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They spoke of him with sharp tongues and Amos became possessive. She was never included in their talks of harsh hatred for her master, nor did she make efforts to sit near and join them. Wicked winds whipped wildly high above, keeping the winter out and making the fire wave to the song of the gale. It was not only her newfound companions who dreamed of bards and lyres. Why search for music when it was already freely given?
Their coup would begin in the morning. Nerves were wound tighter than Amos’ bowstring, yet hers alone were calm. Rebellion was not the momentous changing of fates her fellows believed it was. She had witnessed so many and none succeeded, often due to her jealous intervention to halt her master’s loving hand. The tower could not be sundered. Every soul beneath its gaze must know this. They only pined for love like Amos did.
He loved all of his subjects, even these few full of treachery and treason. The obedient held his favor and his kindness. The disobedient were selfish- slovenly stretching out their hands for her master’s grace and mercy. Amos could only watch in envious rapture as he bestowed an outpouring of his love to soothe their perverse pining. Such fortunate souls were subsumed by wind with her master’s face as their final sight.
Yet Amos could not hate any of them. They were merely finding her fervent wish. Greed was so very forgivable when she yearned for their reward more than anything. After decades of obedience, Amos had finally fallen to her self-centered longing. He gave his love so freely to all except his first and foremost follower. Perhaps it was simply because she never sought it as ardently as these apostates, as her want to worship was never assuaged. Even now in the height of her hubris, she still only acted in hopes of attaining his undivided affection.
Her master was too magnanimous. His love was too generously granted. It was only to her that he cultivated his cruelty. Amos could not exist in absence any longer, to the point of abandoning her life. So she sharpened the spine of her arrow, diligent and devoted as she was in all endeavors meant for him. Her attack would not be half-hearted in the morn. Her string would sing with sincerity, of her profound passion.
Then he would turn to her with understanding in his eyes at last. The mortal woman who made him admit there could be none other with such depth of desire and longing for his love. Amos would make him look at her alone.