Eventually Laurean drifted off on his bug-riddem cot. Hieronymus was still diligently transcribing the information.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Hieronymus's hand was cramping badly; he glanced at his master and sighed, then dipped his quill back into the ink.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Kivvien rarely had use for a defense spell, his wand was certainly not designed for it, but as he stormed back to the cottage every horrible, painful, spell he had ever learned flew through his head.
He entered with faux-calm, but was unable to hide the rage with which he gripped his faintly glowing wand in his trembling hand.
He approached Laurean's door. Gently tested the knob.
It was still locked. Hieronymus's head necked up at the sound, and he glanced between the journal and his master, then crept under the low cot to continue writing.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Every spell he had ever learned to deal with a lock fled from his head in that moment, replaced by white-hot rage. A loud CRACK filled the cabin as he kicked in the door. The tip of his wand aimed at the old man's chest, Kivvien spotted two of his journals on the cot. One was missing, but he'd find it later.
Laurean was awake in seconds, heart racing as he stared up at Kivvien. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stuttered, startled but trying his damnedest not to give away the game. Hieronymus was trembling badly but he kept writing, holding his breath.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Kivvien reached over, not lowering his wand, and picked up the journals. He tucked one in his satchel and flipped the other open, glaning at the familiar inside.
"A thief and a liar. You truly are reprehensible."
Laurean was shaking like a leaf but his gaze was defiant. "Keeping information as important as that for yourself is what's reprehensible, boy!'
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Even children know to ask for information before resorting to thievery," he retorted. The light of his wand brightened slightly as the magic swirled around his intentions.
"Would you have given it freely?" He scooted back against the wall to avoid the wand. "Or would have you kept it for yourself?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Well you have your journals now," he spat. "Get out of my house!"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Kivvien barked a laugh. "You know as well as I that there's one more. And Hieronymus will be coming with me. I won't allow you to abuse your creation any longer."
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