Kestrell hardly knew what to say. He could see that she was plainly different from the last time they met, but kept his thoughts to himself. Maybe mentioning the changes out loud would bring up something to irritate her, and Kestrell certainly didn’t want that again.
In fact, he’s not sure what he wants.
It’s not her - at least, not in the way that he typically thinks of when the idea of ‘pursuing’ a possible love interest enters his mind. He’d always been a dog about it, a real hound chasing down the scent of its prey (which the prey typically enjoyed, mind you.) Just mad, really; totally driven by his instinctual desires.
The pursuit always started the way things began - or ended, in this case - with Ciri. He’d meet a beautiful, lonely stranger and at first they’d have nothing in common. By the end of that conversation things would be different, though. They’d drop hints (like Ciri did) that stuck like seeds or burrs to Kestrell’s coat, following him around and nagging him until he’d waited long enough. Then the hunt would begin.
However, there was one thing more striking about his encounter with Ciri than any other: she seemed to be genuinely drawn to Kestrell’s pain, (despite her own) and willing to help him after he’d more or less asked for her help. She’d given him more than a clue.
Ciri had given him a lifeline.
So he looks upon the gleaming stripes covering her body, puzzling out that they were once scars turned into pure starlight, and Kestrell smiles despite the bitter cold and freezing temperatures. She looks very well, he consoled himself. That’s all he cared about. Maybe that was why he’d journeyed here for more than a month.
In the pitch black night, Kestrell’s normal eyes finally adjusted to see the world had turned into a dark void. Ciri’s faint crimson lights illuminated the ground, and he could hear the sloshing waves pushing ice upshore. But the Tundra was barren and flat, blending seamlessly with a horizon rich in celestial bodies. For once the heaven outshone the earth, and the Gods and Goddesses tended their beautiful constellations as Kestrell watched slowly from far, far away.
“Can you believe I took it all the way to Tephra for a soak?” He looked down to find her glancing up at him.
In her eyes was a perfect reflection of what he’d just witnessed. It seemed like someone had dipped a cup into the night sky and poured it into Ciri’s soul, and before he could blink Kestrell saw a winking light soar over her irises. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, then; for a second he wondered if the cold had actually gotten to him, because Ciri’s eyes were full of shooting stars.
“You’re looking brighter yourself.” He hinted devilishly. “And maybe even happy to see me?” Kestrell nudged.
“Something good happened?” He finally asked outright. What he didn't say was: I worried about you.
In fact, he’s not sure what he wants.
It’s not her - at least, not in the way that he typically thinks of when the idea of ‘pursuing’ a possible love interest enters his mind. He’d always been a dog about it, a real hound chasing down the scent of its prey (which the prey typically enjoyed, mind you.) Just mad, really; totally driven by his instinctual desires.
The pursuit always started the way things began - or ended, in this case - with Ciri. He’d meet a beautiful, lonely stranger and at first they’d have nothing in common. By the end of that conversation things would be different, though. They’d drop hints (like Ciri did) that stuck like seeds or burrs to Kestrell’s coat, following him around and nagging him until he’d waited long enough. Then the hunt would begin.
However, there was one thing more striking about his encounter with Ciri than any other: she seemed to be genuinely drawn to Kestrell’s pain, (despite her own) and willing to help him after he’d more or less asked for her help. She’d given him more than a clue.
Ciri had given him a lifeline.
So he looks upon the gleaming stripes covering her body, puzzling out that they were once scars turned into pure starlight, and Kestrell smiles despite the bitter cold and freezing temperatures. She looks very well, he consoled himself. That’s all he cared about. Maybe that was why he’d journeyed here for more than a month.
In the pitch black night, Kestrell’s normal eyes finally adjusted to see the world had turned into a dark void. Ciri’s faint crimson lights illuminated the ground, and he could hear the sloshing waves pushing ice upshore. But the Tundra was barren and flat, blending seamlessly with a horizon rich in celestial bodies. For once the heaven outshone the earth, and the Gods and Goddesses tended their beautiful constellations as Kestrell watched slowly from far, far away.
“Can you believe I took it all the way to Tephra for a soak?” He looked down to find her glancing up at him.
In her eyes was a perfect reflection of what he’d just witnessed. It seemed like someone had dipped a cup into the night sky and poured it into Ciri’s soul, and before he could blink Kestrell saw a winking light soar over her irises. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, then; for a second he wondered if the cold had actually gotten to him, because Ciri’s eyes were full of shooting stars.
“You’re looking brighter yourself.” He hinted devilishly. “And maybe even happy to see me?” Kestrell nudged.
“Something good happened?” He finally asked outright. What he didn't say was: I worried about you.
Image ©Karl Martens
@Ciri