A fool's reaction

Lucrezia Iunia Bruta; Somewhen; Somewhere. Unworthy.

Accidia was simply sloth hidden behind sadness and idleness, easily uprooted with simple action and duty.

It was not worthy of a daughter of the Urbe, of the long family of which I was part off, since the first consul, the first Tyrant slayer, and of my oaths.

It was a vice, something that went against the idea of negotium and otium, of betterment of oneself either through work or by learning.

But it was also what I felt at that moment.

The knowledge that there were others like me, and that they didn’t find a way back to their own world, it filled me with a different kind of dread than the one I was used to.

Not the one I had before battle, before I fought against the wannabe Tyrant in Graecia.

It was a heavy kind of dread, that made it hard to think without sinking.

“How did you do it, Peregrino?” I asked, weary and weighted, to the Peregrino.

He was putting a strange cream on the small bear and, without turning, he answered my question with his own question: “If I don’t have an object for the question, I cannot answer. Could you be clearer?”

He wanted clearer?
“How do you not feel the weight of those you left behind? Why do you remain here, wallowing, not using your gifts for those deserving but on animals?” I wanted answers, I wanted a road, and I bit back some of my pride to get those answers.

If only one to not walk on.

But the Peregrino didn’t answer, not immediately.

His eyes were scrunched up, and a frown was now on his face, along with a few taps from his foot.

But no words came out of his mouth.

I waited, though. I could only wait, after all.

“I do feel the weight.” He finally answered, his tone grave: “But wallowing in it, or jumping headfirst into the unknown to die is not something they would want from me.”

“How do you know that? How are you so sure of it?” My family would not have wanted that, they would have wanted for me to try regaining my lost honour and do my duty.

At least I was sure so, Cicero thought so, and so did my cousin, even if Mother’s tears were almost enough to sway me to just let the Tyrant do what he wanted.

“Look. My culture is different from yours, right? And I also have my own oaths, which were both for people, as you unfortunately are, and animals. I swore the Hyppocratic oath, but it was also for animals, and mostly animals. If someone gets sick? Will take care of them, but the animals also matter. And me going on a merry adventure without a plan? Would just make me a dead veterinarian, while making this world lose the knowledge I have, and my newfound…abilities.”

What a coward, I would have liked to say.

But going around without a plan, alone, would be asking for trouble, so I heard his answer.

And asked for more, to prepare and understand.

“How far is the next polis, then? How far so, when I am healed, I may go there.”

He grunted, annoyed for some reason at my last word, despite him being that, but, after a long sigh, he turned fully towards me and gave his answer, his tone calm like a frozen lake: “When I asked to Grandma, she answered that I would have to do roughly two hundred kilometres at foot to reach the next big city, or more than a thousand to reach the most likely city where to get answer, and it’s a big maybe at that. That’s without going to how, unlike where we are, it seems that there is a lot of wars going on, which means it’s even more dangerous for me, being squishy and all. Any other foolish questions?”

This made me angry.

This flippancy, this tiredness, regardless it was how I myself felt, this sense of surrender, this unwillingness to do anything.

The obstacles may be there, and he may not be someone blessed by the Gods like me, but it was still infuriating in a deep way.

But I bit my lip at that, and didn’t speak those words out loud.

“Look.” He suddenly spoke, his tone cold and collected: “I have kind of made my peace with what has happened. I am still mourning, but it would be a disservice to my family and the friends I left behind, along with those I have found here.”

He then moved closer to me, his hands tightening the ropes that kept my broken limbs aloft: “Maybe there is a way, or maybe it’s just rambling of hope. But it’s not easy, and I do not wish to take it. Maybe you should think about it as well, the peace here is a good bargain after all.”

That, that phrase made me snap.

“I had duties!” I shouted suddenly, glaring at him hatefully, the first full emotion I felt since I crashed here: “I had a family to which I had sworn to protect, and which had traditions that I had sworn to follow! Not to stay here, rotting, somewhere in some mountains!”
“Then after you heal, go.” He rebutted drily, not caring about my anger, like I was a child, like what I said wasn’t important: “I am helping you because it’s the right thing to do, but I will not keep you prisoner here, if you do not want to be.”

He did not care.

He just continued his work, and I felt the need to bite him, to tear my hair.

It was childish, I knew.

But I still felt the need.

So, I let him do his work.

And I thought of home, of the marble and the wood, of the songs and dances, and of the tyrant who wanted to return to a time where the proud preyed on the innocent and the rightful.

The Peregrino may remain here, but I could not.

I could not.

And I would feel only scorn for him, and in equal parts, envy.