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Sparrow’s silences are like a mirror, Theresa knows. What people perceive in them is often a reflection of their own minds.
“I mean, I know you probably can talk,” Hammer says, sitting there atop the Heroes’ Tower, her titular weapon resting behind her. Sparrow is staring at the sunset, one hand resting atop the dog’s head. “I’ve heard you grunt and stuff in battle, and you whistle, so I’m pretty sure it’s not that your vocal chords are all chopped up or something. Is it? No, it isn’t. So I just don’t get it, then. Why not talk? You don’t even have to talk as much as I do. I don’t suppose anyone really talks as much as I do. But just a little conversation, that’d be nice. Even if it’s just to stick up for something every once in a while. Not that you need to talk to do that, I know – you’ve done it often enough anyway. But there’s something to be said for a little variety. Maybe the next time we come across a slew of bandits you can just shout at them to push off. I wonder how they’d take it? Bet they’d be surprised.”
Sparrow shrugs. Hammer does not seem overtly put out.
“Tell you what. I will give you…” she pauses, and reaches into the pouch of one pocket. “…twenty gold coins if you say just four words to me. Come on. That’s five gold coins per word. I think that’s a fair deal. Any four words, even if they’re just curses. But they’ve got to be different words. No doubling up.”
Hammer waits, and though the tone of the conversation had been light, there is a tense sort of expectation that build up in the air as Sparrow looks at the coins, and then looks at Hammer’s face.
“I'll have to decline,” Sparrow says, in a voice that is a little rough and quiet from disuse.
“Oh, come on! Twenty whole c – oh,” Hammer realizes.
Then she bursts into laughter, slapping Sparrow on the shoulder. It’s almost enough to disguise the rising colour in her cheeks.
“You’ve got a nice voice, you should use it more often! It suits you! Or, well, it would suit you if it wasn’t so quiet. Probably because you don’t use it enough. But then again, quiet voice, quiet person. I guess it goes together…”
Hammer carries on, and scarcely seems to notice when her friend’s eyes turn back towards the horizon, and the faint trace of mirth drifts away, and Sparrow’s expression goes carefully blank once more.
Sparrow’s silences are like a mirror, Theresa knows.
Sometimes, unexpectedly, they crack.