He returned her challenge with a somewhat confused tilt of his head, before checking over his equipment once more and heading up the stairs in long strides. Kasrjin wasn’t sure of how long had passed since they had first retreated into this building for respite from the storm. The Xaela breathed deeply of the frigid air as he pushed open the double doors that had served as an aegis from the blizzard.
There was still a slight wind--stronger than a breeze but not quite the howling gales that had battered the area during the storm--but the snowfall had settled and, as expected, the landscape had been altered, though not drastically. Snowdrifts had visibly congregated but not enough to fully mask familiar trails, and one advantage of the storms is that it drove all but dragons and the hardiest of beasts into shelters, and they would be slow to emerge, at least for a time.
Kasrjin’s black tabard rippled with the wind across his brass-coloured armour, eyes shimmering as they surveyed the landscape. Their discussion lay in the back of his mind, perhaps distractingly so. For some reason, Roen’s hand on his came to mind.
Why did she enact such a gesture? What was the intention, the message behind such a thing? Perhaps he was merely overthinking, but the Xaela could tell that his presence was helping her find her faith. And resolve. Though he himself may waver on those things at times, and though he may not fully understand why it was that she found such….comfort in cooperating with him, it was encouraging to see her spirits lifted.
Exactly why, he could not say.
He stepped back inside the building as the paladin had begun to prepare the warbling chocobos for travel. “We can navigate,†Kasrjin spoke softly. “If we depart early, we may take advantage of clear lands before the beasts return to their prowl.†Two gauntleted fingers rested on his chin in thought--a gesture he had picked up from the denizens of the Western continent. Admittedly, the Xaela felt somewhat ridiculous mirroring the gesture, and so he ceased it quickly in a manner one could almost call sheepish. “What is the destination?â€
There was still a slight wind--stronger than a breeze but not quite the howling gales that had battered the area during the storm--but the snowfall had settled and, as expected, the landscape had been altered, though not drastically. Snowdrifts had visibly congregated but not enough to fully mask familiar trails, and one advantage of the storms is that it drove all but dragons and the hardiest of beasts into shelters, and they would be slow to emerge, at least for a time.
Kasrjin’s black tabard rippled with the wind across his brass-coloured armour, eyes shimmering as they surveyed the landscape. Their discussion lay in the back of his mind, perhaps distractingly so. For some reason, Roen’s hand on his came to mind.
Why did she enact such a gesture? What was the intention, the message behind such a thing? Perhaps he was merely overthinking, but the Xaela could tell that his presence was helping her find her faith. And resolve. Though he himself may waver on those things at times, and though he may not fully understand why it was that she found such….comfort in cooperating with him, it was encouraging to see her spirits lifted.
Exactly why, he could not say.
He stepped back inside the building as the paladin had begun to prepare the warbling chocobos for travel. “We can navigate,†Kasrjin spoke softly. “If we depart early, we may take advantage of clear lands before the beasts return to their prowl.†Two gauntleted fingers rested on his chin in thought--a gesture he had picked up from the denizens of the Western continent. Admittedly, the Xaela felt somewhat ridiculous mirroring the gesture, and so he ceased it quickly in a manner one could almost call sheepish. “What is the destination?â€
