jamie
A fair question, certainly.
The darkness had consumed him the last time he’d seen her.
He had spent so many weeks in the shadows. He had been so much weaker then. (Still weak, of course, but he has grown and the exhaustion does not fit him the same way it did then). And then grin remains, all sharp teeth and an ink black mouth, as he meets her gaze steady. Still so much brighter than anything he’s used to, but he no longer fancies himself a coward. He will not cower, not like he did then.
His fog looks dirty compared to her white smoke. Smoke that reminds him of his sister and of the first time the three of them had convened.
“I hope you can forgive me,” he murmurs, the voice thin as all that fog. Weak. Hardly more than a whisper, just as it had been then. “For my actions the last time we met.”
He tilts his peculiar head, blinks those big yellow eyes. He remembers what he’d asked her the first time they’d met – where had she gotten all that magic? But he does not remember her answer, if she’d even offered him one. He is curious still but he does not ask again.
“I had spent most of my time in the darkness,” he explains, “I was weak then. Looking at you was like...” He pauses, casts a glance around that vast desert, the black mouth pressed into a thin line. So thin that the mouth disappears altogether. “Well, I suspect it was like looking directly into the sun.” And there he grins, all teeth.