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They had been sitting there for hours, unmoving. The grapevine said that this would be where something of importance was going to happen. Edmund knew what, but then he was the wizard of the two. It was decided that Istvan did not need to know. Visible or not, Istvan was still chained.
Nevertheless, he’d enjoy this reprieve, endlessly tedious as it was. The sun was high, the sky bright blue, and the meadow they were overlooking was awash with blooms.
He picked up his piece of cloth that would soon be an embroidery. He had brought dark colours today, unfitting of the scene before him. Well, unless one twisted slightly to the north, a patch of black on summer green. Edmund had taken off his heavy cloak and jacket because even he couldn’t win from the sun itself.
Istvan sighed and stretched his senses… The newly familiar old fears of Edmund and naught else. His emotions seemed to have been tempered by the sun or the idyllic scene that lay before them. Istvan looked at the only human around. He stood in the sun, at the edge of a shadow. A deep sigh and a long movement and for a moment Istvan wished he were the sun and could caress the long lines of Edmund’s body as it did.
He looked down at hands, fingers pulling needle and thread in a familiar motion. Black lines on black lines and they painted a familiar scene. Blood could not rush to cheeks that were dead. Still, Istvan made haste to undo the delicate work he had just done before the subject of it saw it.
Edmund sat down next to him as he had before. “What were you planning to make with so much black?” It wasn’t pointed, and of the many, only a few stitches remained inside the cloth, not enough to show what it had just before shown.
Istvan twisted the needle in between his fingers, the short end of the thread light enough to hit his fingers and not pass through. “I was not certain yet.” He looked back over the meadow, following Edmund’s line of sight.