i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Reave’s humor is a dark shadow to the brightness of hers, despite her attempt to quell it before it escapes on a snort. His eyes flick to the large yellow flowers that sprout rapidly, betraying her disbelief. They flow from flower to seed in the span of heartbeats before the cottony heads gust away. His grin only widens as his gaze returns to her, his delight clear behind the dim glow of his mask.
“An argument of semantics,” he replies easily, feet shifting beneath him, as restless as her wings. He has never been very good at standing still. “In the end they’re the same thing with different labels.”
A lesson he had learned long ago. The same lesson she’d been set to learn at their last meeting when this argument had first begun.
Tilting his head, he watches her thoughtfully as she continues, the giant roses shrinking back into the earth around them. Memories flit around her of a time spent with little more than a capricious companion for company. One nothing like his own steadfast companion, constantly whispering advice in his thoughts. Constantly impressing his lost morality back onto him.
It’s nearly a lost cause. One that Rune despairs of far too often, in his gruff, irritating way.
Lifting one brow at her self-effacing question, Reave argues, “As much right as anyone has to an opinion, I imagine.”
Her next question surprises him briefly, but just as quickly brings a grin to his lips. There is something decidedly devilish in that expression, beneath the pleasure that suffuses it. “You are always welcome in Nerine,” he replies, then he chuckles. “And it even has the benefit of not being underwater.”
@Nereza