Assailant
He immediately notices the guilt on her face and he dislikes it, but the expression morphs into something he can’t name, but it evokes an even stronger response. He is on the verge of apologizing when her eyes seem to glaze over and her body freezes in place. At first, he is bewildered by the vacancy that has seized her so tightly that she does not respond when he calls her name, or when he reaches to gingerly prod her shoulder with his nose. He steps back and studies her more closely, gazing curiously into the sightless eyes. Suddenly, the answer comes to him: the clairvoyance she’d been gifted after their time on the Mountain, it must be showing her something. He waits quietly for some sign that the supernatural grip is weakening.
After what seems an eternity, she still does not show any sign of rousing, so he decides to call to her again, head tilted and that feigned pleasant air about him. She does begin to stir shortly after, but he wonders if it is because of him or the blood he sees dripping from her nose. Whatever the reason, she seems unsettled when her consciousness fully returns, but she is quick to mask it behind an almost convincing smile. He is not fooled, though. He knows that move all too well, having to utilize it himself as he portrayed himself as an unbothered man that had heard of a lost kingdom and, his curiosity piqued, had gathered a group who were willing to take a gamble on restoring their home. He had told none of them, not even Kreation, with whom he’d spent the most time, his real reason for wanting to pull Tephra from the void that had consumed it.
The truth is both selfish and shallow and he often feels a burning shame when he thinks of the fond memories they had shared with him, of the genuine love everyone carried, of the profound investment they all had in the kingdom. And here he is, wanting to use Tephra as a carrot to dangle in front of the one who had left him standing alone at the edge of the Dale’s lake, to use its return as a means to capture her attention once more, so that she might at least give him a chance to apologize to her. He sighs quietly, annoyed that he had gone looking for a bit of reprieve from his angst and had not gotten a single minute of peace.
He grows suspicious as Famkee makes her feeble attempt at conversation, the tense smile still plastered across her face despite the body language that betrays the turmoil roiling within her. He tilts his head again and watches as her eyes dart from one spot to the next, never resting in one place, let alone on him. What the hell could she have seen (or felt) that had created this reaction? He nearly asks her outright, but her tongue is quicker than his and suddenly the questions pour from her mouth, pulling him into a similar state of discomfort.
Who is she?
He is at a loss for words, trapped in a cage of truths that Famkee eventually builds upon with every question or statement. He wishes he could lie, could make up some story about a pretty stranger that had caught his eye once. But she was far more than that and Famkee is not wrong when she says that this unknown woman consumes him; yes, she is becoming his everything, though whether that is a good or bad thing, he is still unsure. One of his hooves scratches absently, ripping out the roots of whatever grows in the soil beneath him. He is not sure how to answer her question, nor is he sure if he even wants to attempt to, so he mulls things over as she continues, waiting in agitated silence until she seems to have exhausted her curiosity.
His eyes are not quite diamond-hard with anger, but neither are they soft with fondness as he finds his voice again and responds, “Her name is Adriana, and she is different.” His gaze drifts toward the Forest that conceals the shore upon which she had stood when he’d emerged from the ocean after so long. “But.. she’s gone.” The slump of his shoulders is subtle, but it is still there as he looks back to Famkee. It has been one thing to deal with the aftermath of their disagreement (for lack of a better term), but it is a beast of another kind to admit it out loud, even to someone that he knows and trusts. He’s not sure how he feels about her knowing everything that he’s been trying to stifle, but a small voice tells him it’s not the worst thing in the world.
The contriteness in her expression is strange, not because he questions the sincerity of it, but simply because he has never known her to be like this. However, as he well knows, a lot can happen even in a short amount of time, and he can only imagine what has been going on in her life. He does not want to get too bogged down in his story and end up forgetting to check on her wellbeing, so he decides to try a compromise. “If you will tell me about your struggles, I will share mine.”
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware
--Martin Buber
@Famkee