to feel that we exist, even though in pain
♠︎ ♕ ♠︎
“We’re a rare breed,” he answers with a wink, “truly the city’s upper crust. Unafraid to go against the grain.” Now he is dangerously near to babbling, but at least she’d laughed; that was enough for him.
Better yet is the smile that reshapes her face then, a change like the sun emerging from the line of the coast, and August has never been so glad to have changed his mind. He continues watching her as she walks, noting her stiffness, the way her sweat has cooled and left only salt behind. He recognizes the signs of a hard run abandoned on a cold morning, and wonders if their routes had ever crossed.
August is grudgingly considering his own soreness - an ache he hopes will vanish before the evening’s work - when she catches his eye, a look he meets with another steady smile.
“Never tell them so,” he says breezily, following his own tracks back down to the markets. “Their egos need no inflating.” But of course she is right - they are an interesting band, a group of misfits like Robin Hood’s merry men, only not nearly so moral and far more fond of luxury. He makes no effort to disguise his fondness for them. At her next words he casts her a glance, one golden brow raised. “I try never to advise people what they should do, when it’s something as harmless as where they spend their time. But I would be honored to play guide - it’s one of my favorite parts of the city.”
It is not a long return - easy enough to follow the street back downhill, until the bare canopies of old oaks and ashes and the red brick buildings no longer block the view of the lower city. It spreads below them in the soft dawn light like a town out of a picture-book and for a moment he stands still, struck by it the way he is every morning, the gulls’ chatter as they wake echoing in his ears.
When he follows her gaze out to the bay, his eyes snag only for a moment on the stalls and brightly colored canopies of the market, glowing beneath the first sunlight, before rising to the forest of masts. As always, something in his heart pangs at the sight of them, pain and promise and want, and he drinks in the rich blues of the winter sea.
He is almost lost enough in it that he misses her question, but his near ear flicks toward her, and his attention follows (though he must drag his eyes away from those ships and the adventure they promise). Now his smile is softer, but no less proud. “My whole life,” August answers, “and yet every day I discover something new. Come - I will introduce you to Talan, and perhaps a few other friends of mine.” The baker and the dragons would all be surprised to see him again, but happy, too.
Once again he begins descending toward them, graceful despite the dull throb of his shoulder. But his attention lingers on his companion, and as the ground levels again and the buildings give way to stalls and alleys he turns his silver eyes back to her. “I’ve met many strangers to Denocte, but most are only passing through - how did you decide to make us your home, Boudika?”
@boudika | may as well go all in on his new reputation haha
