Diarmhid tipped the small glass bottle of goats' milk into the baby's mouth. He watched her wide, sky-blue eyes dart back and forth, taking in the world. He felt restless, strange. He wasn't exactly experienced at taking care of children. Then again, if he didn't, who would? The baby would be left to die, or else it would be taken in by some dim-witted farming family, he surmised.
Which led him to the question: Why hadn't he left the baby to die? He told himself the answer quickly; almost too quickly: Because she's Devrah's child. She'll be a fighter. I can't let that potential go to waste. But that wasn't it - at least not the whole picture. He knew on a deeper level that he wanted to have a chance to fix where he percieved he had failed in raising Devrah.
Looking at the now-empty milk bottle with a slight smirk, he took it away and sat her down on the grass. He drew a small knife from his boot and wrapped the infant's fingers carefully around its hilt.
"I want you to get used to holding that, girl." he said in a low voice. He wouldn't call her Niamh, like the paper said. Furthermore, he thought with a dark grin, he certainly wouldn't "Find Windslasher". He shook his head slowly. Niamh. Of all the people in the world to name her child after, why had Devrah chosen her weak-minded mother? Perhaps it was an irony; maybe Devrah had given her that name to remind her of what would happen if the child wasn't pushed to her limits.
"Ura Ngh Glubglub," the tiny girl pronounced cheerfully, dropping his little knife on the ground. She stretched her hands out and came back with a tiny blue flower the same color as the curls of hair on her head. "Glunf!" she said happily, and put the flower in her mouth.
Diarmhid growled and tore the flwoer away, tossing it to the ground. He picked up the knife and put it in her hand again, this time watching her carefully. Once or twice, she waved it around a little, mesmerized briefly by the shine of its blade, but she dropped it again.
Shaking his head with a small amount of disgust, Diarmhid tucked the knife back into its place in his boot. Maybe it was too early. Grunting, he picked the girl up onto his shoulder and began walking. He was always sure to stay on the road, never settling in one place. He had always been this way since the orc attack, and it had served him well.
Transcendence
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