is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
It was what they knew could bring damage to them, and in a mixed situation, one did not often know right off what hazards would come from which side. In a fight, Lasairian could not hope to match against the higher tiers of his community; but in the cold, he could out-weather them all. The worst of their fatal flaws, but they had more than that on a situational basis. The other side had flaws of their own, though most of that was a little more shrouded from him due to sheer inexperience of what that culture actually was.
His father had not been able to be raised among others of his kind, but that was a story of it's own, and not all that prominent in Lasairian's. Yet the other side of it did open up the reason why Lasairian felt so uneasy with the winter and all that came with it. He was aware it couldn't harm him unless more extreme than this, but that did not erase how he had been raised, and that deep down unease at the mere thought of the cold wrapping icy fingers around him. He had been adjusting as well as possible under these conditions, but it was still strange to reflect upon.
Not as bad as all the thoughts of what he had left behind and why, but that was something that cut and settled deep. Something that he could not escape, even if the weather was perfectly warm and bright. It twisted itself up at his insides, but that was precisely why Lasairian needed to refocus himself. He could bury himself in seeking out knowledge, of obtaining magic once more. Losing it was like losing a limb, and forgetting it was no longer there at times. Thinking that he could flex it if he wanted to, but having it hit him -- and hard -- when it did nothing at all.
He wondered if it was perhaps because of leaving, of some self sabotage, that he was doing it to himself on some deeper level that he couldn't shake away. Hindering himself, blocking that part of himself off, because maybe that was what he felt he deserved. Lasairian couldn't be sure of any of that, but he wasn't putting it past himself, either. He was troubled and lost, so why not resort to something like this to try and force himself to figure his shit out? To push himself to find the right path again? Right now, however, he did not know what direction that was in.
Lasairian lets his mind wander as he stares out across the plains; the opposite direction in which someone else approaches. It's that, the memories he's immersed in, and the wind hissing past his ears that keeps him from noticing right off that she's there. The word called out is what catches his attention at last, and Lasairian looks over at her, his expression settling into perfect politeness as his ears flick in her direction to catch anything else she might say, "oh, morning," he responds, allowing a light curve of a smile on his face towards her.
He wanted to fit into these lands, but he was still struggling to learn the overall culture and social structure, and it probably showed. "Pardon, I was lost in thought and didn't notice I wasn't alone out here. I hope you're well?" the words are evenly spoken, and his gaze sweeps carefully over her, nothing too intense, just taking in the appearance of to whom he is speaking with. He notices the scar at her face, but his expression doesn't alter at all at the sight; in his own culture, scars that do not fade away carry deep stories, and it is not is place to ask something so personal as that.
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