When I was young, I could read without them.  Then I turned ten and I was caught borrowing Old Master Fowler’s glass once too often.  No worries, of course.  Young folk often had a little trouble in their teens and needed lenses to read.  At RoyEl, they came fairly cheaply, and I thought I looked like a proper scholar.  I got the ones with pink stones in the armature.  Life went on.

New lenses became a way to mark years.  I knew that there would always be replacement, and it was no real trouble.  I had more important things to do, like earning my certificate and applying for masters.  I invested in mirrored dwarf-craft lamps.  I went on with living.  I climbed outdoors and hung from rock-faces with glass tied firmly to my face.

I had dreams and goals, and I accomplished every last one.  Even the hardest!  Regular faculty… full time affiliation… dwarf-run, even!  I had start-up funds and my own rooms to own.  I dreamed of openings for my Nallo in geology and celebrated by going for my next set of lenses.

There was no next set.  

It sounds now like I hadn’t been told.  I had been, and years ago now.  “May” and “might” were in the explanation, so I assumed that I’d be in whatever percentage didn’t end in blindness.  I was, in a word, unscientific about it.  There’s a study somewhere in that.  I wrote up an abstract before this opportunity came to me.  I took it, and I didn’t let myself think that it was partly to see Dol Amroth before I can’t ever see Dol Amroth.  It was mostly to keep an eye on Nallo.  

Interesting phrase, “to keep an eye on.”  I wonder if it sounds as odd to other blind people.

Did I just refer to myself as blind?  Not yet I’m not.  I can see more than I can’t see, and after dark, Nallo’s there.  I hope there aren’t any other red-wearing men around.  I worry that one day, I’ll grab the wrong one.  

I can’t read the book I just took off the shelf, but I can still see that it’s bound with leather and gold.  It’s illustrated.  That’s probably a dragon.  Or perhaps a griffin.  Or…

The hinge resists a little when I close the volume.  My fingers find the gap where it goes, and I realize that I’ve been doing it this way for a while now.  My feet don’t lift like they used to, and my staff… I carry it now like I’m an old woman who needs it.  The day I step out into is muted into moonlight, but I hear the crier calling mid-day.  My gut is twisting and…. pah!  I’m scanning the crowd for red like a clinging ladyfriend.

Nallo is my last set of lenses, and soon, he’ll be gone too.  

I’d best interview a few more locals before supper.


About celeveren

If you're here, you know why.
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1 Response to Moonshadow

  1. Hallowisp says:

    I saw the title “Moonshadow” and immediately knew what this would be about. So sad. Poor Tinuvist. ):

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