// every mistake, a reason to run, but a good soldier marches on
knowing the worst may be still yet to come //
knowing the worst may be still yet to come //
“Is that so?” He replies with a bright laugh toward Isla, an amused look crossing his face before he dives into explaining just who he was seeking out. They continue to walk down the beach, illuminated by the moonlight and the sound of the waves crashing along the beach, arm in arm — and it’s really quite nice. Until his catlike smirk crosses his face and he leans in a bit toward Isla after she nudges him. “I knew he lived around here.” He nudges her back before he’s grinning at the path they take, as if it were a small trophy he’d won. “I told him you looked like you enjoyed it. Up until I spooked you and you hit me with my own arm.” His gaze dances back down to her with a raise of his brow.
Both brows raise at the mention of trying an attuned shift, though, a half smirk blossoming on his face as he considers her. “Well? You gonna tell me what the shift was or do I have to guess?” Because of course he’s curious. He’s curious as all hell what kind of shift required Torchline waters and not those in the Oasis. “The Oasis is nice, especially this time of year. Maybe we can go when we’re back and settled?” He suggests offhandedly, pausing in the walk to spy a shell sitting in the damp part of the sand. He lifts it up to inspect it, before he’s cracking it open with his metal hand. Inside of the washed up oyster sits a brilliant hue of deep mother of pearl, along with two deep hued pink pearls. “Hm looks like someone dropped a prize from their haul.” He comments, handing it to her to inspect for herself.
Both brows raise at the mention of trying an attuned shift, though, a half smirk blossoming on his face as he considers her. “Well? You gonna tell me what the shift was or do I have to guess?” Because of course he’s curious. He’s curious as all hell what kind of shift required Torchline waters and not those in the Oasis. “The Oasis is nice, especially this time of year. Maybe we can go when we’re back and settled?” He suggests offhandedly, pausing in the walk to spy a shell sitting in the damp part of the sand. He lifts it up to inspect it, before he’s cracking it open with his metal hand. Inside of the washed up oyster sits a brilliant hue of deep mother of pearl, along with two deep hued pink pearls. “Hm looks like someone dropped a prize from their haul.” He comments, handing it to her to inspect for herself.
VARUS
