Sam Linnfer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necessary_child) wrote2021-04-05 06:50 pm
necessary_child) wrote2021-04-05 06:50 pm
Extract from Chapter Four: Adamarus
Not so long ago he'd helped dig bodies out from the ruins of Dover or London, or kept injured people alive with a touch of his magic. Even if their sufferings weren't due to him, they were the fault of his family and therefore a responsibility passed down to him. Helping these people was what he saw as duty. Sam had been neither born nor bred to this ideal. But, like several other human words, it helped justify actions prompted in him merely by impulse.
[...]
He came upon a crew of firefighters struggling before a burning ruin. They were trying to work their hose before the blaze caught the few nearby houses left intact. Sam stood across the road, gazing at the fire, his eyes distant. As he stared the flames seemed to shrink. Eventually there were just a few burning embers, which died as he clenched his fists. The whole process had taken him ten minutes of concentration.
Ten minutes of standing exposed and dumb.
"Papers!"
A Brownshirt officer, uniformed, his shiny buttons silly in the ruined street. He was holding out his hand imperiously. Sam dug around and produced his papers. The man flicked through them, looking ready for a fight on any pretext. A single flaw in Sam's documents, one look out of place, and Sam might be forced to get mythological. Which would be embarrassing.
But the papers, as Sam had known, were perfect. Unfortunately though, his look of dowdy submission was badly out of practice, and he peered at the Brownshirt with unabashed curiosity.
Sure enough, this made the man angry.
"What are you doing here, just staring?"
"I don't have anywhere to go."
[...]
He came upon a crew of firefighters struggling before a burning ruin. They were trying to work their hose before the blaze caught the few nearby houses left intact. Sam stood across the road, gazing at the fire, his eyes distant. As he stared the flames seemed to shrink. Eventually there were just a few burning embers, which died as he clenched his fists. The whole process had taken him ten minutes of concentration.
Ten minutes of standing exposed and dumb.
"Papers!"
A Brownshirt officer, uniformed, his shiny buttons silly in the ruined street. He was holding out his hand imperiously. Sam dug around and produced his papers. The man flicked through them, looking ready for a fight on any pretext. A single flaw in Sam's documents, one look out of place, and Sam might be forced to get mythological. Which would be embarrassing.
But the papers, as Sam had known, were perfect. Unfortunately though, his look of dowdy submission was badly out of practice, and he peered at the Brownshirt with unabashed curiosity.
Sure enough, this made the man angry.
"What are you doing here, just staring?"
"I don't have anywhere to go."
~Catherine Webb, WayWalkers