Page 65 of Feral Guardian
The cool drops pepper my face and I grumble as I wipe them away.
“I’m a sheltered young lady, and I have nothing to teach,” she says in a mocking tone.
“Princess, I have never treated you like that,” I say, my heart squeezing with anger.
She crosses her arms and huffs. “What about that one time I tried to teach you about poetry?”
I groan. “I have no interest in learning how to write pretty words.”
“Well, it’s actually essential in the process of my style of rune-writing,” she says, flicking more water at me. I throw up my hand to block it, but at the last second, the droplets divert around my arm and splash against my face. Lily tries not to giggle, but fails. I smile, too.
“I apologize I didn’t take poetry more seriously before. Would you teach me now?” I ask.
She hums thoughtfully. “I suppose I couldtry.Someone as close-minded about poetry as you might not be able to grasp the intricacies of writing to a cadence midair.”
I rotate the meat skewers and approach her. “I will keep my mind very open for you.”
Her expression softens. “All right. I have a feeling it has something to do with my magus ability, but I will show you anyway.”
She points to the ground beside her. “Stand here and watch me move.”
I stand beside her and watch. Her hands flow through the air and her green magic ekes out from her thumb, index, and middle fingertips. Her wrists dip and flick as her arms draw the symbols for Gaien’s inverted rainfall, Kai; then Shing, Morgha’s drive; and lastly, Nol’Ther’s inverted decay, Ayreya.
“Did you see that?” she asks.
“Yes, I was watching. But I don’t understand how that pulled the water from the tent material,” I say.
“Not only that, but I’ve warded the material from growing mold as well,” she says. “Watch me again.”
She keeps the same pace, targeting a new corner of the soaked tent. Then I see it. It’s not just the same pace, but a specific cadence. She pauses and dips her hands before Shing, then draws out the end of that symbol into Ayreya.
“You’re giving it a sustained mold barrier?” I ask.
“Yes!” She beams.
“But how…how are you doingthis?” I ask again, feeling as though despite understanding the purpose of her motions, I cannot see how they’re performing the magic that they are. Gaien’s inverted rainfall would be used over a leaky roof to prevent water from passing thebarrier, but it can’t be used to pull water out of soaked material. Can it?
“Watch me one more time. Maybe stand a little off to the side some,” she says, giving me no additional clues as to what she’s doing, or how.
I do as she bids, getting a full side view of her. There it is, just before the dip. She pulls back, her fingers “tugging” on the last script of Kai. Then the dip has the water drawn into the ground and the pause allows her to let it go before beginning the mold-warding.
“I think I see,” I say. “It’s all in the gesture. But what does this have to do with poetry?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” she says with a broad smile. “Poetry follows a flow. It demands a cadence to ‘work;’ however, that cadence varies greatly depending on the type of message and tone you want to have. Rune-writing like this is very similar.”
“I don’t see the similarities.”
Lily huffs. “I thought you were trying to keep an open mind?”
“I am,” I huff back, mimicking her. “My mind is very open. It is simply not comprehending because I don’t know enough about poetry.”
“Fine. Say you write your rune on a bit of wood. That rune will do as bidden at the trigger you have set, yes?”
“Yes. As long as the execution was not poor and your rune was descriptive enough.”
“Exactly. I don’t need to be descriptive in my rune-writing because my physical gesturesarethe trigger. I can nuance the communication and expression of the rune more deeply that way, without complicating the symbol.
“My ‘pull’ gesture, for example. I’m moving the water into the ground, but I could lift it up and flick it at your face,” she says, doing just that. I’m peppered with more chilled water, and I glare.
