Zavien
I think all things,
in their way,
in their way,
As she confirms the devastating reality, Zavien isn't as quick to hide his sadness. He hangs his head in a moment of silence for the loss, remembering the times he'd had there fondly, including the many times he'd wound up on his face in the dirt. King's End wouldn't be the same without it - without her.
Sighing, he lets the soft green of his gaze land on Colt. "I'm sorry." He knows the words won't change anything. Her ranch is still gone, the wound of it still fresh in her mind. But when Stormbreak was falling and the world felt uneven under his feet, it helped to know that people cared enough to hold any consideration for his pain. It might only be sympathy, but he wouldn't wish for empathy, for someone else to have felt the same.
Sol offers his own condolences with a small whimper and press of his nose. He nuzzles closer like he can smooth out the uncertainties, squeezing into the empty gaps while Zavien offers what little comfort he can in the form of a gentle smile that lacks judgement or ridicule. "Sometimes it's better to let things go and start fresh." It's difficult for him to decide which part is harder to grasp, having struggled with both in their own right.
The nod of his head is heavier with her vulnerable admission, understanding weighing on his heart. He could still see Stormbreak in his dreams sometimes. They've never been the crumbling catastrophe of the end, but rather the empty hollowness of the place he'd loved left to fade into oblivion with no one but him to remember what it used to be.
But Zavien can smell the smoke, and unless Colt's developed magic since the last time he's seen her, something else has to be burning, smoldering beneath the damp sheet of mist and humidity. His eyes search for the source, confusion momentarily breaking through the grief.
Willing to offer his arm for her to grasp, he squints suspiciously through the smoke and haze, a chilling realization beginning to settle in his chest. "That's - " 'Enenra,' she finishes before he can, pulling him to his feet just as he's forming the thought. His free hand finds the hilt of his sword, glancing to make sure Sol is properly aware of the threat.
On full alert now, Zavien's voice is a firm whisper, carefully controlled and brokering little argument. "We should go." His eyes don't leave the tendrils of smoke and creeping darkness as he starts backing away, skirting the bench to guide them down into the valley of the hill where they could retreat without drawing its attention.
Sighing, he lets the soft green of his gaze land on Colt. "I'm sorry." He knows the words won't change anything. Her ranch is still gone, the wound of it still fresh in her mind. But when Stormbreak was falling and the world felt uneven under his feet, it helped to know that people cared enough to hold any consideration for his pain. It might only be sympathy, but he wouldn't wish for empathy, for someone else to have felt the same.
Sol offers his own condolences with a small whimper and press of his nose. He nuzzles closer like he can smooth out the uncertainties, squeezing into the empty gaps while Zavien offers what little comfort he can in the form of a gentle smile that lacks judgement or ridicule. "Sometimes it's better to let things go and start fresh." It's difficult for him to decide which part is harder to grasp, having struggled with both in their own right.
The nod of his head is heavier with her vulnerable admission, understanding weighing on his heart. He could still see Stormbreak in his dreams sometimes. They've never been the crumbling catastrophe of the end, but rather the empty hollowness of the place he'd loved left to fade into oblivion with no one but him to remember what it used to be.
But Zavien can smell the smoke, and unless Colt's developed magic since the last time he's seen her, something else has to be burning, smoldering beneath the damp sheet of mist and humidity. His eyes search for the source, confusion momentarily breaking through the grief.
Willing to offer his arm for her to grasp, he squints suspiciously through the smoke and haze, a chilling realization beginning to settle in his chest. "That's - " 'Enenra,' she finishes before he can, pulling him to his feet just as he's forming the thought. His free hand finds the hilt of his sword, glancing to make sure Sol is properly aware of the threat.
On full alert now, Zavien's voice is a firm whisper, carefully controlled and brokering little argument. "We should go." His eyes don't leave the tendrils of smoke and creeping darkness as he starts backing away, skirting the bench to guide them down into the valley of the hill where they could retreat without drawing its attention.
reflect heavenly truth,
the imagination not least.
the imagination not least.
