3/20/2025, 12:19 AM
A small part of Rhydian resented how easily Faeline moved through the snow.
She made it look effortless.
He had grown up in the cold, but this... this was different. She was built for it in a way he wasn’t, cloaked in thick, silken white fur that caught the wind like it belonged to the storm itself. By comparison, he felt hairless his coat coarse and rigid where hers was plush and delicate. His body stiff where hers moved fluidly over the drifts as if she had done it thousands of times before. Rhydian could almost hear his father’s voice now—grumbling about aching joints, the creeping stiffness of age.
Rhydian wasn’t old. Not yet. But damn if the Pit hadn’t made him feel it...
Every step was a reminder of that slow decay, decay of the strength he once carried so easily. It gnawed at him, that perfidy of his own body, though he’d long since learned to bite down on the complaints before they left his tongue.
Besides, Faeline had done too much for him already. He couldn’t slow her down any more than he already had. He refused to. They had a goal, and he wasn’t about to let something as pathetic as arthritis keep him from his children.
At least spring was stubborn. He could feel it in the way the afternoon light stretched across his back, in the faint, thawing scent of damp earth beneath the frost. It was a small mercy. The gods owed him as much.
They were here for a reason, he reminded himself.
Faeline had mentioned a pack. What was the name again?
Naturally, he had given her an earful about the subject. Not that it had changed anything. Obstinate as ever.
'Here... we’re here.'
Rhydian exhaled sharply, breath coiling against the cold.
"Remember, Fae, we’re only here to find out more about Morriva and Aedric," His voice was even, low from bearing the weight of their argument from the day prior. The substance behind it left no room for argument—at least, for a normal, non-Faeline individual.
"No distractions. No wasted time."
He knew they were in agreeance, that much he knew, but he couldn't help but reiterate his grievances anyway.
She made it look effortless.
He had grown up in the cold, but this... this was different. She was built for it in a way he wasn’t, cloaked in thick, silken white fur that caught the wind like it belonged to the storm itself. By comparison, he felt hairless his coat coarse and rigid where hers was plush and delicate. His body stiff where hers moved fluidly over the drifts as if she had done it thousands of times before. Rhydian could almost hear his father’s voice now—grumbling about aching joints, the creeping stiffness of age.
Rhydian wasn’t old. Not yet. But damn if the Pit hadn’t made him feel it...
Every step was a reminder of that slow decay, decay of the strength he once carried so easily. It gnawed at him, that perfidy of his own body, though he’d long since learned to bite down on the complaints before they left his tongue.
Besides, Faeline had done too much for him already. He couldn’t slow her down any more than he already had. He refused to. They had a goal, and he wasn’t about to let something as pathetic as arthritis keep him from his children.
At least spring was stubborn. He could feel it in the way the afternoon light stretched across his back, in the faint, thawing scent of damp earth beneath the frost. It was a small mercy. The gods owed him as much.
They were here for a reason, he reminded himself.
Faeline had mentioned a pack. What was the name again?
Naturally, he had given her an earful about the subject. Not that it had changed anything. Obstinate as ever.
'Here... we’re here.'
Rhydian exhaled sharply, breath coiling against the cold.
"Remember, Fae, we’re only here to find out more about Morriva and Aedric," His voice was even, low from bearing the weight of their argument from the day prior. The substance behind it left no room for argument—at least, for a normal, non-Faeline individual.
"No distractions. No wasted time."
He knew they were in agreeance, that much he knew, but he couldn't help but reiterate his grievances anyway.
