Desolation comes upon the sky // Woolf/Heartfire

[woolf]

bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
if you must drink of me, take of me what you please

He comes—eventually.

He is in no hurry to make the visit, despite the fact that the bald mare had intrigued him. Despite the fact that he could feel the thin familial connection between them. Despite the fact that he had implied if not promised that he would. Woolf had always lived on his own timeline, had always abided by his own sensibilities, and he didn’t bother to hurry his pace or prioritize the journey or other.

Still, he does come.

He chooses the more traditional form of travel, muscles aching with use as he leaves Loess, skirting alongside Hyaline and making his way to the northern kingdom. The air turns cooler and before he knows it, he can smell the salt on the air. He enjoys the crispness of the ocean breeze, the fog that threatens on the horizon, the ocean as it rages around the kingdom. He could see why they call it home.

He almost smiles at Scorch’s enthusiastic greeting, almost rolls his eyes, but accepts it all the same.

Pulling briefly on their connection, he opens up a portal and steps out next to her, the muscle of his magic aching with the same sensation as those that rope up and down his shoulders. “I said that I would come,” he says, voice gruff, emerald eyes looking past her to see the kingdom as it swells. “Now, tell me what makes this place so special that you call it home.” Tell me more about why you think I should say, he remains silent but pushes the words into her mind, carving them on her psyche and letting them settle.

While there, he pauses, dark eyes glittering with intrigue before he leans down, voice a hushed whisper.

“Are you talking to ghosts, Scorch?”

woolf

I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste