Sometimes, it felt like the world was decidedly ending, and he had not even had to move a hoof. With every passing moment, Kaladin swore that the storm could not get worse - and then it would, howling like a thousand moaning souls lost in the mist, like the peaks of the mountains themselves were screaming for the strangers stomping across their carefully carven paths to get away, to leave them be.
There were times where Kaladin felt a kinship with those towering fortresses of stone - he too knew what it was like, to lie rooted to the spot, to feel cold stone skin and to have darkness press in against him, an eternal obscurity. He knew what it was like, watching the world pass by, frustrated by the ethereal untouchability and ever-growing distance that could only divide but never conquer. Unable to touch, to affect, to leave a mark. Only watch.
He would have to be that mountain now. Caught in a roaring storm, on one side a bumbling boy with the ridiculous length of tail and on the other the ever-scrutinizing cold wall that was the silvered woman, he would have to remain powerful and distant. He realized with a sudden frustration that calling his companions by 'woman' and 'boy' might have been enough to suit his interests - which were mild at best - but they were discourteous in the world of mortals. Or at least from what he had learned. The winged boy managed to stand to his feet, and Kaladin found to a petty amount of envy that though he had initially deemed the pegasus to be of equal age to his own mortal form, he also stood considerably taller, holding himself with a regal sort of grace that Kaldin's genetics had not thought to award him.
The kid began to head downwards from where Kaladin had come - a good call, Kaldin had to admit grudgingly, as a lesser altitude would bring stiller winds and warmer air. He may talk like a fool and act like one, but his thinking is competent at least, he admitted grudgingly. He fell into step alongside his companions, glad at least that their flanks would provide some meager shelter from the rain's frigid touch. This time, he remembered their customs and said, "Since we are to be allies in this unforgiving gale, I supposed we should introduce ourselves. I am Kaladin."
With that out of the way, he fell silent once more, awaiting the introductions that they would soon give. Mortals, he'd found, had an odd way of courtesy - for every bit of information that was given, the same amount would be returned, until enough was shared that information could be given without compensation. They called this trust. He'd learned quite quickly in his first days that the word described an illusion.
As they moved, he scoured their surroundings for shelter, but his eyes found naught but a distant silhouette that would soon to prove as useless as a cane to a dead man. A tree, branches reaching out desperately to the sky as if it itself was trying to escape the desolate landscape of stone. It was then that the kid made the suggestion that made Kaladin wish he himself could sink roots into the earth, extend branches to the sky, and never see another mortal again. "No," he replied, his voice brusque but weak, shivering embarrassingly from the cold wind. "We do not want to get struck by lightning." It was then that he spotted a nearby outcropping, overshadowed by stones and of greater depth then the had initially assumed. He narrowed his eyes - sure enough, it appeared to be a small stone cavern. "There!" he exclaimed. "There's a small cave. It'll be a tight fit, but it should last us the storm."
There were times where Kaladin felt a kinship with those towering fortresses of stone - he too knew what it was like, to lie rooted to the spot, to feel cold stone skin and to have darkness press in against him, an eternal obscurity. He knew what it was like, watching the world pass by, frustrated by the ethereal untouchability and ever-growing distance that could only divide but never conquer. Unable to touch, to affect, to leave a mark. Only watch.
He would have to be that mountain now. Caught in a roaring storm, on one side a bumbling boy with the ridiculous length of tail and on the other the ever-scrutinizing cold wall that was the silvered woman, he would have to remain powerful and distant. He realized with a sudden frustration that calling his companions by 'woman' and 'boy' might have been enough to suit his interests - which were mild at best - but they were discourteous in the world of mortals. Or at least from what he had learned. The winged boy managed to stand to his feet, and Kaladin found to a petty amount of envy that though he had initially deemed the pegasus to be of equal age to his own mortal form, he also stood considerably taller, holding himself with a regal sort of grace that Kaldin's genetics had not thought to award him.
The kid began to head downwards from where Kaladin had come - a good call, Kaldin had to admit grudgingly, as a lesser altitude would bring stiller winds and warmer air. He may talk like a fool and act like one, but his thinking is competent at least, he admitted grudgingly. He fell into step alongside his companions, glad at least that their flanks would provide some meager shelter from the rain's frigid touch. This time, he remembered their customs and said, "Since we are to be allies in this unforgiving gale, I supposed we should introduce ourselves. I am Kaladin."
With that out of the way, he fell silent once more, awaiting the introductions that they would soon give. Mortals, he'd found, had an odd way of courtesy - for every bit of information that was given, the same amount would be returned, until enough was shared that information could be given without compensation. They called this trust. He'd learned quite quickly in his first days that the word described an illusion.
As they moved, he scoured their surroundings for shelter, but his eyes found naught but a distant silhouette that would soon to prove as useless as a cane to a dead man. A tree, branches reaching out desperately to the sky as if it itself was trying to escape the desolate landscape of stone. It was then that the kid made the suggestion that made Kaladin wish he himself could sink roots into the earth, extend branches to the sky, and never see another mortal again. "No," he replied, his voice brusque but weak, shivering embarrassingly from the cold wind. "We do not want to get struck by lightning." It was then that he spotted a nearby outcropping, overshadowed by stones and of greater depth then the had initially assumed. He narrowed his eyes - sure enough, it appeared to be a small stone cavern. "There!" he exclaimed. "There's a small cave. It'll be a tight fit, but it should last us the storm."
