I will be your lighthouse
Her response was a relief to the nerves that prickled along his heart, the ones that had needled in with the quiet fear that she'd laugh off his invitation, or let it drift past like it meant nothing at all. It eased his smile more, and he nodded. While it wasn't a yes, it also wasn't a no, and he could live with that. "Excellent. I have extra coats and things if you need them when you come, although we are nearing the warmest season anyway." It was a quiet bid that her visit be sooner rather than later, though she'd not really promised anything at all yet. He held onto the hope that she would, and he'd do whatever he could to make that more of a reality.
"Oh?" he asked, a bit surprised at her next reveal. "You're starting to sound a bit like the pirates we used to play pretend as. I think you made me walk the plank on more than one occasion." He chuckled as the memory spread like warmth through him, rare and golden. So much of Torchline’s past had become a shadow in his mind, but that moment, her voice calling out and the splash of waves as he balanced on some gathered driftwood, that moment remained bright. It was the first time he'd thought of Torchline in a positive light for a decade. "Do you employ a captain or would I be at the mercy of your driving skills?" he asked teasingly. "Seems like it would be difficult to steer," he admitted, the curiosity rising. "All I've practiced with are dog sleds and logging mule carts. The odd horseback trip here and there." He actually couldn't recall if he'd been on a boat at all, sea or air. "Do you get... air sick?" he wondered aloud. He leaned forward again, elbows on knees and chin back in his palm. Maybe he’d never ridden a skyboat, but this, this easy orbit around her voice and her stories, felt like flying.
"Oh?" he asked, a bit surprised at her next reveal. "You're starting to sound a bit like the pirates we used to play pretend as. I think you made me walk the plank on more than one occasion." He chuckled as the memory spread like warmth through him, rare and golden. So much of Torchline’s past had become a shadow in his mind, but that moment, her voice calling out and the splash of waves as he balanced on some gathered driftwood, that moment remained bright. It was the first time he'd thought of Torchline in a positive light for a decade. "Do you employ a captain or would I be at the mercy of your driving skills?" he asked teasingly. "Seems like it would be difficult to steer," he admitted, the curiosity rising. "All I've practiced with are dog sleds and logging mule carts. The odd horseback trip here and there." He actually couldn't recall if he'd been on a boat at all, sea or air. "Do you get... air sick?" he wondered aloud. He leaned forward again, elbows on knees and chin back in his palm. Maybe he’d never ridden a skyboat, but this, this easy orbit around her voice and her stories, felt like flying.
Iskra
