The bay king regards his companion as she speaks, noting the polite words and the lilt of her accent. New to Novus - and now it makes more sense, the slightly unfamiliar shape of her words and the foreign scent that the bonfire-smoke of Denocte has only just begun to cover up. “I’ve been here years,” he says with his smile still lingering, soft and a little wry, “and I’m learning them still. But it’s a good world.”
How strange it is, to think of how long he’s been a part of this world; more years than he’s spent anywhere else. Now he cannot think of it as anything but home, all the hills and valleys and good and ill, joys and sorrows, gods and kings. How long ago (it seems a lifetime) he came in on a summer storm, and met the sister he’d never known. Now they stand at the doorstep of another summer, and the cicadas sing sweetly, and when it grows dark the fireflies will be out again -
Asterion feels like an old man, reminiscing. For that he’s grateful when Camillia continues, glad to turn his gaze back to her from the field dug up like fresh graves and all the memories buried in them. A brow lifts when she names herself a healer; he might have thought her a warrior, or a mystic, with her height and her horns and the way she holds herself. But he is quick to nod, quick to grin. “Our healers are among the best in Novus,” he says, and does not try to hide the note of pride that colors his voice. “You are very welcome to learn from them and alongside them, and use what resources are hospital - in the heart of Tinea Swamp - and our court provides. The world could always use more healers.”
The king follows her gaze out across the sweep of the fields, to the line of the forest dark in the background - but then there is a cry and the king straightens, ears pricked, dark eyes searching out the source of the sound. Overhead, Cirrus dives and rises again; in his mind she says They’ve found something. At a far corner of the field, horses are gathering, and though he can’t make out the words there is no mistaking the excited clamor of their voices.
When he looks back to Camillia, the king’s smile is gone, his expression schooled into calm even as his heart begins to quicken in his chest and he wonders what next, what next for my people?
“Excuse me,” he says, and begins to dip his head - but then he tilts it instead, dark eyes considering the black of her own. “Unless you’d like to join me? There’s a relic of Terrastella that has been lost a long, long time - but it seems close to being found again. I wouldn’t turn down another set of eyes, or sharp mind.” And the king stands, poised to run, and waits to see if the not-quite-stranger will join him.
@Camillia we can wrap it up or keep going - your choice <3
if you'll be my star*
