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 is not quite sure why he comes back to this forsaken piece of land—why he bothers. It wasn’t like he actually enjoyed his last time here: the brief encounter with the less than pleasant natives, the freezing cold biting into his flesh, the unnecessary conversation. He wasn’t tied here—technically, at least, although he had said in so many words that he’d be around to help Nerinians—but he found himself back on these shores regardless. He walked through the icy tundra, not bothering to warm himself up although it would be easy enough to manipulate the air into rising several degrees, his coat into thickening.
Instead, he grits his teeth, muscles working in his jaw, as he treks through the island, surprised that all of the commotion and chaos surrounding the place had died down so quickly.
So many so willing to go to blows over a land that they so quickly abandon.
He huffs, a mockery of a laugh as it leaves his lips, and rolls his eyes, his motion pausing for a moment when he sees the mare out of the corner of his eye. She is entirely different than anyone he has ever seen before, and he frowns in thought as he studies her from afar, looking at the ice that encapsulates her body, at the faint glow of the blue. Something like interest flares in his emerald eyes and he angles his current path, heavy footfalls carrying him easily across the slippery ground toward her vicinity.
“It’s easy to imagine the land just spit you out,” he says, voice as heavy as his footsteps had been, without any kind of sweetness or pretense to soften them. He angles his handsome head, watching her with eyes that are sharper than they have any right to be, mouth pressing together. He considers adding more, considers playing the more diplomatic hand, but instead he remains silent, content to just watch her.
woolf
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
@[Kora]
