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The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 4761

Updated: 2018-07-11 12:02


'I wouldn't know' Farrell sighed. 'She's dead.'

'I see' the man scratched his chin thoughtfully.

'You don't know what your daughter looks like' the man repeated thoughtfully to himself.

'No.'

'Do you remember what her mother looked like? Your wife I assume? Or lover?'

'Yes I remember what my wife looked like' Farrell said wearily, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the man.

'How old would your daughter be now? Nineteen?'

'Yes.'

'Could you describe what your wife looked like? In detail. The shape of her face her eyes her mouth, nose…'

'Why?'

'Just humour me.'

'Well' Farrell said thoughtfully, leaning back and bowing his head. 'She was…beautiful…'

'Details' the man said sharply. 'Shapes, textures, colours….'

Elsewhere in the camp, one of the other former prisoners approached Adam as he sat with Woodworm and Barrel, trying to cook sausages on a tiny fire.

'So what's your story then?' the prisoner asked them. 'Who are you all and why are you here?'

'Oh us?' Woodworm said. 'We're just mercenaries. In it for the excitement. Right Barrel?'

Barrel laughed back at him in agreement.

'Are those really your names?' the prisoner asked. 'Woodworm and Barrel?'

'The only ones you need to know' Woodworm replied inspecting his sausage briefly before holding it back over the fire.

'And what about you' the prisoner asked Adam. 'You're no mercenary. I know that. You've more discipline.'

'How can you tell?' Adam asked, speaking over Woodworms protests at being referred to as lacking in discipline.

'I was a soldier myself before I was imprisoned. It was all a mix up though. Our government…our king…everything is always corrupted.' He glanced over towards Flynn, one of the men who kept watch, and the only one who had volunteered to do so. 'I recognise him' the prisoner said staring at Flynn. 'I know him. We were imprisoned together. He probably won't remember me though. I left that prison soon enough, only to be dumped in another. At least the one you found me in was not as bad as the one I had left.' The former prisoner looked back at the three around the fire. 'He suffers night terrors does he not?'

'How do you know?' Woodworm asked him.

'Hmm' the man bowed his head. 'Many who survived from that prison did.'

'What happened there?' Woodworm asked, speaking over Barrel's childish

giggles. 'Carrot…I mean Cam was the same.'

'Oh' the prisoner sighed shaking his head. 'Horrible things' he said. 'Horrible. Tortures I didn't even know existed. You all would be the same had you lived through what they lived through.' He glanced back at Flynn. 'He's lucky to be alive.' He looked back at Adam. 'Anyway' he said. 'Who are you? A former soldier I'm guessing?'

'You guessed right' Adam nodded. 'I used to fight in our kings army.'

'What made you turn against him?'

'He kidnapped my daughter thinking she might be a…..a Weather Maker' he said, sneering at the words on his lips. How he hated those words. 'I tried to free her, defying the kings order in doing so…..he forced me to watch her die.' He lifted his heavy eyes towards the man again. 'I will never forget the terror and panic in her that day, and despite my many years of service and my loyalty….the king only cared that I had disobeyed him, not that my daughter in the end was not a what he thought she was.' He spoke to the ground now, his tone casual as he did so. 'Not until the day I die, will I ever forget that look in her eyes….she knew she was going to die…………..I will never forget that look.....that horror…..'

After a time, the nameless prisoner spoke again. 'What does the king want the Weather Makers for?'

'I don't know.'

'I have just one more question' the prisoner added, jerking his thumb towards Barrel who had been laughing the whole time. 'Why does he keep laughing? What's so funny?'

'I don't know, he's always like that' Adam spoke as Barrel continued to cackle.

'Yeah he is' Woodworm agreed. 'I've tried to beat it out of him. Doesn't work. Best get used to it.'

Sometime later, the man that had spoken to Farrell returned to him.

'Here' he said handing a rolled up piece of paper to him. 'For you.'

Farrell took it uncertainly. He unrolled it and blinked in confusion. The face of the young woman drawn on the paper looked much like the face of the young woman he had seen over and over again in his dreams.

Find me…

'What is this?' Farrell said.

'It's your daughter' the man replied. 'Or at least…what she might look like. I drew it in charcoal…from the fire.'

'It's a very good picture.' Farrell glanced up at man. 'Where does a soldier find time to learn such skills?'

'Oh I'm not a soldier' the man replied. 'I'm an artist.'

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