Ralph and the Pixie

Haloch was as silent as stone for so long that Mraan felt compelled to apologize for injuring his father’s feelings. But before he could speak, Haloch said in a hollow voice, ‘That may have been true, once.’

Cursing himself for intruding on his father’s private pain, Mraan tried changing the subject.

‘What else were you reflecting upon,’ Mraan asked, his face a study in self-admonishment.

‘If you must know, I was reflecting on the origins of the Written Word, and on some of its gravest consequences,’ Haloch replied, an eager note in his voice, as though he was glad for the mental distraction.

Though his father began speaking almost too quickly, Mraan listened to him with studied patience, sensing that Haloch needed to talk, more than he needed to communicate. He was telling Mraan nothing the boy didn’t already know: it was more like a vain attempt to fend off his own personal demons.

The false Adjunct well knew that Haloch was doing his best to avoid old and bitter pain; the circumstances surrounding his wife’s death, when Mraan was still small. The boy would have been too young to remember her, but doubtless, the details were still fresh in the old Scribe’s mind.