Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
Kaisel 's question shouldn’t catch him off guard, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual tone. Maybe it’s the rain-slick mud beneath his boots. Maybe it’s the way the boy asks like it’s just a cool scar and not a fault line Remi barely managed to seal shut. His foot slips as he readjusts the branch’s weight—mud sucking at his heel with a greedy squelch—and for half a second the log tilts, shifting more weight into Kaisel’s grip. Remi catches himself with a grunt, jaw tightening as he sets it back down with more care this time. Not a word, not a crack in his expression—but a sharp breath follows, and when he straightens, his eyes slide to the younger man with a faint, unreadable flicker.
"Lion claws," he says at last, voice low and steady. A truth. Just not all of it; Kaisel didn't know they'd been his own claws or the reason he'd tried to take his own life. He clears his throat, the sound hoarse despite the rain. There’s no sharpness in it. No warning. But the weight of it hangs there a moment longer than it should, like fog refusing to lift.
Thankfully, Liam ’s voice breaks through, and Remi certainly doesn't need any prompting. "I’ll go," he says with quiet relief, and without waiting for agreement, he leaves the branch and the question behind. Mud clings to his boots as he crosses the clearing, Oria chittering irritably from her perch beneath his collar as if the shift in mood has rippled through her too.
Finding Maea knee-deep in saplings and the slow, careful work of weaving them, Remi sinks to a crouch beside her with easy wordlessness. For a few seconds he just watches, noting the angle she uses, the rhythm she’s settled into. Then he takes up one of the young trees, mirrors her work, and lets the act of building something living quiet the ache that had tried to rise.
"You’ve got a good pattern going," he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They’ll hold well like this."
Remi goes to help Maea!
"Lion claws," he says at last, voice low and steady. A truth. Just not all of it; Kaisel didn't know they'd been his own claws or the reason he'd tried to take his own life. He clears his throat, the sound hoarse despite the rain. There’s no sharpness in it. No warning. But the weight of it hangs there a moment longer than it should, like fog refusing to lift.
Thankfully, Liam ’s voice breaks through, and Remi certainly doesn't need any prompting. "I’ll go," he says with quiet relief, and without waiting for agreement, he leaves the branch and the question behind. Mud clings to his boots as he crosses the clearing, Oria chittering irritably from her perch beneath his collar as if the shift in mood has rippled through her too.
Finding Maea knee-deep in saplings and the slow, careful work of weaving them, Remi sinks to a crouch beside her with easy wordlessness. For a few seconds he just watches, noting the angle she uses, the rhythm she’s settled into. Then he takes up one of the young trees, mirrors her work, and lets the act of building something living quiet the ache that had tried to rise.
"You’ve got a good pattern going," he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They’ll hold well like this."
Remi goes to help Maea!
the bastion
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
