Greatwater Lake Krýo

The young man gazed pointedly at her question. He felt his chest tighten. The clench of his jaw revealed more than he cared to. She had asked what Arsenio’s blood had given him, that he might bring this topic to their polite discussion. For all his fear of filth, Antigone had a knack for mucking up his conversations. 

Now he sat in silence while her inquiry hung upon the air, accompanied only by the sound of birds and lakeside insects. 

What had Arsenio’s blood brought to Antigone? 

Nothing… He sunk deeper into the waters. The red hood wished that he could wash himself of memory, of recollecting haunting images of his perfect father and his sweet-souled mother. Most would consider the childhood he’d had to be just shy of perfect. To disagree would have been ungrateful of him, and yet… 

Different languages, I suppose. 

Antigone fidgeted in the tangling weeds beneath the water. They clutched at him with long supple fingers. The hairs along his neck rose with discomfort. This was not like river water. Things could stagnate in the lake, fester and grow. 

When Fiamma mentioned the meaning of her name, his eyes dug into her. She was called fire while wearing the cool sturdy colors of the mountain stone. What then would inspire such a name? This woman did not burn before him. She moved much like the water - gentle, fluid, graceful. 

Why? he asked her in a sharp voice. Why fire for your name?