About a Burning Fire

Devin breathed a slow sigh. “We’re both women of secrets, M-Aedwen. Or were.” The parcel was placed into the other woman’s hand. “I’m accustomed to cover-stories and misdirection; it’s a part of my world. I mistook your hesitant tone for such, rather than the delicate confession it was. I’m sorry.” She looked aside, frowning. “It’s a simple enough thing to learn, now that I have. It shan’t happen again.” Her gaze drew back to Morning’s, lips pressed together.

Aedwen clicks her tongue and waves dismissively at the woman as she takes the parcel, tucking it beneath her arm. Turning, she reclaims her seat beneath the tree and moves the subject along without hesitation. “Did you read these?” she asks, humming as she sees the first stack of yellowed papers into her lap.

Devin followed, leaning her shoulder against the tree. “I did.” She spoke softly. “We- My people, we have files on a weapon that matches the description. But there’s so very little we know about it.” She cleared her throat, shaking her head as though to escape the memory of what she’d read.

Aedwen takes several long moments to review the documents in their entirety. Slow and tedious, she examines them with growing scrutiny the further she reads. At one point, she stalls all together and merely stares at the paper, yellowed and smudged with ink. A gentle shake sets in her hands as she sets it aside. Swallowing, she shakes her head and continues on, flipping through the remainder of the files. Previous records are brought to the forefront, compared to later ones.

It’s apparent she’s searching for something, but it’s difficult to pinpoint what. Clearing her throat, she pulls out a folded piece of paper from her jacket and opens it, her hands still shaking as she reviews it. Two distinct handwritings are found upon it; one clearly her own, but the other’s author is a mystery. “Tell me what you know of it,” she says, not looking up. “Of Bittermill, and what happened there.”

 Aedwen stares out over the small clearing of crosses; at least thirty, and who knows how many went unmarked even still. She does not follow Swoz as he moves past her; she doesn’t move at all, really. She only stares, as if in a trance.

With the old tool in hand, Swozbhar carefully starts to dig a small distance from the pack of crosses, quiet. He looks back towards Aedwen, but doesn’t speak up. Might not be able to find words. He’s nearly two feet into the hole when he speaks up, finally. “… Did you know we’d find this here?”

“No,” she says simply. “I didn’t know what we’d find.” 

Details from Wind And Sun (ca. 1913)

Laura Knight

Jeux chinois (1882)

Louis Émile Pinel de Grandchamp