loren
Astra was always delighted to make new friends, and she peered curiously down at the small griffin. The luxere sniffed at Isuma, then decided that was good enough as an introduction and that the griffin was a suitable candidate for friendship; Astra knelt in the snow to get closer to the other companion.
Loren, on the other hand, wasn’t delighted by anything these days. As Jigano went to help with the carpets, and commented on the Launceleyn’s appearance—or demeanor, or eyes, or clothes, or any number of signals that the summoner wasn’t bothering to hide—Loren just moved to the other end of the sled and grasped the end of one of the carpet’s on top. ”Depends upon your definition of improvement.” His voice came out in a mostly neutral tone, though weariness and darkness lurked under the surface.
As the two of them lifted, the summoner called upon a golem to lift two more carpets. Then he would attempt to lead their small crew into the Temple. ”It was Wessex’s.” He wasn't going to claim credit for much of anything: the Launceleyn had been told, in no uncertain terms, that his ideas were pretty much useless, his knowledge and experience insufficient for LongNight, and that it was better if he just followed orders and let other, supposedly more suitable candidates risk life and limb.
He simultaneously chafed under that idea and could feel it sinking its claws into his already fragile psyche. At least he could carpet the Temple. Maybe that would save lives, maybe it wouldn’t, but he wasn’t quite willing to fully succumb to the feelings of helplessness that threatened to swamp him now more than ever. Still, it hovered over him, its edge occasionally cutting deep into his already tattered soul.
Loren, on the other hand, wasn’t delighted by anything these days. As Jigano went to help with the carpets, and commented on the Launceleyn’s appearance—or demeanor, or eyes, or clothes, or any number of signals that the summoner wasn’t bothering to hide—Loren just moved to the other end of the sled and grasped the end of one of the carpet’s on top. ”Depends upon your definition of improvement.” His voice came out in a mostly neutral tone, though weariness and darkness lurked under the surface.
As the two of them lifted, the summoner called upon a golem to lift two more carpets. Then he would attempt to lead their small crew into the Temple. ”It was Wessex’s.” He wasn't going to claim credit for much of anything: the Launceleyn had been told, in no uncertain terms, that his ideas were pretty much useless, his knowledge and experience insufficient for LongNight, and that it was better if he just followed orders and let other, supposedly more suitable candidates risk life and limb.
He simultaneously chafed under that idea and could feel it sinking its claws into his already fragile psyche. At least he could carpet the Temple. Maybe that would save lives, maybe it wouldn’t, but he wasn’t quite willing to fully succumb to the feelings of helplessness that threatened to swamp him now more than ever. Still, it hovered over him, its edge occasionally cutting deep into his already tattered soul.
Never judge a book by its cover.
