As the shadowy boy quipped at the hedgeman and stalked off onto the bridge, Lilann was glad for her mask. Something told her he wasn’t fond of being grinned at, and as fun as it could be to tug someone’s strings, she wasn’t exactly eager to provoke him. It came as no surprise that he was familiar with—and the word he’d used was—ambushes, but the wild theories began to bloom nonetheless.
What did surprise her was Kyreth snagging her by the arm and marching them right past Jenson. It had taken restraint not to yank herself away, but even radiating anxiety she still didn’t get the sense that she should be afraid of him. He moved with all the clamor of a mouse across cotton, and though she was no stranger to soft-stepping, she felt like a stumbling oaf in his wake. How fascinating, was this some sort of mystical talent? Or was it simply practice? When it seemed they were far enough for his comfort, he hunched low—something that, once, she would have taken for a slight—and explained himself. He was worried, rightfully, but also concerned for her. Sweet boy.
Alas she saw the lights beneath the murky water and, like a light beam in a room full of mirrors, her attention bounced again before she could manage a thank-you. Letting slip a little gasp, she scooched over to the jut of one of the bridge’s balconies
“Something off indeed! Look here, Kyreth, do you know what those are?” she asked, of course, rhetorically. “Wander’s Warning. Pretty things, but you’d be hard-pressed to find an omen so ill as these. Heralds of death. Vows of vengeance so furious they transcend the realms of the real and the ab-real.”
Lilann stared down, but for as much vigor as she put into her words, she couldn’t find it equaled within her. If Wander’s Warnings really were the cries of the dead, she figured there’d be far too many angry Tainted spirits for it to have remained a sailor’s tale. By design, Lilann didn’t think much of the ‘after’—by all accounts her kind didn’t really get much of one. Her mind tended more towards the present, and the union between the two: legacy.
Nonetheless, she turned back to Kyreth as the crotchety gateman briefly, albeit loudly, awoke from his slumber. When that was done, their just-as-grumpy companion marched right on by them. She exhaled, relieved; with any luck their little journey together was over, and they could put enough distance between them that it wouldn’t matter what he told the officials.
They. She caught herself, amused.
“Perhaps he was right to be so on-edge. Perhaps you’re both right,” she said softly, looking back to the grim boy and the elf. “At your lead, Kyreth. Safety in numbers and all that. Though…” and she gently took her arm back, giggling beneath the mask. “I believe we’re safe enough from the brute, now. Thank you, for looking out.”
@Obscene Symphony, Everyone.