted on before he could ask.

There was a silence that settled between them, in the wake of Aurelie’s admission. Aremu was not sure what to make of it; he had understood, when she spoke of not imagining a life outside of Brunnhold, that it was – perhaps – a lie she did not know was a lie. This seemed to him much in the same vein, and he did not quite know what to say.

He did not wish to make her uncomfortable, and Aremu worried perhaps the silence had already done so. Yet, too, he did not wish to burden her with his troubles, but – then – he felt, increasingly, that it was best to speak.

“I dreamt of being a pilot, as a boy,” Aremu said, quietly. He looked down at the cookies on his lap; he looked up, again, and sat back a little against the bench. “Now, I think, if I…” he studied the distant trees, with their screening leaves, and then tilted his head back, slowly, looking up between the branches, at the faint glimmer of pale blue autumn sky above. “Perhaps I could have been an astronomer,” he said, faintly wistful, “and spent my life studying the stars. But, then – perhaps I wouldn’t have wanted it, if I was not… what I am.” Aremu paused, and then looked down at Aurelie. “What we are.” He said, even more quietly, but he smiled at her as he said it.

He took another cookie then; he tilted his hand, carefully, and took a bite from the side. He ate the rest, then, all the sticky jam; he did not know what damson was, still, but he supposed it didn’t much matter.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie hadn't been sure if Aremu would know what sourdough was. She'd almost asked him, but had decided against it in case it was insulting. In the silence after she mentioned her silly, childish daydream, she regretted not asking and saying that instead. That would have been a better turn of conversation, no doubt. More interesting for the both of them, and less awkward to boot. But no, she had said what she said and now there was nothing to be done but fidget with a stray thread from the seam of her pinafore.

The silence built between them; Aurelie's mind filled it with anxieties. This was always her problem, she thought with no little despair. She could take any perfectly nice conversation and make it strange, or too heavy, or both, without so much batting an eyelash. Before she'd even really noticed, in fact. She could only assume this was why she struggled to make friends even with people she saw every day, people she would see every day for the rest of their natural lives. That anyone spoke to her at all was a miracle; as it stood, she only really had the two friends. If both of them even really counted. She wanted to apologize, to take it back and try to salvage the morning, but she couldn't find the words to do it with.

Aremu, though, picked up the thread of the conversation well enough. A knot of anxiety in her chest untied. She tried to picture him as a child, dreaming of being a pilot. It was hard, surprisingly so, to do this, but she thought she might could just. A pilot. Aurelie thought--she didn't know very much, really, about the way aeroships worked. Enough to know that it required magic to do so safely, though. What had that felt like, to the child Aremu had been? Aurelie couldn't remember what she had wanted to be as a child--nothing, she thought, beyond being like Ana. She thought on the idea a little more. She couldn't imagine a life for herself as she was that existed outside in a meaningful way, but she often tried to imagine what it would have been like if she wasn't... missing something. Would she have even her daydream of a bakery, if she'd passed that one critical test instead of failed? Aurelie liked to think so, but something in her said it would have been just as far away if she had.

He had another cookie and she was still thinking. She didn't take another one; they were for Aremu, after all, and she had plenty of them. She kicked her foot back and forth, skimming the grass. Now that it had come up, she wanted to ask a little more, about how he grew up--it seemed so very strange. Not so much the before, but... the after. Still, she was also afraid the conversation would hurt. Hurt her, or hurt him--either seemed as likely.

"M-maybe you're right. I don't think I--I wouldn't have even had the. The daydream. Without. I'm sure I'd have... been more like my sister." Aurelie looked up at Aremu, or at least in his direction. "Mr. Ibutatu said you--that you're... an engineer?" Oh, she did hope she remembered that right. "W-why that and not... I'm afraid I don't--I don't know much about astronomy, really, or engineering. Or," she added sourly, "much of anything else, really. Except food. I-If you can't eat it, I probably... probably don't know much about it. I'm not even good at laundry."

There was a half a heartbeat, and then Aurelie thought: maybe this was something she shouldn't have asked. She was so good at finding those things and bringing them up.

"Not that you--er I don't mean to pry, or anything, I just, ah. I was just--wondering. Uhm. You don't have to... I don't need to know. That is, not if... Hrmm." She wanted to groan, but choked it back. Still, her embarrassment was write large on her face. If she had overstepped, she would crawl into the earth to die. Probably. It seemed like the best course of action for all involved.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

It was a good question, Aremu thought. He had nodded gently when she asked if he was an engineer, and had nearly started to answer. They were coming, he thought, slowly, to the heart of things. He had not wished to push; he did not know, still, if he had.

But Aurelie turned away from it. There was a sour note in her voice; well-deserved, Aremu thought. Perhaps she knew what was coming, after all, somewhere inside. Perhaps not; perhaps none of it would be as he imagined.

And then she doubled back again, as if she could unask it; as if she could take back the bitterness too. Aremu was sorry to know she could not. He was not quite smiling, anymore.

“It is a good question,” Aremu said, quietly. He hesitated, turning it over in his mind, turning all of it over, and finding the words he wished to say, very carefully. He turned to look at her, a little more; he found a smile, and it wasn’t hard.

“Your asking does not obligate me to answer,” Aremu said, gently. “You may ask what you like; if I do not wish to answer, I shall not. What I tell you, I say freely.“ He half-wished in the brief silence that he had the knack of making a joke to smooth it over, to find a path to a smile for her once more. He thought - but he could not find anything he wished to say, in truth, not even in jest. He could not find it in himself to tease at her, and he did not wish to make her listen to him teasing at himself.

“I am an engineer,” Aremu said. “It means I...” he frowned, “I know something of machines, and their patterns. I enjoy it. I studied it at Thul’Amat, and I am grateful for this knowledge, and the work I do.”

Aremu was quiet, then, for just a moment. “But even that was not - encouraged,” he said, quietly. “There are doors which are closed to us, there; there is that which we cannot study. There are those which - if we have the will - we may pass through, with whatever strength we can call our own. There are others which - perhaps - no one has yet passed through, and which...”

Aremu sighed. “Perhaps I lacked the courage to try,” he said. “But in what idle moments I passed thinking of it, I could not see a future from it - I could not see any way forward, any path that would bring me happiness. Even if I had the strength to hold the door open, no one would pay me to spend my life studying the stars; no galdor would believe anything I wrote about them.”

“There is no way to lie, with a machine,” Aremu said, smiling slightly. “They work or they do not, and I like them.” He thought of the engine of the Eqe Aqawe, and something turned over beneath his heart; he took a deep breath, and let it out again.

“Still,” Aremu said, with a hopeful little grin. She had been brave about it, he thought - he could hope - he set his right wrist gently on his leg, the prosthetic visible in the light. “I have another, which I can put tools into, to - hammer, or use a screwdriver.” He ran his fingertips gently over the wood.

“I make do with what I have,” Aremu said, quietly; he tucked the prosthetic away against the outside of his leg again. He wondered if he had lost her; he was almost sure he must have. “It is enough; I am grateful.”