He may have been wandering these sands for a couple weeks now, but that didn't mean he was any more used to this hellish heat or these weird lands.
Regardless, there was a steely resolve in his gaze, even if his hide and fur were soaked through. Somehow, the sweat didn't seem to do much of anything other than annoy him... and be awfully chafing. There had to be some reprieve in this god forsaken land, though... right? There's simply no way that anyone could stand this heat all the time, enough to call this place their home year round. Torstein was convinced that he wasn't that weak.
His legs, after so long, seemed to be moving of their own accord. Nostrils flared and blew hot breaths across his muzzle, his forelock plastered to the side of his face in a disgusting mess. Someone he had encountered swore up and down that there was some - plant, did they say? - that would make the nights and days more bearable. They only gave him a idiotically vague description before disappearing, which didn't quite surprise him anymore. This place seemed to be filled with imprecise, oftentimes stupid, people. The thought, and how viciously he was ripped from his Empire and all the benefits it had for him, made him grit his teeth. He tasted sand.
At one point, he stopped beside one of the vast walls. It was angled just enough to provide some form of shade, and you'd be daft to think that Torstein didn't stick to that wall like glue once he found it. But certainly not close enough to touch his skin to it, because as wonderful as the shade was, the miserable rocks still burned flesh like a hot pan. Was there no reprieve from this madness?
Obviously not, because within minutes the shade disappeared again. The Triennial Eye wasn't even having it with this heat - it stayed firmly, stubbornly shut, as if it had a mind of it's own and simply said 'nope' to everything. Piece of shit, his own eyes narrowing as sweat dripped down his brow. Tensing up, he shook his body in an attempt to splatter some of the sweat from his hide, and consequentially mis-stepped, his foot coming down heavily on the stone and sand of the canyon.
The sound echoed for what seemed like days, which caused an ear to slightly roll forward and a sigh to heave from his chest and lips. What he was not expecting, was a voice to call out at the sound of his step. Both ears perked up almost instantly, large head tilting to the side curiously. The voice sounded impatient, angry... almost frantic.
Pausing, he considered if it was really a wise choice to step out from behind that wall. Part of him said no, while the other part said how many people could really overpower you, anyway?
You can guess which thought won out, because he did indeed step forward, although took the precaution to step far away from the wall, should the anxious voice lash out where they expected the sound came from. Tor peered curiously at the sweat-soaked, maneless? feathered? individual.
"With how much you're sweating, I assume you're like me and not particularly from these lands." A general observation that Aion may misconstrue as Tor saying You look like a pile of shit. Who knows, maybe Tor was thinking that... those who know him wouldn't put it past him, really.
"Did some vague, strange person tell you about a plant with interesting properties, too?" That... sounded far more weird spoken aloud than it did in his head.
Action. Thoughts. "Speech."
@Aion! <3
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I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
