As the storm had raged on above them, Seraphina had wondered if she might lose one of her fellows in the gale – Kaladin felt fragile in a way that she could not completely explain, and Damascus was clearly unfit for climbing mountains in a gale, with his tangled mass of a tail and massive, if delicate, wings. For her part, she had let her gaze linger single-mindedly on the cavern, teeth gritted in a desperate attempt to restrain the instinctual shivers that threatened to run down her flanks. She was not meant to look weak or accessible, and any illusion of delicacy or humanity needed to be repressed. Viceroy had always told her that pain was something inside of her, something that could be controlled, and it was only that stubborn illusion of control that had finally allowed her to take his magic standing. It was that same stubborn illusion that kept her statuesque and regular in the midst of the roaring tempest beating down on the mountainside all around her, eerily calm even in the face of deadly missteps. However, by the time she reached the entrance, ushering Damascus and Kaladin in before her, she had ground her teeth so firmly that she swore she could taste the familiar, hot copper twinge of blood dripping down her gums.
As she moved into the cavern, hooves practically dancing to an awkward tune to avoid stumbling on Damascus’s ridiculous expanse of tail, she was forced to swallow down a bit of unfettered apprehension. She kept the collar around her neck as far away from her pair of companions as she possibly could while still facing them; though she did not mind how close they stood, forced to brush up against each other in almost suffocatingly close quarters, Seraphina did not want them to touch the collar. She did not have much time to consider her own nerves, however, because Kaladin, already drenched and shivering from the storm, seemed to be teetering precariously on the edge of a breakdown. She had expected relief from him, when he had come bounding into the cavern, but he was gasping as though he was still running, slick sides heaving with each rasping, choppy breath. At first, Seraphina wondered if the trek had simply worn him thin, but the way that his eyes darted across the cavern, on the brink of rolling, combined with his sudden, hissed need to depart their shelter, made her realize that he was likely experiencing something else entirely – she stared at his form, racked with frantic shivers, helplessly. She had seen soldiers like that, before, usually the ones that had encountered magic users and returned from battle burnt to a crisp or plagued by nightmares. (Even Viceroy, she recalled, had been like that sometimes; he would recoil in horror from things that she could not see, and sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night screaming.) She did not know how to handle this sort of a situation, but, swallowing, offered a surprisingly soft, “It’s too dangerous to leave right now.” He probably already knew that. She didn’t know what else to say, but it would be bad if his panic made him flighty in such closed quarters. She supposed that a well-aimed knock to the head would probably put him out cold for the duration of the storm, but she doubted that would help. Instead, she added a quiet, if uncomfortable, “You’re safe in here,” attempting to lock her mismatched gaze with his own.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
@Kaladin @DamascusAs she moved into the cavern, hooves practically dancing to an awkward tune to avoid stumbling on Damascus’s ridiculous expanse of tail, she was forced to swallow down a bit of unfettered apprehension. She kept the collar around her neck as far away from her pair of companions as she possibly could while still facing them; though she did not mind how close they stood, forced to brush up against each other in almost suffocatingly close quarters, Seraphina did not want them to touch the collar. She did not have much time to consider her own nerves, however, because Kaladin, already drenched and shivering from the storm, seemed to be teetering precariously on the edge of a breakdown. She had expected relief from him, when he had come bounding into the cavern, but he was gasping as though he was still running, slick sides heaving with each rasping, choppy breath. At first, Seraphina wondered if the trek had simply worn him thin, but the way that his eyes darted across the cavern, on the brink of rolling, combined with his sudden, hissed need to depart their shelter, made her realize that he was likely experiencing something else entirely – she stared at his form, racked with frantic shivers, helplessly. She had seen soldiers like that, before, usually the ones that had encountered magic users and returned from battle burnt to a crisp or plagued by nightmares. (Even Viceroy, she recalled, had been like that sometimes; he would recoil in horror from things that she could not see, and sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night screaming.) She did not know how to handle this sort of a situation, but, swallowing, offered a surprisingly soft, “It’s too dangerous to leave right now.” He probably already knew that. She didn’t know what else to say, but it would be bad if his panic made him flighty in such closed quarters. She supposed that a well-aimed knock to the head would probably put him out cold for the duration of the storm, but she doubted that would help. Instead, she added a quiet, if uncomfortable, “You’re safe in here,” attempting to lock her mismatched gaze with his own.
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
