The grey man and the blue-eyed girl make an odd pair. Not at all complementary, except for how comfortable they are with few words to wreck the windsong between them. Eik does not ponder her eyes, or her story. Instead he tries to listen to the warm breeze the same way he listens to thoughts, but it is not nearly so easy. He can only pick up generalities-- no recent deaths nearby-- probably good weather tonight-- You could spend a lifetime listening, and still only glean at the wind's secrets.
When he first came here the desert seemed brutally cruel with its heat and its spikes, its mirages and predators. The self-loathing in him was drawn to that cruelty. But as the seasons passed and Eik became familiar with the desert, as familiar as any foreign-born could be in a few short years, he learned the desert was not cruel. Of course, it was not kind either. It was just indifferent.
Eik tries to mimic the apathetic desert air between them, but he was not made for not feeling. So when she says "my father," he snorts softly. He does not share with her that if he had a daughter, she'd never be left to cross the Mors alone. He does not say anything at all to explain his reaction. It just becomes another indecipherable sound on the wind.
(oh but you did have a daughter once,
and she's dead now, so.
all you know about fatherhood is loss,,
or lost)
The magic slips in and out of his soul, and when it leaves he feels a terrible emptiness, far vaster than any he's felt before-- and we are familiar with emptiness. He begins to feel a little desperate, a little anxious he won't make it to the Vitae. He knows conversation is a waste of breath, but it keeps him focused on something other than panic. "What will you do," his breathing is heavy and every step feels leaden. "When you find him." Such is his determination, if he were to fall his legs would continue to move, step by step, long after the heart stopped beating.
@
Time makes fools of us all
