He would start by finding some common ground: Aradryan’s departure.
“I am sorry that Aradryan has left us again,” he said, meaning it sincerely. “I had hoped that I could have persuaded him to join me on the Path of the Artist. Perhaps we might have rekindled something of what we shared on the Path of Dreaming.”
Thirianna gave a flick of her hair, a momentary gesture of annoyance.
“What is so wrong with that?” Korlandril asked.
“It was not for Aradryan’s benefit that you wished,” said Thirianna, sitting opposite the sculptor. “As ever, it was because you want him to become an artist, not because it would be the best thing for him.”
“He is directionless and lonely,” argued Korlandril. “I thought that if he could learn to see the universe as I do, with the eyes of the Artist, he might learn to appreciate what the craftworld has to offer him.”
“You are still annoyed that he didn’t like your sculpture!” Thirianna was half-amused and half-scornful. She sighed in exasperation. “You think that if he learnt to ‘see’ things the proper way he would appreciate your genius all the better. You think his criticisms are invalid simply because he has not shared the same education as you.”
“Perhaps that is the case,” Korlandril said in a conciliatory tone, realising he had chosen the wrong tack. “I do not want us to be divided by Aradryan’s absence. He will return one day, of that I am sure. We have both coped without him, and we will do so again. If we stay close to each other, that is.”
“Your friendship has been important to me,” said Thirianna, warming Korlandril’s hopes. He pressed on.
“I have a new piece of sculpture in mind, something very different from my previous works,” he announced.
“That is good to hear. I think that if you can find something to occupy your mind, you will dwell less on the situation with Aradryan.”
“Yes, that is very true! I’m going to delve into portraiture. A sculptural testament to devotion, in fact.”
“Sounds intriguing,” said Thirianna. “Perhaps something a little more grounded in reality would be good for your development.”
“Let us not get too carried away,” said Korlandril with a smile. “I think there may be some abstract elements incorporated into the design. After all, how does one truly replicate love and companionship in features alone?”
“I am surprised. I understand if you do not wish to tell me, but what inspires such a piece of work?”
Korlandril thought she was being coy for a moment, but a quick reading of her expression confirmed that she had not the slightest idea that she was to be the subject. That serpent in Korlandril’s gut, hissing with annoyance, uncoiled itself. What had been the point of all of his overtures? He had not been obvious in his affections, but neither had he been too subtle in his intent. Was she playing some game with him, wanting him to say aloud what they both understood to be true?
“You are my inspiration,” Korlandril said quietly, eyes fixed on Thirianna. “It is you that I wish to fashion as a likeness of dedication and ardour.”
Thirianna blinked, and then blinked again. Her eyebrows rose in shock.
“I… You…” She looked away. “I do not think that is warranted.”
“Warranted? It is an expression of my feelings, there is nothing that needs warranting other than to visualise my desires and dreams. You are my desire and a dream.”
Thirianna did not reply. She stood and took a couple of paces away before turning to face Korlandril, her face serious.
“This is not a good idea, my friend,” she said gently. “I do appreciate the sentiment, and perhaps some time ago I would not only be flattered but I would be delighted.”
The serpent sank its fangs into Korlandril’s heart.
“But not now?” he asked, hesitant, scared of the answer.
She shook her head.
“Aradryan’s arrival and departure have made me realise something that has been
“I am sorry that Aradryan has left us again,” he said, meaning it sincerely. “I had hoped that I could have persuaded him to join me on the Path of the Artist. Perhaps we might have rekindled something of what we shared on the Path of Dreaming.”
Thirianna gave a flick of her hair, a momentary gesture of annoyance.
“What is so wrong with that?” Korlandril asked.
“It was not for Aradryan’s benefit that you wished,” said Thirianna, sitting opposite the sculptor. “As ever, it was because you want him to become an artist, not because it would be the best thing for him.”
“He is directionless and lonely,” argued Korlandril. “I thought that if he could learn to see the universe as I do, with the eyes of the Artist, he might learn to appreciate what the craftworld has to offer him.”
“You are still annoyed that he didn’t like your sculpture!” Thirianna was half-amused and half-scornful. She sighed in exasperation. “You think that if he learnt to ‘see’ things the proper way he would appreciate your genius all the better. You think his criticisms are invalid simply because he has not shared the same education as you.”
“Perhaps that is the case,” Korlandril said in a conciliatory tone, realising he had chosen the wrong tack. “I do not want us to be divided by Aradryan’s absence. He will return one day, of that I am sure. We have both coped without him, and we will do so again. If we stay close to each other, that is.”
“Your friendship has been important to me,” said Thirianna, warming Korlandril’s hopes. He pressed on.
“I have a new piece of sculpture in mind, something very different from my previous works,” he announced.
“That is good to hear. I think that if you can find something to occupy your mind, you will dwell less on the situation with Aradryan.”
“Yes, that is very true! I’m going to delve into portraiture. A sculptural testament to devotion, in fact.”
“Sounds intriguing,” said Thirianna. “Perhaps something a little more grounded in reality would be good for your development.”
“Let us not get too carried away,” said Korlandril with a smile. “I think there may be some abstract elements incorporated into the design. After all, how does one truly replicate love and companionship in features alone?”
“I am surprised. I understand if you do not wish to tell me, but what inspires such a piece of work?”
Korlandril thought she was being coy for a moment, but a quick reading of her expression confirmed that she had not the slightest idea that she was to be the subject. That serpent in Korlandril’s gut, hissing with annoyance, uncoiled itself. What had been the point of all of his overtures? He had not been obvious in his affections, but neither had he been too subtle in his intent. Was she playing some game with him, wanting him to say aloud what they both understood to be true?
“You are my inspiration,” Korlandril said quietly, eyes fixed on Thirianna. “It is you that I wish to fashion as a likeness of dedication and ardour.”
Thirianna blinked, and then blinked again. Her eyebrows rose in shock.
“I… You…” She looked away. “I do not think that is warranted.”
“Warranted? It is an expression of my feelings, there is nothing that needs warranting other than to visualise my desires and dreams. You are my desire and a dream.”
Thirianna did not reply. She stood and took a couple of paces away before turning to face Korlandril, her face serious.
“This is not a good idea, my friend,” she said gently. “I do appreciate the sentiment, and perhaps some time ago I would not only be flattered but I would be delighted.”
The serpent sank its fangs into Korlandril’s heart.
“But not now?” he asked, hesitant, scared of the answer.
She shook her head.
“Aradryan’s arrival and departure have made me realise something that has been
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