in sunshine and in shadow
If his friend had given voice to those questions, Asterion would not have minded. To talk was to unspool his own thoughts like silver yarn, which in his mind tangled and knotted, impossible to unwork. In his mind he has no answers, only uncertainties that bob on the dark water of his subconscious, surfacing and going under.
Talk of adventure has always been a balm to that, and now is no different. It makes no matter that Eik speaks of silence and solitude; the bay’s dark gaze sharpens with interest all the same. He has never thought, before, to call his own wanderings adventures - but they were made up of the same stuff. In his mind (treacherous thing, he is finding, with its tides and little whirlpools) he had ever only been looking. What is the difference, then, between that and adventure, if the components are the same?
It makes him smile, even without an answer. It’s a smile than lingers even as Eik continues, even as Asterion dips his muzzle at boring and ugly. Especially ugly. Oh, that is a lesson he has learned as well – not all adventures were grand, good things.
He can only shrug at Eik’s next question, the description making him want to laugh for how well it echoes his own understanding. “I am not sure. We hadn’t made it that far yet.” There is a pause, then, as he considers how much he should say, how much he should keep behind his teeth. But Eik is his friend, and there may be rumors, and finally Asterion continues. “This morning, Florentine demoted Isorath and appointed me instead. There were…some incidents last night, between them and the Night King. Isorath has fled Terrastella. I don’t know what will come of it, but I do not anticipate travel for a while.” A long sigh, like he could let it go as easily as breath.
Again the conversation shifts, a current that carries them both.
“There are cliffs, not too far from here,” he answers, and a dark ear twists that direction, as though in his mind he is already walking there. But his gaze flicks back to Eik’s, and his mouth wears a grin, if a grin could be called sheepish. “They overlook the sea.” To that, he is sure, no more need be said; not when the tide sighs between them like a secret or handshake.
And then Asterion nods in kind at his friend’s words, both in certainty (now that he is certain of his place in Dusk, it is easier to be more sure of other things) and in acknowledgement of the stallion’s wry advice. “I’ve a feeling that will be on us too soon.” Never mind that spring is only just stirring, raising dandelions from bare earth, brushing fingers through their hair that carry the scent of the sea. Summer, like winter, comes on quick, and stays long enough to make you yearn for other things.
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