SURWOOD ISLE | MORNING
What was this anyway?
Allowing herself to be dragged gently along with a chuckle, the brunette scanned the area that Loyan gestured to with one hand. She saw little yet to define the Crows against everyone else, but then she wasn’t as familiar with the tribal markings as she was with Yellow Eye. As they entered the crescent of kints and the warmth of the fire brushed their skin, Sarinah glanced at Loyan before briefly gauging Tristaan’s reaction. Seemingly unperturbed by the possible reaction, she shook her head.
“Ne kov. I’m Yellow Eye. Ent really a swimmer myself to be honest. Still, takes more than swimming to be a Deep Water I’ve recently learned.” Her dark eyes glanced at the scarred passive again, smile turning ridiculously shy and a blush colouring her cheeks at his comment.
Oes, the heart does do what it wants. That was painfully true. Even if it left death and pain in its wake.
The witch felt a shift in the man, turning to face him as they slowed to a near stop. Her other hand moved to rub his shoulder, and with a tsk she leaned to kiss his cheek.
“We don’t have to do this Tristaan, ye chen? We can just dust ha—“ Her quiet words were cut short as Loyan yelled loudly, causing the dancer to wince and turn around, following the passive as he led them onwards and squeezing his hand. There was no perceptive field around the man, but it was clear he was nervous. As much as she had been about seeing her parents. At least, if the world was about to fall apart a second time, she was here for him.
“Then he’s the only man that ye should ever call that kov.” She said softly in return, studying the beautifully carved door of the kint they approached, if only for a moment before it burst open to reveal a tanned, gnarled older wick. He was made of sun-leathered skin and warm brown eyes, a stark difference to her own. As the passive released her to embrace his father-figure, Sarinah bit the inside of her cheek and glanced away, fighting against the anger at her own fami.
Tristaanian?
It was the first time she’d heard the passives full first name on someone elses lips, and admittedly it was a stark slap in the face. A reminder that the man was not always a wick, that once upon a time he was a galdor. Looking at the ground by her feet, the brunette let a small smile grace her lips as she thought of how far beyond the golly life he was. A tekka, through and through. Whether he believed it or not, it was clear to the witch the grey eyed man was at home in the arms of his da.
Y’ent drifted jus’ t’ get hitched, didja?
Sarinah’s head snapped up, brown eyes wide and searching for Tristaan’s reaction, even as she stammered over her own words with a laugh.
“Ne, ne kov. We ent—it’s really—“ The lithe woman had turned scarlet, laughing and unable to meet the grey steel of his eyes as the passive tried to recover from the comment. As he introduced her to the man, Sarinah ducked her head in greeting, tucking raven locks behind her ears with an awkward smile. Guaril’s delighted face changed, clearly reading far further into Tristaan’s words than anyone else might have. She tripped over her words a little, shaking her head with another small laugh.
“Junta Guaril. Ye boch’s fairly benny at making it look like he ent a balach to the core, but oes, it went something like that. Trouble, that’s the Rose’s favourite tourist attraction, ye chen?” She smirked at her own joke, before shaking her head again.
“Ne. I suppose I was for a while, but I ent anymore. I was a spoke as a boch. Grew up with my…in the kint. So travelling is what I always knew, for a mant manna maw. Left to settle roots somewhere away from the cities and the nomadic lands. Somewhere…homely. Only, didn’t get that far. Been in the harbor for at least five maw, and would have been there longer if it weren’t for this mung kenser.” The brunette teased, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow at Tristaan before grinning broadly. She looked back to Guaril and shrugged.
“Ent really a spoke, or a tsat right now. Ent really sure what I am.” Sarinah finished softly, throwing a quick peek at the dark haired man before looking down, thick locks hiding him from her line of sight as though planned.
Ent sure what I am. Or what this is.