great clouds rolling over the hills
and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel
Early on, he had no one and nothing, and so when he gained people and places of importance, he clung to them with intense loyalty. His family. His Tundra. He hasn’t committed himself yet to a new home, two years later and counting. He’d explored the new territories briefly, marking their existence in his long, wandering walks, and her mention of Nerine brings a thought of sand, a flash of water. But he hadn’t lingered in any of them, because none of them had reminded him of home.
A part of him knows he will eventually have to settle somewhere, but he is still holding out hope for a place that at least is cold enough to foster memories of his Tundra. The control of ice may be his least favorite magic, but he still misses doing it. Having it. Not as much as some other things. He’s been quiet just a moment shy of too long, so he forces himself to focus.
“Ah…I’m immortal. Still got that, as far as I can tell, I mean if not I think I’d have died instantly when the magics went away.” Brennen chuckles at that, though perhaps it’s more irony than humor. “Some sort of consolation prize. I had wings, I think I miss those the most.” Honey-brown eyes flick back to her wings, and perhaps his jealously is obvious. “And bone-bending, and ice manipulation.” They roll off his tongue as inconsequential, an afterthought, but memories of each flash though his mind, darkening his eyes. Bone armies and ice walls and times the world wants him to forget.
It’s hard, though, to forget being a warrior, to forget the protective instincts that drove most of those actions. “How about you – is flying your only talent?” The tone is forcedly light, with a hint of a drawl, and the formerly “rude” question seems all too apt in today’s Beqanna.