Chopping Wood for Food

Aulus returned to hitting the axe on the wood, letting the advice settle with the usual rhythm he worked in. He pictured giving Octavia compliments and niceties. His brow furrowed - even in the safety of his mind, where he did not feel weak beside her, he hesitated over the words. For years, he'd averted his eyes, replied with a soldier's brevity, and curled within himself at her glance. Jokes about the trenches were the longest lines he'd strung together. He could not speak of such things since he returned to the society of the Tevint capital.

Finding his thoughts slick with double-edged barbs, Aulus tried again to think of the kind words Jareth suggested.

Octavia was… selfish. But… not the word. Her selfishness, or whatever it was, thrilled him like a challenge. It made him feel like he bled out. His heart throbbed over it. He felt drawn to it the more he looked away. He bent towards her, slowly. She strutted and he followed with the horse, and when he watched how others looked at her, he felt proud? When her dress matched her horse, the beauty of it held a sinister power, as if the control of color could extend itself forth and swallow all around her. But how to put all that into but a word? The only word for it Aulus knew was ‘Octavia.’

Aulus turned to Jareth, You are good with words to put it so well, he paused, already ashamed at the simplicity of his dialogue. How do you find the right words? Particularly, for these compliments? I may need to practice. I am used to rougher ways of speaking. I am ugly with my words, but it always felt good to be ugly when we were fighting.