Oathtaker

Basha had changed some since he’d last seen her, although she still looked like she was in her late twenties or so. As an Oathtaker, she’d held her physical age for all the years Dixon had known her. But she seemed to have aged in some other way—spiritually perhaps, or maybe emotionally. It was as though her cares were too burdensome.

Her traditionally slim athletic build was somewhat rounder than when he’d last seen her. She wore her hair as always, cut straight around, just below her ears. It glittered like gold. Notwithstanding a difference in her countenance from days gone by, some overall sadness, her eyes still shone with the same genuineness and friendliness that he remembered from the past.

She looked him fully in the eyes. “Dixon, it is so very good to see you.” Her voice was low, soft and comforting, like the sound of an old favored melody.

A waiter moved over Dixon’s shoulder, filling his wine glass for the first course. Another followed behind with a crystal pitcher, to fill his water glass.

As the Oathtaker allowed the wait staff room to maneuver, his gaze held Basha’s. He lifted his glass and tasted. Though not a great wine enthusiast, he could appreciate a good vintage at least as well as most.

“It does my heart good to see you, Basha. What has it been? Four? Five years?”

“Nearly five.”

He looked down at the table, as did she. She cleared her throat, then looked back up, again meeting his eyes.

“Tell me, have you found the pain lessen any?”

She shrugged, then blinked repeatedly, as though holding tears at bay. “Some. Not entirely.” She smiled weakly.

“That has been my experience as well.” He raised his brow. “Even after the years that have passed, there just are no words, are there? I am so very sorry.”