My last post is probably the most personal thing I’ve ever posted on here. Parts of it might not have made sense for some of you who didn’t know my grandpa, but I thought I should share it.
All of you sweet Omaha people have been amazing through this. And being able to text with a couple of my amazing friends, within hours of hearing my grandfather went to heaven, was such a blessing; and probably one of the most healing and comforting things I could have done just then. A special thank you to all of you!
That said, I am excited to keep posting my story! Y’all get to meet Tyre in the next part. I’m both excited, and kind-of dreading it. Tyre has been the trickiest character!
Catania’s Forest: The Little Drummer-boy in Narnia ~ Part Three
~*~
Catania smiled politely. “Hello, Jéru.”
“I haven’t seen you in the forest much,” he said, walking up to her. His charge began to wander about and sniff at weeds poking between the flagstones of the road. Catania knew he would be beaten if he lost them—she still remembered the day he had taken off his belt and tunic and showed her the stripes on his back. When she had asked him why they had done it, he said he came home late.
So why is he so bent on speaking with me? she wondered. Am I the only creature who is civil to him? Judging from the life she knew he led, she probably was.
She tried to shrug off his remark, which she knew was more of a question. “I don’t go southeast of the city—it’s dangerous.”
“Because there are creatures there besides wild beasts?” he said, sarcastically.
“I would prefer wild beasts,” Catania said bitterly. “If you would rather humans, I would still rather deer.”
“What about wolves?” Jéru said pointedly. “Or werewolves. What if you’ve shoot a werewolf?”
“I haven’t.”
“How do you know? Haven’t you shot a wolf?”
“Yes, I have. Sure I have. Not by moonlight. Don’t be absurd, Jér. I sleep at night.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“My life is not half so exciting as you make it out to be.”
“You think it’s dull?” He spat into the underbrush. “Try my life.”
“Why do you do it, Jér?” she pleaded, unable to swallow the pain and bitterness that welled up at his unpleasant references to elfin life in the city.
“Do what?” he asked, bemused.
“Stay here—like. . . this.” She gestured vaguely towards the pigs, as if they were all the problem.
A shadow clouded his merry face. “What can I do, Tanya? They kill escaped slaves.”
Kill. Slave. The words grated on her ears. Looking up, she was suddenly confronted by Tyre, trotting around the bend. She was jittery from standing in the open road so long and sorry Tyre had caught her talking to Jéru. She was often uncomfortable under the glare of the centaur’s stern, blue eyes, but especially so when he found her associating with what he would call rebels.
“I’m busy, Jér, leave me alone,” she muttered and walked off to meet Tyre.
