Assailant
It is not entirely surprising that he finds himself at the lake once more.
Every day he wanders, lost in replays of the night that everything went wrong, wondering how he had let himself fall into such a messy mud pit of a relationship. He thinks of different things he could have said that might have led to a more pleasant ending. But mostly, he just clings to the memory of her, of the anger that somehow enhanced her frosty touch while heating the air between them.
A grumble of frustration breaks the silence as he stares out over the crystalline surface. Frustration that he does not know what to do next, annoyance that he still dwells on the incident, and disappointment that she has not returned. He keeps coming back to this spot, thinking, hoping that perhaps she has given in to the same silent pull that had originally brought them both here that night.
But night after night, he is but a solitary shadow skulking at the water’s edge.
This night passes uneventfully into dawn and he spreads his wings wide in the burgeoning daylight, stretching the muscles and tendons in preparation to take to the skies, to scout yet another piece of Beqanna for some glimpse of her. Once satisfied with the renewed elasticity in his wings, he takes a bit of time to free the rest of his body from the stiffness that had settled during his nightly vigil.
His routine is interrupted by the sudden crack that echoes through the Dale. His eyes immediately scan the sky above, searching for gloomy clouds that might explain the thunder-like clap. Seeing none, his apprehension begins to blossom, wondering what fresh hell might be heralded by such a commanding noise.
He briefly considers taking flight to avoid whatever might have just landed, but he is feeling somewhat reckless, no doubt driven by the exasperation that threatens to consume him, so he stays. He stays far longer than he thought he would, but his ‘patience’ is eventually rewarded with the sound of approaching steps. Heavy steps, far more substantial than he would associate with the woman that soon stomps into view.
Though he is more accustomed to the newer manifestations of magic, the glint of the morning light off of the lavender metal catches him by surprise. Well, that’s certainly new.
She gives him no additional time to continue studying her appearance as she calls out. He does not really question whether she is speaking to him, as he is painfully sure that there are no others nearby. Still, he does not respond immediately to her, prompting a second shout, followed by her coarsely worded query. He is not exactly put off by her vocabulary, but he admits that it is a far cry from that of the company he’d been keeping in these last months.
He glances around as though confirming the space that they currently occupy and shakes his wings out to dispel the tension that had been coiling within him. His eyes skim over her hybrid form once more, a touch of skepticism flashing as he does so.
“The Dale.. and it must not be what you’re looking for. Welcome to the club.”
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware
--Martin Buber
@Kreation