"We thought we did," Gabriel said, making a rueful face. "But no. The whole time, our Master was trying to encourage us to break out and make our own decisions just because we wanted to. It took a while for that to happen."
He smiled, and this time it was truer than it had been. He could still feel every drip of the holy water on his wings, gathering and trickling down his feathers, but it was also ... cleansing. The hurt never really faded, but after a time it became a dull sort of ache which felt more natural, less sharp, than before. That made it easier to bear.
If Skul hadn't told him that psychic power wasn't all that common Gabriel might have thought that Kenspeckle was empathic. The professor always seemed to know just when one injury was cleaned and to move on to the next. Maybe it was a part of his magic, and he could sense the basic nature Gabriel's pain; maybe he was just that observant. Either way, he was indeed an exceptional doctor.
"But even when we did believe that obedience and love were inclusive," Gabriel continued, "our Master always encouraged us to do the things we enjoyed. He travelled with us sometimes too, but others, He'd tell me to go ahead with Michael while He went to visit Rafe or attend some matters at Home." The smile broadened, and far from going distant, the Archangel's eyes seemed to sharpen. There was only one other time it had been necessary for him to escape the present, and he had done that in the worst of ways. It was necessary again, and the memories were still so close as to be almost as vivid as if they were happening again. He wasn't seeing through Tanith to view them; if anything, it was more like they were being brought into the now.
"Michael was posing as a tracker and a lumberjack," he said, "and I took care of the horses. There was a group of us--almost all of the blood, but not quite--who had joined a larger train. We knew there was a remnant of Eden on the west coast, so we actually had a destination, unlike most of the others in the pilgrimage. That was Michael's job, to guide them there. I was just along for the ride."
He grinned. "My favourite part was always the campfires. A lot of the people in the pilgrim train didn't know each other at all; even the ones we were escorting only knew about as much to know they were distantly related. The campfires were where we ate and talked to one another. Where you could discover the histories of dozens of other people and their families. A lot of us brought small instruments, so we'd play and sing and dance, and others knew how to tell stories. So they would. It was marvellous."
At least, it was those times they weren't attacked. Sometimes that had happened. Michael and Gabe only did as much as they needed to protect their charges, and avoided causing harm to the Native Americans. They'd only been protecting their land.
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He smiled, and this time it was truer than it had been. He could still feel every drip of the holy water on his wings, gathering and trickling down his feathers, but it was also ... cleansing. The hurt never really faded, but after a time it became a dull sort of ache which felt more natural, less sharp, than before. That made it easier to bear.
If Skul hadn't told him that psychic power wasn't all that common Gabriel might have thought that Kenspeckle was empathic. The professor always seemed to know just when one injury was cleaned and to move on to the next. Maybe it was a part of his magic, and he could sense the basic nature Gabriel's pain; maybe he was just that observant. Either way, he was indeed an exceptional doctor.
"But even when we did believe that obedience and love were inclusive," Gabriel continued, "our Master always encouraged us to do the things we enjoyed. He travelled with us sometimes too, but others, He'd tell me to go ahead with Michael while He went to visit Rafe or attend some matters at Home." The smile broadened, and far from going distant, the Archangel's eyes seemed to sharpen. There was only one other time it had been necessary for him to escape the present, and he had done that in the worst of ways. It was necessary again, and the memories were still so close as to be almost as vivid as if they were happening again. He wasn't seeing through Tanith to view them; if anything, it was more like they were being brought into the now.
"Michael was posing as a tracker and a lumberjack," he said, "and I took care of the horses. There was a group of us--almost all of the blood, but not quite--who had joined a larger train. We knew there was a remnant of Eden on the west coast, so we actually had a destination, unlike most of the others in the pilgrimage. That was Michael's job, to guide them there. I was just along for the ride."
He grinned. "My favourite part was always the campfires. A lot of the people in the pilgrim train didn't know each other at all; even the ones we were escorting only knew about as much to know they were distantly related. The campfires were where we ate and talked to one another. Where you could discover the histories of dozens of other people and their families. A lot of us brought small instruments, so we'd play and sing and dance, and others knew how to tell stories. So they would. It was marvellous."
At least, it was those times they weren't attacked. Sometimes that had happened. Michael and Gabe only did as much as they needed to protect their charges, and avoided causing harm to the Native Americans. They'd only been protecting their land.