the salt is on the briar rose
the fog is in the fir trees.
the fog is in the fir trees.
She says she’s from a land far, far from Novus, and Caspian opens his mouth to say But how - before closing it again with a little shake of his head. He is content, for now, to let her have her mysteries (they fit well with the mark on her brow, and her two-colored eyes). Nicnevin does not sound like she’s joking, does not watch her expression to see if she’s succeeded in fooling him - but how one came to an island without ever seeing the sea, he can’t imagine.
It is enough, he supposes, that she intends to stay in Terrastella for the time being.
He is warmed by her grin, and the last of his weariness (it had been a chilly, long night, his vigil with Benvolio) is left behind with the barnacles and anemones in the little pool. Caspian can’t help but be as full of chatter as a sandpiper as they go, pointing out everything from the types of gulls to the little crabs they pass - as much a result of his enthusiasm as to keep from blushing simply by looking at her.
CASPIAN
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