It’s dirty, that’s certain, the isle of ice is no such thing. Well, suppose the dirt colored white was snow once, but personally, he wouldn’t even consider it to be anymore. Muck. Barren, sooty, he feels the grime coated in his nostrils, clinging to his flesh.
Even now, he shows contempt, ocean eyes roaming over the flats. It is so very different here, nothing like his home, and currently- he isn’t sure whether that is a good thing or not. Ivo really should learn to show some gratitude, maybe a thanks, alas, he doesn’t seem to know better.
Terrible company, this one.
“You weren’t stretching the truth,” a simple enough statement, although it comes out of nowhere- much the same as his presence did. The indigo pointed bay, didn’t shy away from butting into their congregation. Rather, he waltzed right in like he was supposed to be there or something. Briefly the topic of fires had been touched on, that fateful day at the river, seeing it for himself- it looks all too familiar.
“Is that your souvenir, the tree,” he gestures towards the flickering branches with his nose. An odd sort of momento, he could have sworn the other had been adamant for him to see geysers of some sort, although the tree itself isn’t lacking in the interesting department.
It is only now that he really takes in the gathering, tracing the congregation with his sight and pulling his ears forward as he looks them over. “Could have done without the swim myself,”, and there it is, that sneer, how this man’s face is not sore from grimacing is beyond me.
“Ivo,” the way he says it, tells all one must know about the indigo-haired boy.
ivo
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