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“Telekinesis,” he copied her just as she had finished. It rolled off quite swiftly from the edge of his tongue. There were only a few he had known to possess any sort of magic. Gifted by the ‘gods’ – regretfully he was not one of them. Perhaps he had resented them in some way; those ancient bloodlines embedded with the blessings of their creators. Wanting, believing he needed such things to find any validation in that world. To be something great and strong – their leaders, after all, possessed these traits. His friends – they too, were immersed in the blessings of their fore bearers.
And he was without.
Though no more.
The boy raised a brow as her eyes glimmered underneath their veil. Playful, as she teased blatantly of the debt he owed. Moving with a natural finesse to stand, and heralding their call to the festival. “I was going there anyways.” He clarified, before hauling his bruised body up. Purposefully splashing and shaking the clumps of snow in every which way, in the hopes it might splash against the stranger. Saoirse pressed a minute, small grin along the edges of his lips – fading quickly with the time.
“Do they have other drinks?” He considered the mug on the ground. With – perhaps too much excitement nestled deep and away from (her) prying eyes – he instinctively pulled the mug up from the ground. And – flung it way over the side of the cliff edge not too far along. “Hah!” It was inevitable that the boy’s excitement spilled out from his eyes. Where wonder and discovery pushed the longing for home and family, far from his thoughts then. “Did you see that? I didn’t mean to. Not that hard…” He collected himself together, when she pressed her muzzle against his side. Casting her a disapproving frown that bordered precariously on a pout, as she substituted him for ‘cider scrounger’ instead.
“It’s Saoirse.” His voice filled the air with a resolute firmness. Tilting his head just so, to carry that bent and backwards crown a little higher. “Cyrene,” the boy nods curtly, stiff, glancing up ahead to view the fires.
He could not recognize her invisible, helping hand. And though he mulled over her previous concerns and hospitality, perhaps he didn’t mind the company after all. “I only heard rumors about the festival. Something about… new beginnings, or something silly like that.”
Saoirse wouldn’t have been able to explain why he continued to divulge such thoughts. All he knew was that, he’d grown tired of his own voice in his head. And that the sky – although a precarious friend – was far too expansive and consuming to reciprocate any such love or friendship in return. Not that he had made this a priority – it was merely ‘nice’ to have a change. Change that didn’t involve life or death situations for once.
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