Assailant
He knows he shouldn’t stray too far from the Meadow, lest his party return, only to discover his absence, but he cannot resist the urge to wander, at least for a while.
The skies are nearly as cloudy as his mind today, and for this reason, he opts to forgo his preferred method of travel. The scents of damp soil and mild decay weigh down the crisp morning air as he trudges over the leaf-strewn ground. The air itself nips at his skin and puffs of vapor swell and dissipate quickly with each breath he exhales. He looks up at the dark skies and rumbles a quiet dissent, for he would rather not be near others just now.
On its own, the earthiness of this time of year is not unwelcome, but when mingled with the unmistakable smell of breeding season, it is something he cannot quite bear. At least, not now. Every time he passes by a woman, she unwittingly sends out a plaintive appeal to his ignoble past, much like a bright light calling to the hapless moth. But at the heart of his displeasure is not the fact that such longing still lies beneath the still-thin veneer of the changes he has made.
No, it is the fact that there is still enough of his former self to want to submit, to give in to the craven desires, not for his own pleasure, but to spite her for what he viewed as her intractability. While Demise had been similarly headstrong as Adriana, the former had rarely fussed about a lack of fidelity, and when she did, he had always pulled another woman into his embrace just to stoke her anger.
But that was a different era with different expectations, and he has come to accept this, so that is why the surfacing of his old habits bothers him so.
He does his best to turn his thoughts elsewhere, but since he cannot seem to shake the traces of the kelpie girl from the webs of his mind, visions of a future in which Tephra has returned begin to form. He thinks of Savior, born to defend the land they seek to raise, and he wonders what his own role will come to be.
He is not sure that he could assume a similar post, as nothing in his life had ever required much protection beyond simple border patrolling. Yet, even if he had acquired any physical skill, how would that compare to the types of magic that run wild today? There had been a small taste of greater power when he’d been part of the group that had mended the Baltian/Stratosian rift, but that had faded once he had returned to Beqanna. He recalls the celestial images that Ryatah had painted to better illustrate her tales of the past; something tells him that her magic could do far more than produce pretty pictures.
On the other hand, how much of a diplomat could he be? When given the chance in the Baltian/Stratosian past, he had done little to inspire peace between the warring countries. Though it could be a more natural path for him, given his lack of offensive abilities; and learning peacemaking might be easier than throwing himself into innumerable skirmishes or even petitioning for new magic. He wonders briefly what kinds of defensive or pacifist abilities might also be out there, which leads him to also wonder about Famkee’s clairvoyance and how she might use that on either side of the fence.
While pondering all of these branches of magic, he cannot help but think of Adriana’s water wings and the frosted scales of her skin and a tongue of fiery hunger flares up so strongly that he can nearly feel the heat radiate from his chest. For a moment, he longs for a flame of his own, if only to melt his way through her icy exterior, but then perhaps to incinerate anything that threatens her well-being.
As this thought dawns, he realizes that maybe it is best that he has no potential for tangible destruction; he might not be able to control himself under certain circumstances. He then realizes that he has traveled much further than he intended to and that he is near enough to smell the ocean air once again. He stares out over the shimmering horizon, aware that he is still looking for her and, so infuriated that he is letting her consume him so completely, that he is of half a mind to abandon the quest for Tephra entirely.
But he knows he can’t, so he grinds his teeth in annoyance and wheels around so that he might head back to see if the others have gathered in the Meadow yet.
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware
--Martin Buber
@Adriana