Iskra
this heartwood was cut too damn deep
"Oh really?" Iskra asks, a touch brighter at meeting a fellow Halovian, which has come up more times than he can count when crossing stranger's paths in different realms as of late. "Seems to be a place many people set behind them," he chuckles, all too aware the climate leaves something to be desired for most. Hard to say if he's just grown used to it, or if there's something about fighting with nature every day and feeling the teeth of it that gives him some sort of satisfaction, once the only one he could scrounge up.
"So you're a—uh—convert then?" he asks with a tilt of his head as they ascend the stairs, not certain he got the story right, but all too aware of why it is he doesn't see Ancients in his neck of the woods. He scans up the impressive doors as they part beneath Astaroth's hand, his eye drawn to nice craftsmanship in whatever form it takes. His gaze continues up as they step into the temple and all its grand, sweeping space, a monument rather than a shrine. Iskra's ogling is interrupted with the familiar feel of wood laid out on his palm, and his gaze tips back down, confusion spreading into ridiculous joy at the considerate offering. "You're a dog person!" he chimes with an abundance of warmth, like it's all the confirmation he needs that this man is good people.
Twisting around to Goose, Iskra holds up the stick, the hound's attention drawn to it. Iskra chucks it out the temple doors they're just crossed, and with nails skittering over stone, the dog dashes after it, content to fuck off outside with his prize. Meanwhile, Iskra totters after Astaroth as he continues on with the tour.
"So you're a—uh—convert then?" he asks with a tilt of his head as they ascend the stairs, not certain he got the story right, but all too aware of why it is he doesn't see Ancients in his neck of the woods. He scans up the impressive doors as they part beneath Astaroth's hand, his eye drawn to nice craftsmanship in whatever form it takes. His gaze continues up as they step into the temple and all its grand, sweeping space, a monument rather than a shrine. Iskra's ogling is interrupted with the familiar feel of wood laid out on his palm, and his gaze tips back down, confusion spreading into ridiculous joy at the considerate offering. "You're a dog person!" he chimes with an abundance of warmth, like it's all the confirmation he needs that this man is good people.
Twisting around to Goose, Iskra holds up the stick, the hound's attention drawn to it. Iskra chucks it out the temple doors they're just crossed, and with nails skittering over stone, the dog dashes after it, content to fuck off outside with his prize. Meanwhile, Iskra totters after Astaroth as he continues on with the tour.
I can't see the wood for the trees
