CHULANE
Her head rests in his hand, her face close, his thumbs running gently along her cheekbone, something lightly glancing over the edge of her full lips. Gods but she was so beautiful to him, even if she looked like the weight of the world was finally getting to her, even if she looked on the brink of collapse, of exhaustion. She was beautiful, but she also stirred more and more concern within him as he kept looking at her, silently admonishing himself to have missed it before, to have wallowed in his pitiful grief - but then, had he not been, he probably would not have crossed her path, not have been available to pick her up now.
He hears her short tale of Korbin's plight, possibly a moment of surprise, of confusion, dashing through him (- why was Korbin in her room? -) but he had pieced together a while ago that the two were friends, acquainted better than he and Korbin were, at the least. His own presence only seemed to stir disdain in the boy, an apathy so deep it hurt Chulane to try and engage with him beyond curt greetings and civil comments. So he had done his best to take a step back, to abandon his efforts in trying to find a friend in the raven-boy, the one who had led him off the tundra and into the Palace. The one who had rescued him, for surely if he had not found him, Chulane would not be here.
He sighed, processing his thoughts, nodding in understanding to her words, leaning towards her to rest his forehead against hers, lightly kissing the tip of her nose. "And then you came to comfort me too," he said softly, grateful again. "Have my drink, at least," he offered, reaching for the cup and pressing it to her hands, shifting so that she would have room to comfortably drink the cider and whiskey mix. "It's a Weaver special mix," he added, quiet, sad. "When you're ready, I'll whip something up in the kitchen for us." She would need to get off his lap first - a prospect he didn't want to rush, if he was honest.
He hears her short tale of Korbin's plight, possibly a moment of surprise, of confusion, dashing through him (- why was Korbin in her room? -) but he had pieced together a while ago that the two were friends, acquainted better than he and Korbin were, at the least. His own presence only seemed to stir disdain in the boy, an apathy so deep it hurt Chulane to try and engage with him beyond curt greetings and civil comments. So he had done his best to take a step back, to abandon his efforts in trying to find a friend in the raven-boy, the one who had led him off the tundra and into the Palace. The one who had rescued him, for surely if he had not found him, Chulane would not be here.
He sighed, processing his thoughts, nodding in understanding to her words, leaning towards her to rest his forehead against hers, lightly kissing the tip of her nose. "And then you came to comfort me too," he said softly, grateful again. "Have my drink, at least," he offered, reaching for the cup and pressing it to her hands, shifting so that she would have room to comfortably drink the cider and whiskey mix. "It's a Weaver special mix," he added, quiet, sad. "When you're ready, I'll whip something up in the kitchen for us." She would need to get off his lap first - a prospect he didn't want to rush, if he was honest.
The only true wisdom is in knowing
you know nothing
you know nothing
