LYSANDER
Around them blows the breeze, fingers tousling their hair, lonely and cold. Lysander can find none of the strange things of the Rift on it – no sickness, no whispering trees or clockwork creations. That had been a mad world, a machine running down, leaking magic like oil.
He’s not had the time to wonder if finding this place a ‘normal’ (as much as anything was ever truly normal; all life had a way of making things messy) one would be an adjustment. Finding out that Florentine was a queen is quite a start to making him think it isn’t. Not because of any merits of hers – he would trust her as a sovereign, even knowing her only as a child – but because, in his timeline, she’d only left the riftlands a few days before.
Curious.
All this has him considering, mouth quirked in thought, but his attention returns in full to the stranger when he gestures. There is a pang of…not quite guilt, but dismay, that squeezes like a fist at his heart as he watches the stallion. It is never his intent to cause shame, and he only very rarely went in for fear.
“Thank you,” he says, and dips his head. For a long moment afterward he considers the stallion, his lionlike mane, and lion’s eyes, and less than a lion’s heart, and Lysander’s lips twist into something wry and soft. He comes no nearer (he has pressed the boy enough), but his voice carries over the distance between them.
“I am sorry for startling you. I forget how much of a shock such a thing must be, to some.” A last smile, almost fond, before he turns and takes his leave, heading for the east, for a castle by the sea.
@Auru ahhh poor fellow
He’s not had the time to wonder if finding this place a ‘normal’ (as much as anything was ever truly normal; all life had a way of making things messy) one would be an adjustment. Finding out that Florentine was a queen is quite a start to making him think it isn’t. Not because of any merits of hers – he would trust her as a sovereign, even knowing her only as a child – but because, in his timeline, she’d only left the riftlands a few days before.
Curious.
All this has him considering, mouth quirked in thought, but his attention returns in full to the stranger when he gestures. There is a pang of…not quite guilt, but dismay, that squeezes like a fist at his heart as he watches the stallion. It is never his intent to cause shame, and he only very rarely went in for fear.
“Thank you,” he says, and dips his head. For a long moment afterward he considers the stallion, his lionlike mane, and lion’s eyes, and less than a lion’s heart, and Lysander’s lips twist into something wry and soft. He comes no nearer (he has pressed the boy enough), but his voice carries over the distance between them.
“I am sorry for startling you. I forget how much of a shock such a thing must be, to some.” A last smile, almost fond, before he turns and takes his leave, heading for the east, for a castle by the sea.
@Auru ahhh poor fellow
