the sound of cannons
breaking open the sky
breaking open the sky
It had the sight of the auburn body crumbling towards the ground that had drawn his eyes to the other in the first place; was what had brought forth his concern. Had he not seen that, he still would have spoken to the individual — minus the questions that cleared a path to him being able to help, of course.
It was easy to see the moment his curious greeting reached the other. Quick to rise, in a desperate enough manner that made them flounder, it was clear they were far from put together. That endless well of care he carried deep within his chest encouraged him closer, and he understood the reason behind such a rushed emergence from the hot bed of sand.
Avallac'h knew he was no threat, but she did not.
He cared nothing for her lack of veneration — he needed no such thing anyway. Instead, he accepted that defiant flame that shined brightly in how she raised her head. A head painted with elaborate markings and a pair of eyes that replicated his own.
(He did not once think on how they reminded him of the many mages back at the Court, how each individual that had been marked in such a way would forever be alienated for the rest of their lives there.)
The dignity that burned in her stare was commendable, and just as he accepted that proud tilt to her head, so did he accept and acknowledge that.
He even accepted the manner in wish she spoke to him. Crude as it was.
Were he younger, a little more daring like he once was, he would have brought up in a rather frank manner how she had just been on the ground mere moments ago, clearly struggling to stand. Now, with age and kindness in him that always -regardless of what- asked him to be a little more gentle, he did so in a much more refined manner.
"Forgive me but," his head angled down, modest, "you were just struggling to stand. Although, if you would like for me to forget that, I can try my best to do that." Despite the playful, lightheartedness that could be gleamed from his words, there was no note of it in his voice. His words were a simply way to diffuse the tension that rested upon her.
They were also an out for her, one that allowed her to say 'yes, let's pretend it never happened.' After all, he wouldn't push unless he thought it necessary to.
He wouldn't push unless the way she quickly blinked and rocked her head to force her mind to find itself became more concerning. He could control himself from worrying too much.
She faltered forward, and he was unable to repress the way his steps mirrored her own, bringing him closer. She hadn't given him a clear signal, however, that he was welcomed to come any closer; that he was welcomed to touch her and lend her support in the form of his own body to lean against.
He would only move and push if he became more worried. He swore that to himself.
Concern pulling down on his lips, they parted to begin asking if he could help but her voice beat his own before he could. Like a mere target, he was pinned beneath her sharp glare, but it was still not enough to keep him from watching the way she held herself up.
He was ready to catch her if she fell.
"Avallac'h, that is my name." He answered willingly. "And I do not come from anywhere near here." That was the easiest way to explain it. Although, if she asked for a better answer, he knew he would do his best to give one. Once she was a little more stable.
He doesn't demand to know who she is — her own well-being is more important.
Fearless enough, he asks her once more: "Are you alright? Do you want to rest?" Invisible fingers slid his cloak free from around his neck. "I can spread this out for you, if you like?"
Speech
@Hälla
It was easy to see the moment his curious greeting reached the other. Quick to rise, in a desperate enough manner that made them flounder, it was clear they were far from put together. That endless well of care he carried deep within his chest encouraged him closer, and he understood the reason behind such a rushed emergence from the hot bed of sand.
Avallac'h knew he was no threat, but she did not.
He cared nothing for her lack of veneration — he needed no such thing anyway. Instead, he accepted that defiant flame that shined brightly in how she raised her head. A head painted with elaborate markings and a pair of eyes that replicated his own.
(He did not once think on how they reminded him of the many mages back at the Court, how each individual that had been marked in such a way would forever be alienated for the rest of their lives there.)
The dignity that burned in her stare was commendable, and just as he accepted that proud tilt to her head, so did he accept and acknowledge that.
He even accepted the manner in wish she spoke to him. Crude as it was.
Were he younger, a little more daring like he once was, he would have brought up in a rather frank manner how she had just been on the ground mere moments ago, clearly struggling to stand. Now, with age and kindness in him that always -regardless of what- asked him to be a little more gentle, he did so in a much more refined manner.
"Forgive me but," his head angled down, modest, "you were just struggling to stand. Although, if you would like for me to forget that, I can try my best to do that." Despite the playful, lightheartedness that could be gleamed from his words, there was no note of it in his voice. His words were a simply way to diffuse the tension that rested upon her.
They were also an out for her, one that allowed her to say 'yes, let's pretend it never happened.' After all, he wouldn't push unless he thought it necessary to.
He wouldn't push unless the way she quickly blinked and rocked her head to force her mind to find itself became more concerning. He could control himself from worrying too much.
She faltered forward, and he was unable to repress the way his steps mirrored her own, bringing him closer. She hadn't given him a clear signal, however, that he was welcomed to come any closer; that he was welcomed to touch her and lend her support in the form of his own body to lean against.
He would only move and push if he became more worried. He swore that to himself.
Concern pulling down on his lips, they parted to begin asking if he could help but her voice beat his own before he could. Like a mere target, he was pinned beneath her sharp glare, but it was still not enough to keep him from watching the way she held herself up.
He was ready to catch her if she fell.
"Avallac'h, that is my name." He answered willingly. "And I do not come from anywhere near here." That was the easiest way to explain it. Although, if she asked for a better answer, he knew he would do his best to give one. Once she was a little more stable.
He doesn't demand to know who she is — her own well-being is more important.
Fearless enough, he asks her once more: "Are you alright? Do you want to rest?" Invisible fingers slid his cloak free from around his neck. "I can spread this out for you, if you like?"
@Hälla
rayoflight
