51st of Glade, Year 120 of the Age of Steel
Riven breathed in. Atinaw was very different to any land he'd visited before; Loregard made him realize that. After the initial shock, people who met him usually did take the time to help a stranger out. After hours of searching all over the city, a bard had ended up telling him what he wanted to hear: that a certain silver-haired elf had arrived a week ago to work for the Finla. A big deal, apparently, though Riven wasn't surprised. And the elf crossed the gates and the whole city everyday, which meant that he lived in the outskirts, outside of the walls. Riven had taken no time; his heart started to beat harder, heavier, as he flew towards a calm neighborhood with very scattered little houses. A farmer who sold fruit pointed uphill, towards a small house at the end of the path. She didn't know much about the man... but he was most certainly a Sil, and he had just moved in. And there was Riven now, walking after so much incessant flying, ready to see Taelian again. He breathed in again; a couple more steps and he would be on top of the grassy elevation. The sun warmed up his black wings; his breathing was heavy, taking in the situation. It hadn't been so long since he got his letter, after so much time. His backpack wiggled a little; he smiled.
And when he reached the end of the path, he saw him. His pale hair seemed to glow under the sunlight; he was distracted hanging up clothes outside and he hadn't seen Riven. A good thing, because the Avialae was paralyzed; after so much time, he looked... like Taelian, he guessed. Handsome, with a solid back and a perfect shape; in the small glimpses of his face, the perfect profile that he had grown to love so intensely. His pulse was accelerating; the area around him heated up as small wisps danced around him. His eyes were starting to water; he was beginning to realize how much he had really missed him, how badly he longed to be around him again, to touch him. To kiss him. And there he was, almost a stranger, standing still on his frontyard. Watching him hang his laundry. And yet, it was still perfect, and he was still perfect for him. He silently took his backpack off, carefully, trying not to wake him up, and placed it on the grass.
"Hey. I'm-- I'm here, Tae." He said, his voice almost cracking up.