And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do
Everest reads the words Different kinds of quiet, and though the phrase doesn’t quite make logical sense—quiet is an absence, not a type—he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, the way he’s learned to when someone says something that might be more emotional than literal. He doesn’t understand it, exactly, but he understands that Kaisel does. That’s usually enough.
He rolls his shoulders, the motion a subtle effort to loosen the band of tension that’s always coiled between them. His hands fall to rest lightly on his knees, fingers uncurling with a little shake, and after one last glance at Kaisel to confirm he’s serious about this—he closes his eyes. The first few seconds are spent trying to decide whether he’s breathing too shallowly.
Then he starts tracking thoughts like birds: that the sand is warmer beneath his ankles now, that the salt is sticking to his lashes, that his pouch is still properly sealed, that Isla prefers blue over green but green is more common, that if he finds three more cobalt pieces, he could finish the lower ring—
He exhales, like his mother taught him to. Long. Steady. The thoughts don’t leave him, but at least they line up more quietly. And it’s working, maybe. Or at least it’s not not working. Until the ground shifts.
Everest’s eyes blink open immediately, pupils narrowing as the subtle tilt of the island reorients itself beneath them. He steadies himself with one hand, frowning slightly as the motion continues, almost imperceptible—unless you’re someone trained to notice the way something was just five degrees to the left a moment ago. "We should move," he murmurs, already reaching for the pouch as he nods toward where the sandbars are shifting. Rising carefully, Ever brushes his palms against his pants as he gets to his feet. "Thank you. For letting me join."
That part’s awkward, but sincere. A pause. Then, as he adjusts the strap across his chest: "I need a few more pieces for my windchimes. Good luck with your quest." It’s the only explanation he offers before heading off again—shoulders tight, steps careful, eyes scanning the shoreline for the next glimmer of sea glass waiting to be found.
~FIN
He rolls his shoulders, the motion a subtle effort to loosen the band of tension that’s always coiled between them. His hands fall to rest lightly on his knees, fingers uncurling with a little shake, and after one last glance at Kaisel to confirm he’s serious about this—he closes his eyes. The first few seconds are spent trying to decide whether he’s breathing too shallowly.
Then he starts tracking thoughts like birds: that the sand is warmer beneath his ankles now, that the salt is sticking to his lashes, that his pouch is still properly sealed, that Isla prefers blue over green but green is more common, that if he finds three more cobalt pieces, he could finish the lower ring—
He exhales, like his mother taught him to. Long. Steady. The thoughts don’t leave him, but at least they line up more quietly. And it’s working, maybe. Or at least it’s not not working. Until the ground shifts.
Everest’s eyes blink open immediately, pupils narrowing as the subtle tilt of the island reorients itself beneath them. He steadies himself with one hand, frowning slightly as the motion continues, almost imperceptible—unless you’re someone trained to notice the way something was just five degrees to the left a moment ago. "We should move," he murmurs, already reaching for the pouch as he nods toward where the sandbars are shifting. Rising carefully, Ever brushes his palms against his pants as he gets to his feet. "Thank you. For letting me join."
That part’s awkward, but sincere. A pause. Then, as he adjusts the strap across his chest: "I need a few more pieces for my windchimes. Good luck with your quest." It’s the only explanation he offers before heading off again—shoulders tight, steps careful, eyes scanning the shoreline for the next glimmer of sea glass waiting to be found.
~FIN
