Shy Away
Destyn offered a smile which, though weak and weary, was more genuine than many he'd worn tonight. Sometimes social interaction made him smile out of politeness or uncertainty, even when his heart was heavy with other matters. But it was earnest in response to the Rivach, which bore enough resemblance to his mothertongue that he understood "May", "Sanctuary", and "You", which was quite enough to comprehend the sentiment. He replied with an old farewell blessing in Vallasren:
"May the spirits stand between you and harm in all the empty places you must walk." He tightened his clutch on the crutch as he bent the knee of his good leg, to launch upward. He hovered about five feet off the ground, the rapid beating of his winds whipping at his robes and disheveling Sivan's flaxen hair. He called down over the loud percussion he produced in flight:
"I told you I'd mess up your hair!" He winked down at him, before tipping his head up and darting straight into the air above. After rising about a hundred feet into the air, his internal compass directed him homeward toward the estate that lately lodged him. Although he hadn't elaborated on the phenomenon when speaking to Sivan, Destyn's navigational skills were due to innate senses that may have been specific to his race or even to his clan, for all he knew. He wasn't conscious of the ability, it was just there- akin to the directional sense of a migrating bird.
Whatever its origins, it clued him into the location of the his bedroom even though he was departing from an altogether different spot than the one at which he'd landed earlier. He flew through the still open window, and alighted on the cold tile. He limped over to his bed and leaned the crutch against the nightstand, before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress and producing the small vial of valerian and tipping it over his tongue to drizzle a few drops into his mouth. He sighed, as he drew his legs up onto the bed and lay on his back, eyeing the little stone he'd been gifted to balm his intangible wounds. He squeezed it with one hand and folded the other atop it where it lay against his sternum, and shut his eyes hoping that sleep would come before some grisly image from his recent past.
11 Searing, 121
"May the spirits stand between you and harm in all the empty places you must walk." He tightened his clutch on the crutch as he bent the knee of his good leg, to launch upward. He hovered about five feet off the ground, the rapid beating of his winds whipping at his robes and disheveling Sivan's flaxen hair. He called down over the loud percussion he produced in flight:
"I told you I'd mess up your hair!" He winked down at him, before tipping his head up and darting straight into the air above. After rising about a hundred feet into the air, his internal compass directed him homeward toward the estate that lately lodged him. Although he hadn't elaborated on the phenomenon when speaking to Sivan, Destyn's navigational skills were due to innate senses that may have been specific to his race or even to his clan, for all he knew. He wasn't conscious of the ability, it was just there- akin to the directional sense of a migrating bird.
Whatever its origins, it clued him into the location of the his bedroom even though he was departing from an altogether different spot than the one at which he'd landed earlier. He flew through the still open window, and alighted on the cold tile. He limped over to his bed and leaned the crutch against the nightstand, before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress and producing the small vial of valerian and tipping it over his tongue to drizzle a few drops into his mouth. He sighed, as he drew his legs up onto the bed and lay on his back, eyeing the little stone he'd been gifted to balm his intangible wounds. He squeezed it with one hand and folded the other atop it where it lay against his sternum, and shut his eyes hoping that sleep would come before some grisly image from his recent past.
fin
