"I often wish I was"
Eik's heart fills with a force and certainty that surprises him. He loves the sound of his friend's voice, the way it can convey many emotions (often some of them conflicting) even over the course of a few short words. The grey laughs suddenly, a you and me both kind of laugh, and though his laughter was quiet as usual, a flock of small birds takes to the sky in surprise.
Eik knows without magic, without a word, without even a look, how the apologies build and build. You're not sure which to say first, and as you spin between them, indecisive, a wave comes and washes them all away, back into the oceanic soup of intent where they mingle with all the other unsaid things. He does not need an apology, and he does not offer one either (there are too many to choose from-- I'm sorry I didn't write, I'm sorry I didn't visit, I'm sorry for everything-- I missed you too).
Such is the company of a kindred soul.
He steps forward, presses his cheek to the starry bay, breathes in salt and sorrow. He was not completely at ease, for Novus and its magic seemed to take full advantage of every lowered guard, but still-- nothing in the world ever felt so easy as standing there with Asterion. The ocean, while out of sight, filled the air with a briny freshness, and its gentle rhythm painted the backdrop of a canvas colored with the songs of strange birds and insects. When his friend speaks of the marvelous world (which seems to swirl around them in sound and shape and color, as though the two of them were suns around which all else revolved) Eik simply nods.
"I don't trust it," he admits. "It's too beautiful." He still expects all the colors to melt away, all the birds to grow sharp teeth, all the trees to crumble to dust. But he's here, despite this nagging feeling of impending Doom, and so is Asterion. He has no idea what it all means, if it means anything at all (and of course it does, it must... right?) and he is not optimistic about them finding out. But of course they must at least try.
Eik draws away, and he begins to walk. Some direction. Any direction. No destination in mind, just... wandering. He does not ask Asterion where he would like to go, or if he would even like to wander in the first place. Again, we realize, such is the company of a kindred soul.
They walk a thin, barely-trod path that leads deeper into the forest. He wonders who first walked it, and how many others have walked it since. And eventually his thoughts come back to dreams. He found thoughts were often cyclical like that, and each time you returned to the start with a little better understanding, even if you could not put that understanding into words.
"What are your dreams like?" A bird flies past, cloaked in brilliant shades of yellow. It has two sets of wings that look sharp as razors, and it chirrups a song that sounds like laughter. "Mine are nowhere near as nice as this." His tone is dry but cheerful-- as cheerful as the stoic grey can manage. Which is to say-- not very, at least on the surface. But for a man so subtle, the slight humor in his tone might well be expressed as booming laughter by most any other creature.
@Asterion ugh yes please
Time makes fools of us all
