Warren turned a box of matches over in his hand without thinking about it. He was back in Southern Thanalan, not quite to the territory of Little Ala Mhigo but pushing it. The crystalline prison that contained Howl was at his back and he was leaning against it, smiling. It pulsed warmly against his armor and he couldn't tell if he was actually feeling it or just wishing badly he could, but the comfort was there. Warren smiled to himself, ignoring the line of pain as his lips split open from the gesture.
"Should have seen his face. Oh, he was so mad..."
He'd regaled Howl the tale of his confrontation the night before. Warren looked all the worse for it; One eye had swollen shut but eased slightly with bed rest and his other had a shining black ring around it. His mouth had cleaned up a bit but his lips were still raw, and the effort of speaking and smiling caused the wounds to re-open too frequently. He couldn't not talk, though. His linkpearl had been silent through the night and there was nothing for him in the city now, so he'd struck out for the cave at first light. There was an emptiness in him he couldn't refuse, so he filled it with words and conversation.
He recognized the ailment afflicting him. It took some thinking, but he wasn't able to deny the loneliness that had settled into him or the uncertainty of the future. He knew in his heart he would rescue Howl, and he'd grown to realize quickly how important their bond was to him, but there was a lingering shadow in his mind. S'ereno had told him a week, perhaps two depending on Howl's willpower, and Warren had never met a more willful miqo'te in his life.
Well, maybe one.
But time was ticking by, and the first week was nearing an end. Howl was still receptive when Warren approached but there was still a dimness to his eyes; He looked but didn't see. Pangs of fear sapped at him when he thought what he would do if he returned and Howl didn't look for him, if the crystal had gone cold, if he felt that pulse and then it stopped, the light growing dim.
Warren struck a match from the box. His research was sound, and he had nothing else to go on, so it would have to work. Ordinary fire, the kind that he was holding, the sort that burned at the end of the torches he'd brought to keep the cave alight, wouldn't work. Mundane fire wouldn't do anything to melt aetherial permafrost, and he lacked the means to attempt to combat Ural's magic head-on.
The match burned down and Warren flicked it away before the flame could lick his fingertips. He struck another match absently and continued to think out loud.
"I might not have been joking about summoning a Primal. I've been chasing rumors of those who are learned into the arts of Allagan sorcery; They can summon purer forms of the primals if the stories are to be believed. If that's the case, maybe I could convince one to bring a fragment of Ifrit's power here, see if that would do anything..."
There was another way, though. The one that first got him thinking, the one that caught his ears and made him wonder.
"There's always dragonfire. I could... Capture one? Lure one here, maybe. The drakes of the desert aren't related enough to your kin and belch alchemical fire from glands in their throats and stomachs; Trust me, I checked. But dragons...? I need to talk to Sei about it. You're both linked, and I know you aren't actually dragons, but if there's a part of it dwelling inside of you... There's a chance. There has to be a chance."
Sei. He wanted to talk to her, too. There was a pull in his chest that was almost unbearable at times when she was away, and he felt himself missing her like a limb.
"...it was cold in Coerthas. But you got used to it. The numb would set in, and you'd forget what your face felt like, and the wind would tear at you until you couldn't feel anymore. I know it's dumb to tell you this; You went through even worse, but you know what I mean. The cold gets into you, it becomes a part of you. Every day she comes back, I'm given warmth again. I feel my face, my lips. I feel my limbs. And then... She's gone. And the cold sets in, and I dream of the sun."
The match sputtered and bite his fingers. He flicked it aside and pressed his back against the crystal. He needed the warmth.
"Should have seen his face. Oh, he was so mad..."
He'd regaled Howl the tale of his confrontation the night before. Warren looked all the worse for it; One eye had swollen shut but eased slightly with bed rest and his other had a shining black ring around it. His mouth had cleaned up a bit but his lips were still raw, and the effort of speaking and smiling caused the wounds to re-open too frequently. He couldn't not talk, though. His linkpearl had been silent through the night and there was nothing for him in the city now, so he'd struck out for the cave at first light. There was an emptiness in him he couldn't refuse, so he filled it with words and conversation.
He recognized the ailment afflicting him. It took some thinking, but he wasn't able to deny the loneliness that had settled into him or the uncertainty of the future. He knew in his heart he would rescue Howl, and he'd grown to realize quickly how important their bond was to him, but there was a lingering shadow in his mind. S'ereno had told him a week, perhaps two depending on Howl's willpower, and Warren had never met a more willful miqo'te in his life.
Well, maybe one.
But time was ticking by, and the first week was nearing an end. Howl was still receptive when Warren approached but there was still a dimness to his eyes; He looked but didn't see. Pangs of fear sapped at him when he thought what he would do if he returned and Howl didn't look for him, if the crystal had gone cold, if he felt that pulse and then it stopped, the light growing dim.
Warren struck a match from the box. His research was sound, and he had nothing else to go on, so it would have to work. Ordinary fire, the kind that he was holding, the sort that burned at the end of the torches he'd brought to keep the cave alight, wouldn't work. Mundane fire wouldn't do anything to melt aetherial permafrost, and he lacked the means to attempt to combat Ural's magic head-on.
The match burned down and Warren flicked it away before the flame could lick his fingertips. He struck another match absently and continued to think out loud.
"I might not have been joking about summoning a Primal. I've been chasing rumors of those who are learned into the arts of Allagan sorcery; They can summon purer forms of the primals if the stories are to be believed. If that's the case, maybe I could convince one to bring a fragment of Ifrit's power here, see if that would do anything..."
There was another way, though. The one that first got him thinking, the one that caught his ears and made him wonder.
"There's always dragonfire. I could... Capture one? Lure one here, maybe. The drakes of the desert aren't related enough to your kin and belch alchemical fire from glands in their throats and stomachs; Trust me, I checked. But dragons...? I need to talk to Sei about it. You're both linked, and I know you aren't actually dragons, but if there's a part of it dwelling inside of you... There's a chance. There has to be a chance."
Sei. He wanted to talk to her, too. There was a pull in his chest that was almost unbearable at times when she was away, and he felt himself missing her like a limb.
"...it was cold in Coerthas. But you got used to it. The numb would set in, and you'd forget what your face felt like, and the wind would tear at you until you couldn't feel anymore. I know it's dumb to tell you this; You went through even worse, but you know what I mean. The cold gets into you, it becomes a part of you. Every day she comes back, I'm given warmth again. I feel my face, my lips. I feel my limbs. And then... She's gone. And the cold sets in, and I dream of the sun."
The match sputtered and bite his fingers. He flicked it aside and pressed his back against the crystal. He needed the warmth.