The juxtaposition was a kind one; something more than he deserved, in truth.
A new home and a new friend, two things that stallion had never before been able to claim on their own, let alone at the same time. Yet, here he was, the recipient of what would have seemed like an impossibility mere moments ago. First, he had heard Kaladin's sigh, though at the moment, he had mistook the whisper of sound to be that of the Night, possibly even that of Caligo welcoming one of her children home. Briefly, the horned stag thought back to his time upon the mountain temple that served as holy house for each of Novus' deities, and the woman he had met there, the woman whose scorn he wore with proud.
Rhoswen, an old name for elder tongues and priests, for ancient tomes and forgotten slabs of marble. She had worn it well, with her scarlet hair and her pointed glances, sharp as daggers and keen as raptors. He had found her beautiful, he had found her terrible, and as a result, he had wanted to break her. His own jealousy had writhed and lashed within his grip, and he had not leashed it; no, he had wielded it in his words, let it leak poison into his mannerisms, let it settle over him like a cloak on a cool night.
Camdis regretted it, like he regretted nearly everything else, but he would not take it back if given the chance. He would rather look a cruel fool than a kindly weakling.
Then, as Kaladin approached him, Camdis' own name upon the honeyed stallion's lips, the red stained man held back his delighted gasp, though it could not stop the happy glimmer in his silvery eyes. Brows quirked as his comrade stopped his own words then smoothly interjected a different phrase, as if trying to erase what may have been a slip-up from existence. A mort- ? Wondered the bay healer, creating a mental note to peruse a dictionary later and list out all of the words that started with "mort," if not for curiosity's sake, but for the possibility that it would offer some insight into the sarcastic male's past.
"Kaladin," Came the brute's baritone greeting, a nod and an ear tilted toward his companion, "The feeling is mutual, though I never pegged you as scared of the dark." The grin that toyed with the bay's lips was teasing, but then all but dropped from his features as he motioned toward the shadowy fortress before them, "Have you come to join us? Caligo would be proud to host you as a follower, I'd think."
A new home and a new friend, two things that stallion had never before been able to claim on their own, let alone at the same time. Yet, here he was, the recipient of what would have seemed like an impossibility mere moments ago. First, he had heard Kaladin's sigh, though at the moment, he had mistook the whisper of sound to be that of the Night, possibly even that of Caligo welcoming one of her children home. Briefly, the horned stag thought back to his time upon the mountain temple that served as holy house for each of Novus' deities, and the woman he had met there, the woman whose scorn he wore with proud.
Rhoswen, an old name for elder tongues and priests, for ancient tomes and forgotten slabs of marble. She had worn it well, with her scarlet hair and her pointed glances, sharp as daggers and keen as raptors. He had found her beautiful, he had found her terrible, and as a result, he had wanted to break her. His own jealousy had writhed and lashed within his grip, and he had not leashed it; no, he had wielded it in his words, let it leak poison into his mannerisms, let it settle over him like a cloak on a cool night.
Camdis regretted it, like he regretted nearly everything else, but he would not take it back if given the chance. He would rather look a cruel fool than a kindly weakling.
Then, as Kaladin approached him, Camdis' own name upon the honeyed stallion's lips, the red stained man held back his delighted gasp, though it could not stop the happy glimmer in his silvery eyes. Brows quirked as his comrade stopped his own words then smoothly interjected a different phrase, as if trying to erase what may have been a slip-up from existence. A mort- ? Wondered the bay healer, creating a mental note to peruse a dictionary later and list out all of the words that started with "mort," if not for curiosity's sake, but for the possibility that it would offer some insight into the sarcastic male's past.
"Kaladin," Came the brute's baritone greeting, a nod and an ear tilted toward his companion, "The feeling is mutual, though I never pegged you as scared of the dark." The grin that toyed with the bay's lips was teasing, but then all but dropped from his features as he motioned toward the shadowy fortress before them, "Have you come to join us? Caligo would be proud to host you as a follower, I'd think."
@Kaladin I LOVE HIMMMMM PLEASE KALADIN THREADS FOREVER
