Malik was back within the fort walls in twenty minutes, a small pouch of dates in hand and exhilaration threatening to burst his chest wide open. The breath that hissed through his nose held a tremor as he fought to keep his smile a wry twist of his lips rather than a dazzling and uninhibited grin. He had not necessarily been accepted, but he had been believed. The only thing he worried for now was the possibility of the Apple becoming renowned as a healing artefact, and for Masyaf to be flooded with the sick and elderly, vying for its powers and calling him greedy and filthy when he denied them. The Piece of Eden must not become common knowledge. It should not even be here. It should be destroyed. It should be far away. It should be gone and never come back.
Despite his fears on what could happen now that he had revealed his 'magically restored' arm, Malik still held a spring in his step when he knocked twice on Maria's door and entered.
Laying upon her bed Maria seemed the same as he had left her, however the rage in her eyes had softened, a small smile pushing to her cheeks to a rosy colour, something he had not seen before on her skin and refreshing. It gave her life where before her skin had appeared dead next to her black hair. In that moment she was almost beautiful, and certainly striking. Malik's eyes fell to what, or rather whom, she was smiling at. By her bed sat Altaïr, Yusef sitting in his lap and slapping his belt with the palm of his hand as a makeshift drum, and then grasping at the different layers with his stubby fingers, skin surprisingly pale when he was surrounded by swathes of dark fabric and the deep brown of leather. Turning his head towards Malik, Altaïr's smile transformed for the modest, fatherly twist of his lips into something slightly and yet at the same time magnificently different. The love changed.
With a brief smile – ever so brief, because Maria was just there and despite their strange agreement Malik never truly felt at ease with Altaïr when Maria was there with them, and sometimes worried himself in thinking of the woman, and whether she harboured for him any cold feelings – Malik tore his eyes from those of an odd, amber colouring and turned to the woman on the bed, stepping forwards and passing to her the bag of dates she had requested. She accepted it with a small murmur of thanks, eyes hardly fluttering away from her child, and the child's father, who sat patiently be her side. Yusef, trying to worm his way under the plated belt, gave a whine of frustration bordering on tears, and, with a breathy voice that betrayed a small amount of fear, Maria said something swiftly in French, so fast that it flew right over Malik's head. Obviously understanding, Altaïr took his son's hand away from the belt gently, until the boy rocked in place, face reddening with a forced sob. Crocodile tears began to fall, invisible and non-existent. With a whine Yusef fell into a tantrum.
More swift French, and Malik surmised that it must be their primary language of discussion, and that he had never been close enough to hear them speak when they were speaking as a family before.
“Malik, could we perhaps talk alone?” The change in language was enough to startle Malik out of his musings. Altaïr was looking at him expectantly as Maria indulged herself with a date. Before Malik could work out a 'yes' Altaïr was handing Yusef to Maria, who screamed loudly, and then quietened to a upset and stuffy murmur when he was given a rag to play with. A look was once again thrown in his direction, first by Maria who held within her eyes nothing of warmth, but a curiosity and something else he could not quite put his finger on, and then by Altaïr, whose look was obviously hungry.
FILL [6.b/6]
Despite his fears on what could happen now that he had revealed his 'magically restored' arm, Malik still held a spring in his step when he knocked twice on Maria's door and entered.
Laying upon her bed Maria seemed the same as he had left her, however the rage in her eyes had softened, a small smile pushing to her cheeks to a rosy colour, something he had not seen before on her skin and refreshing. It gave her life where before her skin had appeared dead next to her black hair. In that moment she was almost beautiful, and certainly striking. Malik's eyes fell to what, or rather whom, she was smiling at. By her bed sat Altaïr, Yusef sitting in his lap and slapping his belt with the palm of his hand as a makeshift drum, and then grasping at the different layers with his stubby fingers, skin surprisingly pale when he was surrounded by swathes of dark fabric and the deep brown of leather. Turning his head towards Malik, Altaïr's smile transformed for the modest, fatherly twist of his lips into something slightly and yet at the same time magnificently different. The love changed.
With a brief smile – ever so brief, because Maria was just there and despite their strange agreement Malik never truly felt at ease with Altaïr when Maria was there with them, and sometimes worried himself in thinking of the woman, and whether she harboured for him any cold feelings – Malik tore his eyes from those of an odd, amber colouring and turned to the woman on the bed, stepping forwards and passing to her the bag of dates she had requested. She accepted it with a small murmur of thanks, eyes hardly fluttering away from her child, and the child's father, who sat patiently be her side. Yusef, trying to worm his way under the plated belt, gave a whine of frustration bordering on tears, and, with a breathy voice that betrayed a small amount of fear, Maria said something swiftly in French, so fast that it flew right over Malik's head. Obviously understanding, Altaïr took his son's hand away from the belt gently, until the boy rocked in place, face reddening with a forced sob. Crocodile tears began to fall, invisible and non-existent. With a whine Yusef fell into a tantrum.
More swift French, and Malik surmised that it must be their primary language of discussion, and that he had never been close enough to hear them speak when they were speaking as a family before.
“Malik, could we perhaps talk alone?” The change in language was enough to startle Malik out of his musings. Altaïr was looking at him expectantly as Maria indulged herself with a date. Before Malik could work out a 'yes' Altaïr was handing Yusef to Maria, who screamed loudly, and then quietened to a upset and stuffy murmur when he was given a rag to play with. A look was once again thrown in his direction, first by Maria who held within her eyes nothing of warmth, but a curiosity and something else he could not quite put his finger on, and then by Altaïr, whose look was obviously hungry.