04.10.08
In the Labyrinth.
Bothvild stood outside the door, listening to the sibilant mutterings and the eerie, whistling cries coming from the room within. The fiery red glow that marked the smith’s presence wandered back and forth across the forge as Weilend paced. Steeling herself, Bothvild opened the door.
A fiery hand that somehow avoided burning her seized her arm. “What do you want, captor’s daughter?” asked the mad smith.
Trembling, Bothvild extended a cracked ring. “M-my father sent me to give this to you, and request that you repair it.” The princess flinched as Weilend snatched it from her fingers.
A strange light sparked in Weilend’s eyes, almost a light of recognition. Then he blinked, and it was gone. Unsure, Bothvild backed up.
Weilend chuckled. “Are you afraid of me, captor’s daughter?”
Bothvild swallowed, trying to force some cooperation from her dry tongue. “My name is Bothvild.”
“I don’t really care.” Weilend walked away from her, turning the ring over in his hand. “Get me out of here, and you might deserve a name.”
“I can’t.”
A glare from eyes that crackle with genuine flames is very unnerving. “Are you your father’s daughter?” He snapped the broken ring in two.
Bothvild fled.
She collected herself halfway down the first bend. Am I my father’s daughter?
In the back of her mind, an idea began to form.
