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Embla stared, bewildered, into the large honest face of the man before her. For years, her only relations with her fellow creatures had been stiff and stilted at best, unpleasant and bitter at worst. Now twice in the space of an hour, she had, seemingly, been offered warmth, sympathy and understanding.
She struggled to regain that protective layer of sullen bile she had adopted as a Borrim wife - but it refused to reassemble itself. She was still raw and sensitive, after the strange sensations she had experienced during her encounter with Jord. This newly-found Sight was painful to her – it was not a gift, but a burden.
She felt it again as she looked at Fastarr. Her last encounter with this fellow had been just a couple of hours earlier, when he had trodden on her robe and she had hissed an insult at him. Apart from the pleasure she had derived from his discomfiture, she had thought little about the incident, or about the man himself. Now she saw and felt things so fiercely that they hurt and confused her. From the large hunter before her, she sensed difficult memories...of hurt, murderous rage....and above all, regret.
Embla did not experience any of the strange fascination that had held her in thrall when she spoke to Jord. The sympathetic overtures of this clumsy man, and even his hidden unhappiness, felt altogether more genuine, more wholesome. Nonetheless, she tried very hard to work her expression back into its usual haughty smirk.
“No, I....you.....I don’t know.....I am frightened,” she blurted. And, to her shame and horror, she began to cry.
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