"Not yet." He grins, unadultered excitement in his expression. "They're going to be holding some kind of festival though, later in the year. I've heard so much of their theater and performance that I can only hope a fraction of the stories are true." And perhaps a part of him both hopes and is terrified of the opportunity to do a little storytelling himself. He feels rusty- he as only practiced in the lonesome desert, his only audience the sun and wind. In addition, the stories he knows are likely of little interest to most people here in Novus.
Perhaps funny was the wrong word for their little ragtag group (not so little anymore). But it was queer and odd and funny was the best word he could think of. Nor did he really noticed Eik's hesitation. His restless eyes instead drink in the landscape and perhaps see beyond to something that is truly only in his head, imaginings and philosophy that at once comforts and disconcerts. To be to comfortable is to be complacent- he would rather be on uncertain footing with infinite futures than on certain ground with no way to move forward. In the grand scheme of the world he is not yet so old that he knows without a doubt where he stands. Some people never do. His view of the world is an ever-evolving thing, shaped by the words he hears and the things he sees.
His attention is drawn back to Eik and something in Vadim's smile echoes an air of mischief- and also a fleeting touch of sadness. He settles there for a moment, one hind hoof cocked in easy relaxation as he shifts his weight to the other three limbs. His tail flicks, salt white against brilliant gold as it lashes across his hip. He chooses his words carefully, like a blind man groping in the dark. There is something here, something important. Perhaps not to Eik but in the core of Vadim's being he begins to put words to this feeling he has not before described.
"I don't believe in fate." There, that is easy enough. The rest comes with more hesitation, though not because he lacks confidence in the idea. Only because he is trying to find the right words to speak accurately, clearly. "Why do we need a divine purpose to give our life meaning? It means something to us, as we stand here speaking. It means something to those who know us, who might mourn- or celebrate- our passing."
Again a pause, and this time his eyes drift thoughtfully towards the sky, narrowing against the brilliance of the sun. "The choices we make give our life meaning. For the likes of you and I, our choices may only affect our lifetime. For those like Maxence, his choices will echo through history for generations." Abruptly he shakes his head with a huff of laughter. "I suppose I just mean to say that I think life has the meaning we give it. For me, at least, that's enough."
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Sorry about the delay! Vadim is waxing philosophical.
