Noah hadn’t expected the barrage of questions and the suddenness of them made him blink. Her presence was like standing too close to a hearth after hours in the cold: overwhelming, bright, impossible not to feel. He cleared his throat softly. He was starting to like her. She was a warm ember, unwilling to cool, standing atop the permafrost.
“I have three children,” he answered, steady. “A son and two daughters. Too young to have children of their own.” His jaw feathered slightly, “And… no siblings left, and my wife passed a little over a year ago.” He didn’t elaborate; the words were heavy enough on their own. Such was life in Halo, in Caido.
He followed her skipping path into the clearing, and with her explosion of excitement, the ideas tumbling out of her in bright, breathless volleys, Noah couldn’t help buck chuckle. Not a loud sound, but rich and warm, a low rumble in the cold air. He nodded in affirmation. "I am no designer or architect, and so the guild thought you'd be best for this." He let her vision run for a moment—unfrozen star fountains, lanterns, trees dripping starlight—each idea more exuberant than the last. Safrin, he knew, loved beauty, loved devotion. But she also loved meaning. And Vi… Vi valued order, steadfastness, the blooming flowers of bright life held fast by deep roots. “We need something that can stand through Deepfrosts in Halo,” he began gently, trying to anchor her rainbow whirlwind without snuffing it out. “The storms here will tear down anything too delicate. Even metal sculptures can frost-crack if they’re too thin.”
He stepped to the side. Taking one of the knives from his belt he knelt in the snow and started to draw with the tip f it what she spoke. “But we can incorporate your ideas. A fountain that doesn’t freeze—I am sure Safrin's magic could embue it wholly with her essence. The never freezing water can help the blooms stay year round. The dragon egg shells could go into the mix of mortar for the altar itself so it shines and sparkles in the sunlight. Maybe etch some stars and the sun into its base?" Noah asked, his gaze lifting, meeting her sparkling blue eyes.
“I have three children,” he answered, steady. “A son and two daughters. Too young to have children of their own.” His jaw feathered slightly, “And… no siblings left, and my wife passed a little over a year ago.” He didn’t elaborate; the words were heavy enough on their own. Such was life in Halo, in Caido.
He followed her skipping path into the clearing, and with her explosion of excitement, the ideas tumbling out of her in bright, breathless volleys, Noah couldn’t help buck chuckle. Not a loud sound, but rich and warm, a low rumble in the cold air. He nodded in affirmation. "I am no designer or architect, and so the guild thought you'd be best for this." He let her vision run for a moment—unfrozen star fountains, lanterns, trees dripping starlight—each idea more exuberant than the last. Safrin, he knew, loved beauty, loved devotion. But she also loved meaning. And Vi… Vi valued order, steadfastness, the blooming flowers of bright life held fast by deep roots. “We need something that can stand through Deepfrosts in Halo,” he began gently, trying to anchor her rainbow whirlwind without snuffing it out. “The storms here will tear down anything too delicate. Even metal sculptures can frost-crack if they’re too thin.”
He stepped to the side. Taking one of the knives from his belt he knelt in the snow and started to draw with the tip f it what she spoke. “But we can incorporate your ideas. A fountain that doesn’t freeze—I am sure Safrin's magic could embue it wholly with her essence. The never freezing water can help the blooms stay year round. The dragon egg shells could go into the mix of mortar for the altar itself so it shines and sparkles in the sunlight. Maybe etch some stars and the sun into its base?" Noah asked, his gaze lifting, meeting her sparkling blue eyes.
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