The Hand That Mocked Them

Kivvien awoke early the next morning, his sweet dreams of Ezeren's sweet voice reciting formulas under his breath as he jotted them down, his eyebrows drawing together over focused eyes, giving way to the chill of morning air and the thick smell of dust and aged paper.

He pushed himself upright and blinked out at the piled expanse of books and loose sheets that surrounded him, his enemy in this great quest. If only he could return home, reach his goals without the glory of this quests completion.

Laurean and Hieronymus were already awake. Laurean had scrounged up some moldy bread to eat and was lathering butter onto it.

Kivvien headed downstairs and greeted the two as he passed, headed outside to get something to eat from his stores. There was no way anything left in that house was edible.

Laurean watched him go, glaring after him suspiciously.

Kivvien stopped at his cart and sat on the back of it, watching his mule graze. Once he'd gotten a bit of jerky and some nuts from his store of food, he reached inside his robe and pulled out a cigar. It was a nasty habit, one he'd picked up from his old mentor, but he reckoned the situation called for a little stress relief.

Hieronymus came out a little while later and sat down near the cart. He was still very sore from yesterday, though he was doing better at hiding it.

Kivvien had been smoking and eating his breakfast quietly, but he put the cigar out when he saw Hieronymus approaching.

"Don't mind me." He gave a little smile and unwrapped a crust of bread from a grimy handkerchief. "I'll just be eating here; pretend I'm not present."

Kivvien glanced down at him. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded. "I missed my carpet and my loft. It was good to be home."

"That is good. Are you feeling any better?"

"Certainly! Right as rain, just like I said I would be. And how did you sleep?"

"I had a very pleasant rest," he said.

"I'm glad to hear that. The tower was accomodating?"

"It was comfortable enough."