I swear I’m actually back to regular writing here. (It’s amazing how my inevitable return to Westeros gets me in the Cammadan headspace..)
Sorry about the false start y’all!
I stood in the weapons tent, looking over what I was going to carry when we started moving. The tent parted and Caleb walked in. I locked eyes with him and he frowned.
“I don’t like this,” he said simply.
“I don’t care,” I shrugged. He sighed, and I looked at him. “Why?”
“You’re being rash,” he explained. “You can’t act without thinking things through anymore. This isn’t a game.”
“I’m aware,” I said simply. He nodded. “I knew about being the sword.”
“I assumed Anselm told you,” he shrugged, “it wasn’t for me to know or tell.” I pressed my hands against the table. “You aren’t angry with me then?”
“Not for that, no,” I whispered. He frowned. “How could you keep us apart?” He nodded. “Caleb, we could have helped each other. I could have learned,” I stopped.
“We didn’t want to,” he said softly, I scoffed. “Little…
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