The nagging distaste of uncertainty accompanied Hälla well into their journey, leaving her blind to the fortuitous grace that her tomb had, perhaps mercifully, been upon the lip of the desert. Her steps had taken her deeper into its embrace, but with her red-cloaked companion taking the helm, it wasn’t long before the sea of grass unfurled. A tremendous juxtaposition from the dunes they had fled, she noted, almost instantaneously, the herds of bison that swam through the fading browns and greens of foliage.
Solterra had been willfully ignorant to the turning tide of the season, and insofar as the waking woman might’ve known, summer had held the rolling sands within its heated thrall. The balm of a kissing wind was the first change she felt, accompanied by the rustling sound of distant, whispering fields. The twitter of animals was a song further off, and yet one that nonetheless spoke to her in ancient tongues, weaving tales of things long forgotten.
Two stories lay within the corridors of her thoughts, and the bits and pieces that unraveled with each silent step caused her gut to roll, a quivering nausea that caused the world to tilt upon its axis. Only her quiet as they walked betrayed the wrongness that came and went, an unsteady, incessantly lapping wave—
She was no moon in comparison to her turbulent sea. It did not heed her pull, her call; it sloshed as violently as it pleased, threatening to drown her. Only the sheer will of her person kept her head afloat, the stubbornness of fearful pride serving as a buoy amid the squall. And if her mind was the sea, her memories were undoubtedly a storm.
They came in bolts of lightning; they roared in groaning thunder; they chilled her to the bone with pelts of hale and rain.
But Hälla pressed onward unflinchingly, her chin lifted, and her wearied steps unfettered. The prairie was a new horizon to which he guided her, a port to house a woman that both knew it and did not. It was frustrating, it was humiliating—it was almost enough to rouse tears of frustration to her moony eyes.
Almost. And yet, nowhere near enough.
Hälla knew this place, and yet she did not know it. It begged her to remember, the tender grasses kissing her fetlocks with overwhelming compassion, and her silence turned stilted. Quick bursts shattered the reverie of stillness she’d fashioned from woe, and her teeth ground together as she grabbed hold of the memories that sought to take root, and, with vengeance, ripped them up.
She would not remember. Not until she knew what was true—what was true, and what was Arjun’s lie.
She would not remember, because she knew hurt lay in remembering.
The darkness of the tomb had caused enough hurt.
“Stop here,” she grunted, her cloven hooves coming to pause without ceremony within the middle of the prairie, the sun having softened its glow as it began its descent—they’d walked all day, and the rolling plains were mercifully cool.
Hälla was silent as she tipped her head towards the distance, surveying their surroundings with deliberate uncertainty.
“Why you would step beyond that border,” she began, shaking her head. “And into the desert escapes me.” Even if she knew, her bones knew, her blood knew, that the sands had fashioned her. At least in this life.
Something else had been nagging at her every step of the way, watching the sweat bead upon his skin as she shadowed his steps.
“And why you would wear that cloak the entire way,” her lip twitched, the idleness of her conversation no doubt meant to steer her from her thoughts. The words were empty—they were pointless. And she knew that.
They could’ve parted ways now. Hälla didn’t point that out, at least not in plainer words. The distraction was still welcome.
He had made many journies in his life. Each one has revolved around the simple thought of getting somewhere else, but aside from that, each has differed greatly from the others. For example: the reason.
After all, why had he traveled out of the reaches of Delumine, past the plains, and into the arid heat of the dunes? His answer to the one who accompanied him back had been simple. Curiosity. It was an answer that disregarded the itching restlessness he felt in his limbs, behind his heart. However, it hadn't been just simple curiosity. This he came to realize on the way back, mind thinking over wanderers and what, possibly, made them different from those that merely wandered.
When he came to this realization, he wondered how one might explain to a stranger that, perhaps, the one thing he might be running from is himself.
An impossible task, never before done unless drastic actions had been taken and he was not capable of doing such things anymore—didn't want to do such things.
Besides, he knew there was no running. Not when he carried physical reminders, acted as he did because of the shame and guilt he carried. There was no running. Not from the impending darkness, the cries, the blood—it came and devoured and greedily ate all that it wanted because it could and nothing was capable of stopping it.
Yet, he hoped.
Foolishly so, but he would continue until his last dying breath. A thing that seemed all the more plausible from the exertion he subjected himself to, one that made his skin sweat and weary muscles strain. He certainly wasn't the age he once was, but neither was he incompetent. The sand had still welcomed him like a long lost brother. The grains had allowed him freedom of movement, never hindering or holding onto him in fear that he would never return.
A piece of him would always rest in such places, after all. No matter what land, or how far he traveled from Dirtharest. A piece of his battered, beaten heart would always lie there, dried and filled with specks of the very sand that had once caught flecks of his blood from a spar.
That had been so long ago.
Stop here, not a command, yet he treated it like one.
Coming to a graceful stop where he had walked off to the front of her, like the soldier he had once been he easily obeyed her words. Turning his head, his body soon followed after it, slightly turning back towards her.
With the impromptu stop, he allowed himself to find some rest. Taking in a deep inhale, he let it out as she spoke. Watching the way she shook her head, his eyes not lingering on the scored marks near her lips, he merely shrugged.
It slightly escaped him as well.
However, her next remark is something Avallac'h knew the reason to quite well—intimately so.
It was a gift, something given to me by someone important. It is a burden—my burden.
Instead, he says, "For appearance sake? He kindly tosses back, content to linger in the plains for any amount of time. "Besides, I would hate to appear indecent in front of you again. Especially in such short of a time." He gently joked, shaking his head at himself and letting out a faint tsk in disapproval. "That is far from proper."
Even though he hardly knew her, as with everyone, Avallac'h was still capable of feeling comfortable. Especially after their (at least in his mind) companionable silence.
At her question, his eyes turned in the direction of Delumine's border.
Letting out a thoughtful hum, he directed his gaze back towards her. "I suppose. After all, I have taken up more of your time than necessary. It was a pleasure to be able to help, however, and I appreciate you allowing me to." He expressed, features sincere because it had been his pleasure to help her. No matter how big or small, all he ever wanted to do was help.
Looking at her for a moment, his worry resurfaces. "Might I inquire as to what awaits you, Hälla?" He did not doubt her capabilities (never doubted anyone's unless there was a reason for him to) but it was only natural for him to ask such questions.
Did she have a plan? An idea of where she would go?
"I know it is none of my concern but... will you be well?" He carefully, daringly, asked with a kind tilt of his head.
Her waking body was maladjusted to their journeying, and her limbs felt boneless beneath her weight. Hunger and thirst felt foreign, like creatures of their own volition, gnawing and pulling her attention into separate directions. She heeded neither, allowed her eyes to instead, weather the sight of the breath that swelled Avallac’h’s chest. He, at least, was more willing to show the minute signs of wear and tear—infinitesimal symptoms that she kept under wraps.
Later, maybe, if she found herself alone. Then, and only then, would she let her quivering limbs sink back to the sand. If she did not rise, then so be it—there would only be the desert to judge her. She dared not sink to the ground now, haunted by the crippling pride that would not deign to ask for help.
Her words were so small, so useless, and yet he found reason to respond. She couldn’t help the bittersweet tang of gratitude that demanded her attention to turn to him, frustratingly relieved that he could do more than nod in answer. It filled the ravines that dug through her mind with purpose, smoothing the bottomless pits that threatened to sink her with a safety net—however fleeting.
For appearance sake?
She didn’t believe him, but only the mellow glint that shone within her pale eyes betrayed that, her brow drawing together. As fortune would have it, he continued—and a shallow huff of laughter left her muzzle. It was enough to rain genuine humor upon the desert heart, and she shook her head stiffly in answer.
“You hardly strike me as a materialistic man,” more likely, he wore it in preparation of shedding it to offer help to the first wounded face, as he had with her. Hälla did not outwardly state as much, but then, she didn’t have to—it showed plainly within the skeptical arch of her brow, even if she pursued the topic no further.
His words over asking for an answer, yet knowing he was obligated no reply, had added a sliver of reservation to her willingness to pry. She would not ask anymore of him than she was willing to give, herself; her gratitude, at least, could afford him that small favor.
Straightening, the mare drew in a deep breath, which was just as quick to leave her scarred lips as he spoke again, a dry chuckle echoing him.
“I would have left you in the sand had I thought you’d taken too much of my time,” she answered lazily, her honesty forthright. “You’ll know, should that happen.” The glance she gave him, accompanied with a jaded smile, betrayed as much.
He continued to surprise her. His selflessness, his chivalry, left nothing to be desired but for a fault. And she wondered what lay at the heart of his being: what crimes, what filth, had lead him to such a path of righteousness?
Or was it possible that a person—a man, most of all—could be capable of a lifetime of good? She doubted it. She doubted anyone ever could.
And yet still, he went on with his worry. Her gaze was dashed with reserved surprise, and a bit of apprehension, as he continued. Her teeth ground together, her chin lifted—she would be fine.
“Hopefully, a long and virtuous life awaits me,” she drawled, smiling, before committing to a sobering answer. “I cannot say for sure. Not yet—maybe not ever.” The catacombs had trapped her for a reason. So, too, had they spat her out. She would not give in to the temptation to delve into her thoughts and discover, perhaps, why.
“Not Solterra, for the time being,” her lip twitched. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I always am.
Was that true? She didn’t know.
“Why do you worry?” her head angled in his direction, her eyes squinting with skepticism. They had brushed by this subject earlier in the day, but she couldn’t resist approaching it again. “What do you hope to gain from it?”
Something. She couldn’t imagine he wanted for nothing in return.
There were not many goals in his life. At least, not anymore. After some time, with the grains of the hourglass falling and falling, he knew he could not continue to try and fulfill goals that he hadn't been able to achieve his entire life.
That is why, now, he mainly had only a couple. Many of which revolved around others. Helping, listening—anything that might benefit another.
For Avallac'h, though, he merely wished to finally find some reprieve. So that he might be able to enjoy whatever time he had left. It was difficult because it meant letting go, and Avallac'h was never a man to let go of things he cared about.
The side of his mouth ticked up at her observation. She was correct, and he was willing to let her know that.
"An astute observation, and a correct one." He told her without a hint of hesitation, and he left it at that. There was no need for him to go on about how he was a sentimental fool, one that remembers the specific kind of flowers he picked, or the nickname he had come to cherish from Pyrrha, the prayer he spoke out in his native tongue as he stepped onto the dais within the basilica of Nicosia.
Small things—important things.
Just as important as the cloak he wore, given to him by the older mage that had taught Avallac'h all he could in the darkness of the night. As important as the necklace he had come to wear, the first piece that told him he was more than just an unwanted piece, one meant to do more than labor away for those lucky enough to be born without sorcery filling that hollow center he still felt inside of him.
(Important because they reminded him of his Saros, his lost brother; of the ones he harmed and those he snatched away like a monster in the night from families.)
Ear twitching at the monotonous chuckle she let free, he listened closely to what she said. He didn't miss her dulled smile, one that told him she had enough experience in letting others know, in having to deal with telling others such. Again, he found himself wondering.
Wonders about how she came to rise out of the arid sand of the desert, or imprisoned by magic—Avallac'h didn't dare to ask any of his questions. He had no right to.
Leaving it be, as he did many things (even with matters involving those he cared so much about) he had merely nodded in acknowledgment of her words. Hoping that, if they ever came to find themselves among one another again, he wouldn't have to worry about looking out for the signs she portrayed as being quite noticeable.
Closely taking in her words, he gave a tender smile in response to her own, one that remained present on his lips even after her words grew subdued. It was a smile of gentle gratitude, comfort, appreciating, for being more honest with him. He understood, in his own way, the uncertainty revolving around not know what awaited him.
Hopefully, something better than the heartache found in Edana, or in Sovereign, Nordlys, Caeleste...
Hopefully.
Not doubting that she would be fine, he only wished that she found rest and a place she felt comfortable. Somewhere that wasn't the dunes of Novus.
Body turning to face her head-on, his head angled to the side as he genuinely considered her question. The second was easy to answer, and so, it was the first one he chose to reply to. "I aim at gaining nothing. However, I am quite aware many find that unbelievable, perhaps, yourself even." He shrugs, knowing his proof will be when he leaves her with a simple goodbye. "Yet, that is it. I hope to gain nothing from helping you, I only hope I was able to help you, maybe even ease your... wakening." His eyes squint lightly, uncertain as to if that was the correct word to use. Given what little information he has, though, it is the best one he can come up with.
He leaves it be, "As for my worrying, I suppose you can say it is something that has built up over time. I had a few daughters whom I constantly worried for, despite them all being grown women." His smile is nostalgic, and while it hurts to bring them up he manages to keep away his pain and grief. "I worry more than I should, try as I might to stop it, I have yet to be able to. I apologize if you might wish differently."
After this, she wouldn't have to worry about his worrying. Not when he wouldn't be around to bother her and impress his need to care for others on her. Well, that is if they never came to cross paths again.
He gestures in the direction of Delumine as he begins speaking again, "While Delumine or Solterra may not be what awaits you, might I suggest visiting if you ever find yourself wanting to? Not to see myself specifically, but merely for the sake of placing yourself elsewhere." He says, sure to clarify. The smile on his lips turned a little more lighthearted, "When I was a wanderer, I found that placing myself somewhere different helped with the... running away, was it?" His sentence only turns into a question as he tries to remember exactly what she had said earlier in the day.
"It may help to ease your mind, is all, that and finding others to speak to—distractions. Although—" his words suddenly stop, a sheepish look overcoming him.
"I apologize, it's not my place to give unwanted advice." A contraction; a more sincere apology, but that does not mean his others weren't sincere. "Forgive me."
True to his own observation, she found it next to impossible that he sought nothing from this encounter. Perhaps not anything tangible, but undoubtedly the simple satisfaction of the help he sought to offer. It was a strange sort of high, she supposed, the mirth of giving, and it was one that she felt she’d rarely known. The strings within her heart didn’t quite sing as selfish, but neither could she say any of her memories swam with generosity. It made her wonder, if only for a second, before she released the tether and let her thoughts swim back towards blissful darkness.
With a twitch of movement, her moonlit eyes shifting to meet his gaze, a knowing tension to her lips at his selective wording. She hadn’t given him much by way of details for her origins, but his summary was accurate enough. Her tail shifted, the hairs upon its end dusting the plain’s grass, and she hummed her slow assent.
“I suppose you did,” she murmured. “Thank you, for that.” Her gratitude was almost begrudging, as told by the sharpness she tacked on to the edge of each syllable, and the way she didn’t dwell upon it for long. Beyond that, he had something else to say—something far more interesting.
For the first time, her head really lifted; her chin angling with something beyond pride. Her ears flicked upward, finding the strength to gather from where they’d seemed sewn to the crown of her head. There was an immediate fondness, a reluctant sense of wonder, to what he shared.
(She saw the slope of a pregnant belly, her head angling backwards to nose her abdomen with tenderness, despite the bleariness of her eyes that whispered of loneliness and tears. She lay in a bed of birch grass and flowers, the ground surrounding her a tawny, sun-lit throne of everything she needed. The forest surrounding her was loud—so loud—and yet her bubble was small, quiet, and despairingly lonely. She curled awkwardly inward, her head curving into her abdomen where she lay, as she whispered tender words.
‘A girl,’ her dream self whispered to no one. ‘I’d like a girl, this time.’
She wondered if her wish had come true—)
A tear had slipped from her eyes unbidden, and she wrenched her gaze away with a suddenness that was jarring. The memory had come of its own volition, strong enough that she’d lacked the control to suffocate it beneath a crushing fist. Her eyes locked upon the distant horizon, the tension in her features returning.
“Your daughters are fortunate,” she started, her words stiff with… something. “To have a father who cares so much.”
Something, deep within the hollow of her heart, told her she had never experienced something so sweet.
With a puff of tense air, she wet her lips as she followed his gaze towards the distance. To where, she realized, Dawn must have waited. His invitation had her eyes dragging back towards him, her brows drawn with subdued skepticism. It was something she had already considered, the wretched itch to her limbs that demanded more, and yet—
She knew that she would return to Solterra. Only a few steps from its boundaries, and the desert howled for her. Her skin shivered beneath the sudden coolness of Fall wind, and her soul ached for the pieces that remained buried within the catacombs.
Please, something within her whispered, thrashed; desperate to heed a pledge that she didn’t understand.
And so, she ignored it, shaking her head. It was impossible to note that he had, perhaps, realized he’d been a distraction for her—and it was enough to make a dry smile touch her lips.
“Perhaps. One day. Something tells me Solterra is where I belong,” she paused. “But not just yet.”
She sighed through the tension in her lips, huffing in dismissal to his apology. Without any indication of where she was going, she stepped in the direction of Delumine. She had no immediate recollections of what lay within Dawn Court, and yet, she wondered—
“Delumine. What’s it like?” Her words were brusque; nearly a demand. Was it the forest of her dreams, perhaps? The setting of her bittersweet dreams? She had only seen glimpses of the woodland—and though she hated herself for it, she wanted to know. Her slumbering vows to Solis, to the desert, stirred with a vengeance that she swiftly silenced. “Would you show me there, if I asked?”
He was far from blind to how she had reacted to him mentioning those he considered his daughters. Before then, she had been expressing herself in a way that betrayed a mild sense of tolerance—she was indulging him, he supposed, by listening to what he said. Now, however, was a different story.
It made him wonder all the more. Wonder about this woman of the sand, who wanted to get away for reasons unknown to him.
The smile that he wore, one that showed his longing for things of the past, did not fade even as he noticed that minuscule tear escape from its bindings and tarnish her skin. She was highly reactive to the tear's sudden appearance, and he remained quiet for a moment as he looked at her jerk her head away to hide it.
Forget about it—
He does not believe he will ever forget those words, not while in her sharpened presence. Just as she had requested -demanded- then, once more, he does. But, as he did earlier, he allowed the concern, the emotions to such a sight, remain inside of him.
At her rigid praise, though, his expression does fall, and once more he is reminded of the fact that they are strangers. She does not know of his own believed shortcomings; of how he failed to express his affection for the three wonderful women he misses so much and hopes are okay, safe, wherever they may be. Or how they don't even know he considers himself their father.
(He had cried out that truth to Aelin, though, when she went by another name. That was the last time he ever saw her...)
Able to put his pain, his yearning, behind him, and in a tightly sealed box, he overcomes the fact that he misses them and longs to see them all. Forever he will carry them in a sacred place only they occupy in his heart, but he cannot allow himself to linger on the truth that he is no longer able to see them.
It hurts. He does not thank her for her stiff commendation.
After he spoke, he focused on her. Drawing his mind away from itself and looking at the unemotional smile that graced her lips. Giving her a nod, understanding what she said, and not even thinking of pushing her to try and go beyond what she believed she needed to do. He did not know that the desert called for her in a way it once did for him, was unaware that the dunes of Novus had claimed her as its own long before he was even close to being the man he was now.
Neck straightening, his ears angled forward at her question, one that toed the line of being another order that he willingly accepted. Delumine—where to begin?
The forest was what was currently closest, still quite a ways out of reach, but hardly a distance to cross compared to the trek he had just undertaken with Hälla at his side. "I have not been here long enough to, I believe, give you an adequate telling but..." he gazes towards the forest just then, eyeing the fall colors that paint the forests leaves in the distance, "The forest is a pleasant place, if one wishes to, perhaps, get lost for a while. Or simply walk beneath her trees." His smile is tender, revealing that maybe he had done this himself once already. He looks back to her, "However, I find myself more entranced with the meadow within Delumine's borders. I'm sure I'll be there most of the time once spring comes to this place. I hold a particular fondness for such places, it reminds me of a somewhere I once lived."
It was not the flowing prairie grasses of Sanus, but it reminded him of the meadow Sovereign held. The one where he found himself not long after coming to the island. It was a place he can remember well, one where he laid down for a while.
It is then he remembers the time he offered the young Roslyn his cloak to lay on. She had accepted and he had kindly stood up, allowing her a chance to rest while they conversed for a short while.
A kind memory, one of the many that Sovereign had given him.
The wording of her next question is interesting, and it makes his expression adapt an amused gleam to it. His answer to it is simple.
"Of course," he tells her immediately, "I am hardly one to say 'no' to others. A fault, many would say, but I have come to accept it at this point in my life." It came out lighthearted, like a joke, but it was something he struggled with tremendously and actually saw as one of his bigger flaws. "If that is something you would ever like for me to do, I would be happy to. As I mentioned, the meadow within Delumine is one I frequent. However, as of recent, I have stayed closer to the Dawn Court capitol. There are festivities going on that, while I am long past partaking in anything of the sort, I enjoy viewing." He informs her, smiling softly all the while.
And then, "I did overhear all Courts were holding such celebrations. Perhaps, you might find something of worth within Solterra's?" He gently suggests. "However, if that is not an idea you are keen on, then do feel free to come to Delumine. If we come across one another again, I would be happy to..." his words taper off, showing his uncertainty, "Keep you company? Show you around?" He tries to find the right words, but can't. He shakes his head to himself. "Whatever you would like, I mean. Or if you simply need help in the future, I am always willing to do what I can." He finally finishes with a sincere smile, looking at her as if they aren't simple strangers and she is someone he would try to help in any way he could.
The tear that slipped free was gone quickly, soaked into her skin by the time she turned to face him again. He said nothing to indicate that he had seen it at all, which was undoubtedly for the better—for both of their sakes. Her jaw set into a line within the moment it took him to answer her question, and then the tension ebbed in a slow, quivering exhale. The milky-white gaze that he leveled towards the distant forest betrayed what she had already guessed—Delumine, or at least part of Dawn’s jurisdiction, was a woodland.
Those same memories told her that she had been lost beneath the trees one too many times before, the countless trunks a twin to the winding maze of the catacomb, and yet the freshness of their sage scents revitalizing in a way the tomb’s musk could never be. Avallac’h, mercifully, filled the silence of her thoughts with more answer than she had asked for, and her chin tilted slightly as he continued.
And she wondered again how a man so taken with meadows and lavish, sprawling fields could have heeded the alluring, curious call of the desert. Rather than ask him again, she kept the queries caged behind her teeth, her eyes piercing as she looked upon him.
Would you show me there, if I asked? Of course.
His reply did not miss a beat, as steady and stalwart as the languid thrum of her heart. Hälla, swept into the machinations of his joke by disappointment more than humor, shook her head slightly. There was a sternness within her eyes, an almost worried look—
He was kind, and she did not doubt for a moment that there were persons in this world that would, and perhaps had, taken advantage of him.
"You can always say no to me," she interrupted suddenly. "There will undoubtedly come a time when I will say no to you." The brusqueness of her words hid the intonations of concern, sugarcoating her rare care with brambles rather than powder. She did not fret as he did, but neither was she cold enough to dig her heels into his spine and trample him into the dirt.
He was genuine, insofar as she could tell—a rare enough prize in this world that even she didn’t wish to see stamped out.
(Beyond that, there was a quiet intonation of remembrance within her heart. A pinprick that told her his actions, his mannerisms, reminded her of someone beloved. The name or face she could hardly put paint to, but the strings the feelings struck sang of family; sang of a person she had sought to protect.
Whomever they were, she wondered if she had succeeded in the end.)
Avallac’h spoke of festivities then, and the cold of her somber expression became something wry as she huffed. She wondered if Solterra knew that its people were waking from beneath the sand; that the warriors it had betrayed were clawing their way free of darkness. A hundred flares of sunlight trapped within shadow as they danced, and sang, and drank. An involuntary shiver skittered across her skin.
Just as before, his invitations were heartfelt and, despite herself, appreciated. They left as much a bitter taste upon her tongue as they did a sweet one, and she resigned herself to the perpetuating skepticism that his generosity inspired. She just didn’t understand.
Still, the stability of him was more than she could make for herself, and she found her limbs stepping, hungrily, in the direction of the forest.
She just wanted to know—
“That,” she lifted her nose, gesturing toward the distant fringe of trees. “Those are Delumine’s forests?” Her eyes already shone with intent, and her tail flicked. The sun was low in the sky, falling upon the cusp of the horizon, and yet she longed to push forward. Only the fading light kept her from doing so.
Her jaw set as, begrudgingly, she forced the words out from her tight trap of teeth.
“Will you be in the plains come morning, Avallac’h?”
The only time something inside had dimmed, had flickered as a flame does when exposed to the wind, was when she had told him that he could say something like 'no' to her. Had she been someone closer and not a simple stranger he had just met, Avallac'h might have actually laughed (from the guilt, the shame). She knew nothing.
(He disregarded the worry, and silently berated himself for saying words meant to be playful and having them fail miserably. He would need to be more careful, keep things more generic.)
Nothing about the level of self-esteem he held for himself. How weak, feeble, and low it was that he hardly felt worthy of saying no to another unless he absolutely knew he shouldn't. He never said no to those he believed, perceived, as worthier than himself. And given that Hälla had yet to show him, make him think, she was undeserving of such treatment from him Avallac'h would not say no.
She was free to say it to him as much as she pleased, he wouldn't mind, but when it came to himself that was a different story.
"I will keep that in mind." Is all he said in response, voice light, knowing that he would instead forget about what she said (all of it, even the swell of negative emotions that rose as a result of what she told him). Just as he had the way she stumbled, or about the tear he had spied.
For those were things the man -the one who was always willing to lend an ear, to help- never allowed himself to think about.
Leaving it at that, he managed to unearth that soft smile of his as he moved the conversation on effortlessly. It's reminiscent of his time in the Court, when he was always speaking to visiting dignitaries or those that made a comment, a gesture, that Avallac'h was willing to let slide. There was no need for him to hover around such topics, and the way he managed to avoid such things was by talking his way out of them. In a manner that was far too natural.
Within but a handful of seconds, he was focused on other things. That fluttering flame inside protected by caring hands once more.
Making no assumptions about the steps she took that drew her closer to the forest, he nodded in response to her question. "Yes, there are many paths within it that are well worn by those passing through. And, just beyond it, is a river that one must cross in order to get to the meadow I mentioned earlier. Along with the Dawn Court's capitol." He was curious as to why she was so interested in the forest; wondered as to why she wanted to know about it.
He didn't venture to ask.
With the lowering sun highlighting the set of her jaw, Avallac'h watched on in silent interest. Continuing to wonder but never being bold enough -he was too respectful- to ask. At her question, both of his ears twitch, betraying his mild surprise.
It hadn't been his plan to linger. Not here, anyway. He had simply planned on starting to make his way to the forest so that he might be back in Delumine sooner rather than later. However, as he considered her question and the line of conversation that had led up to it, Avallac'h was perceptive enough to see why she might be asking.
Had she not told him that he could tell her 'no,' he might have asked her if she would like him to stay in the plains until the morning. However, something told him that was, perhaps, not the best course of action. He was trying to evade such talk concerning that, including anything that might lead back to her bringing up what she had said to him.
So, he resorted to doing what he normally did.
"Considering I'm not as young as I once was, it is for the best that I settle in the plains until morning." He told her, tone playful. He wouldn't tell her that his plan had been to travel a little further into the forest, as close to the river s possible. "Besides, I would more than likely trip on something during the night. My cloak has a tendency to make me trip at times." He said with a huff that painted him as feeling personally betrayed by the item he spoke of.
"Even then," he continued on easily, "I will more than likely make my way a little closer to the forest before settling down. Even if it would be pleasant to find somewhere to rest out in the plains, the less ground I need to cover, the better."
"Regardless, though, yes, I will be in the plains come morning."
Then, carefully, he asks, "Where will you be, come morning?" He glances at the forest before directing his gaze back to Hälla. "I plan on leaving rather early but, if you would like, I could wait for you? That is if you wish to accompany me. If that was not what you were implying, I do apologize." He finishes with a small, apologetic tilt of his head.
Through the fading light of day, a slow clarity had descended upon the viper-woman. The fangs had long been put away, the venom drawn to the depths of her gums, but intuition for danger remained. They were, the two of them, playing a game; she felt the slow diversion of his simple reply sluice down her spine like ice water, the upturn of his amicable smile as genuine as it was false. A day’s duration had been all it’d taken for her to know the integrity of his character, and to believe in it further, still—but she did not yet wholly trust the nature of his goodness.
There was something stifled; something withheld. Another shoe that had yet to drop, but that was wound tightly into place by the tethers of apologies, gratitude, omissions of the heart. The milky white of her eyes bore into him with newfound intensity, and only the slow rake of her tongue over the flats of her teeth could dispel her neediness to ask.
They were both buried in secrets. Untold stories, unspoken feelings—held beneath the weight of words that had not, and perhaps never would, come to fruition.
A mask was what he wore, but it, she thought, was an exact replica of his true face. That was why the stitching blended perfectly, making it nearly impossible to discern the difference. He was a good person—but not, the woman realized, for the reasons she had initially believed.
Her head had set upon a fixed angle as she watched him, her limbs rooted to the earth, and her ears slowly drew to the flat of her skull as she heaved in a languid, considering breath. This time, she did not answer his playfulness with a smile—trapping him, instead, beneath the smoldering scrutiny of white-hot eyes. Hälla did not believe he tripped over his cloak come dusk; she believed he stepped over it neatly, keeping the crimson sweep of it flat over his spine, dancing through its flow as he had a hundred times before.
And she wondered what sort of person he was when the world wasn’t watching. Not manipulative; not a liar—the game he played was not one of harm.
She just hadn’t figured out what his intention was yet.
Realizing she’d been quiet for too long, and yet in no more of a hurry to reply to him than she’d been before, she clucked her tongue lightly.
“Don’t apologize,” she dismissed. She would not be in the plains throughout the duration of night—already, she had the sneaking feeling that the lions and wolves of remembrance would have tracked her from the tombs by now, and that they would hound her until dawn. “Come morning, I’ll join you back here,” where her legs would take her between now and then, she didn’t know. She did know, though, that she would circle back before sunrise to see what became of his guise when eyes were not openly upon him.
She wondered if he had escaped a tomb, too—perhaps just in a different form.
She wasn’t sure why she cared.
“With any luck,” she paused, and a drawling smile, something satirical and knowing, upturned the corner of her lips. “I’ll arrive early enough to see you still tripping through the plains.”
Her tail flicked lightly as she turned back in the direction of the desert, a lash of the leonine tip brushing his knee. “Come morning,” she reaffirmed, before, with a slash of her hoary eyes, offering her farewell. "Sleep well."
Her scrutinizing, assessing gaze -glare- was not lost to him. The thing was, though, is that he was a man quite familiar with such looks. He knew how to walk beneath them, smile in the face of their presence, and carry on a conversation as if he wasn't a specimen being examined beneath a magnifying glass.
Avallac'h had been a specimen since he was born.
He had also stood before the Crown, stared the man in the eye with hardly a note of emotions passing over his features. It was easy to smile before her, to act, and continue conversing as if nothing was wrong.
Nothing was wrong.
If she ever grew bold enough again to say, ask, something that Avallac'h was not privy to answering his heart would not stutter and his words would not fail just as they had before. It may have been years, ages, since he had played such games with another but he knew these games well. Had taken part in them since he was old enough to speak.
He learned from his mistakes early on and would not be making any again.
Ear twitching in her direction at the click of her tongue, he kept his small, pleasant smile, choosing not to speak on her telling him there was no reason for him to ask for her forgiveness. Not when it would simply result in him letting out another apology. Instead, he simply nodded, smile warm and showing his approval for her decision (although, he would have approved of any decision she had come to).
"Splendid, I look forward to it." He remarked, knowing he actually did. Even if he would be a little more careful, a tiny bit more cautious, of how he spoke around her.
Where she was going, he wouldn't ask. That was something that only concerned her, not him. She would be well, this he was sure of, and if she appeared tomorrow morning looking worse then he would be able to see if he could offer her help.
(It was so very hard, dealing with the desire to care and the desire to keep himself distant. Especially after his stumble. He wished to remain safe, but his former desire made him vulnerable.)
Ignoring her knowing gaze, he let out a chuckle. "A rare thing to witness, I assure you. Only a handful have, and from their reactions I can confidently say it is quite the sight." He easily joked, tone light and pleasant, experienced enough in conversing with others to spy the end to their time together.
That is, until the morning.
Watching her turn, ready, he was prepared to give her a friendly farewell as he did with all. When the point of her tail came to brush across his skin, his expression did not fall.
No. All that touch did is reveal to him something he had not known about earlier because he liked to give all the benefit of the doubt. It added to the pieces—pieces that already included years of sleep, of wanting to be away from the heat of Solterra, and of rising from the dunes like a resurrected being.
A serpent. (Avallac'h managed to retain the sigh that wanted to escape him.)
He has had plenty of experience with snakes, vipers—whatever one wished to call them. He can remember one more clearly than the rest, of course, one that drew him into her coils and sunk her teeth into his neck once he was entirely hers.
Οχιά.
Seemingly unphased, Avallac'h took a retreating step back in the opposite direction she was going. Gazing on after her, his own, similar eyes nothing but warm and kind, he dipped his head in farewell. "Until the morning, then. Be well, dear Hälla." He said with a kind smile before turning away from her.
It is only then that his smile dimmed, and instead of something determined, stubborn to win the game, appearing on his face, he only appeared tired.
