Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2011 22:45:12 GMT -5
Beowulf watched the woman carefully. She had said she would be fine, but he didn’t completely trust her. He had seen firsthand how many often said they were fine, insisted even, but were much worse than anyone could imagine. She looked worn down and dejected. Defeated even. And Beowulf wasn’t about to trust her word over his instincts.
Her voice was quiet. So quiet he almost missed it. And then she stumbled and Beowulf reached out a hand, but she had caught herself so he withdrew it. That right there was all the proof he needed that she wasn’t as alright as she had seemed. She certainly wasn’t as alright as she said she was.
But her question very nearly stopped Beowulf. Why had he helped her? The young Viking wasn’t sure he had an answer for that, but he suspected that like the young blonde woman he had helped on instinct. He had seen that they needed help and help was what he had done. It had been his first response to the situation. “Sometimes we know not our own Fate,” he told her. He had been raised with the idea that your Fate was written in stone. Everything that happened was Fated to happen. “Perhaps it is your Fate to change.”
Her voice was quiet. So quiet he almost missed it. And then she stumbled and Beowulf reached out a hand, but she had caught herself so he withdrew it. That right there was all the proof he needed that she wasn’t as alright as she had seemed. She certainly wasn’t as alright as she said she was.
But her question very nearly stopped Beowulf. Why had he helped her? The young Viking wasn’t sure he had an answer for that, but he suspected that like the young blonde woman he had helped on instinct. He had seen that they needed help and help was what he had done. It had been his first response to the situation. “Sometimes we know not our own Fate,” he told her. He had been raised with the idea that your Fate was written in stone. Everything that happened was Fated to happen. “Perhaps it is your Fate to change.”