Art by @teamdoodledork
“You’re a catalyst for change. Some people might envy that.”
“A catalyst?”
“You are not content to remain as you are. Whether it is improving your spells or searching for knowledge you’re never content to remain still.”
“Pop like to stay in Quel’thalas.”
“Tyleril focuses on different things than you do. But he doesn’t remain the same. The man he was four centuries ago is not the same man he was now. His change is slow and subtle. A rock worn smooth by the ocean. You’re the spark that lights the field afire.”
“What happens if I stopped?”
“You stop. You stagnate. You exist and little more.”
“Isn’t everyone else a catalyst then? By your definition Mother.”
Windsong looked down at Samiel from where she floated in the air. Her fel green eyes seemed to stare through him, causing him to shift uncomfortably in the clothes she’d made for him.
“Not everyone. We all change, albeit slowly. Long lived as we are some people settle. Not you. You’re not satisfied with ‘the sun is yellow’ you want to know why. “
“What if… what if I wanted to know why you left me with Pop?” It wasn’t a question he meant to ask. But it lingered in the air after he said it. Mother looked down at him again, but he resisted the urge to squirm and stared up at her. She looked beautiful to him in her mage’s robes, corn white silken hair and fel green eyes. She didn’t move often and something about her had always reminded him of a spider. Watching, waiting to see which part of its web you would tear up with your clumsiness.
“Because I am not a Mother.” She said flatly. “I have no parenting instinct, no flesh-inspired desire to protect and care. I love you now for the person you are Samiel but I do not have a parent’s instinct.” Mother’s eyes left him to look across the street. “It might be hard for you to understand that. But I, on my own, am no parent. A screaming babe does not inspire any reaction to me. You managing to survive birth was a miracle. That you survived to reach your age even more of one.”
“Oh.” He didn’t have anything else to say.
“It’s shit you grow up like this. Lacking a group of friends close in age. But you’ve made due. You might complain and clash with Tyleril but the man has done more for you than I have ever been able to. You aren’t content to sit and wait for the world to put things in your hand. You seethe and rage, you consume knowledge, you seek to protect what’s important, and to reach out where others would turn away.”
He squinted up at her, wondering but daring not to ask the lingering question in his mind.
But she knew anyway. Somehow Mother always knew.
“No. The man that contributed to your existence isn’t aware you exist.”
“Why?”
Mother put a finger to her blood red lips before leaning down to whisper to him. “Because then you’d be in danger. Tyleril would be in danger. Politics are dangerous Samiel. The ones your birth father are in even more so.”
“Do you think he’d be mad at you?”
“At me? Yes. He’d be very mad I’ve kept him in the dark so long. Be grateful you look more like me than him.”
Curiosity brought forth the next question. “Why? What’s he like?”
“Older than I am. Wise but with little magic talent. You two are both stubborn and quick-witted, clever. Dry humor.” Her lips twitched into a fond smile.
But the smile was brief and she shook her head. “No more Samiel. That is all. When you grow older I’ll tell you more but not now. You need to be able to defend yourself proper before I throw you to the wolves.”
Like many of his conversations with Mother seemed to end she left him with several questions. He wasn’t ever certain if it was a good or bad thing to leave somebody with so many. But, he assumed, if Mother knew the answer to so much like Pop did, then surely each good answer would have more questions.
The information on his birth father, however, was new. He didn’t know what to make of it, mulling over the information. Something new to think about and pry for more in the future.
Tyleril Silversword 