Sören watched as Kemala became aware of the warmth coursing through the shawl he’d gifted her. Watched as it slid down her skin to the crook of her arm. Her eyes lidded shut, lulled into a perfect serenity that made him very aware. It was more gratifying than simple surprise, for unguarded like that she was utterly beautiful. Not a new observation by any means, but in that moment he felt a part of its making.
He was still opening looking when her attention landed back on him. Sören’s gaze was steady for her reaction, and his lips twitched into a self-aware smirk when she snapped. For once he did not find frustration in her lack of gratitude. Kemala sat like a queen in judgement. It wasn't forgiveness, but he had no use for that anyway. He found her intriguing.
When they disembarked he helped Kemala in whatever way she directed; the water was her kingdom, and for the same reason he had asked for instruction on steering the boat he deferred now. It was not subservience, nor apology, but acceptance of an equal and the respect it was due. On the docks it was cold and bright, teeming with tourists and locals both. The runes took the worst of the chill, though Sören had long since found that he could simply ignore the temperature if he focused past it. His sodden shirt had been dried with a moment’s attention while they were still on the water, but his sweater was slung over his shoulder along with his bag. He glanced down at Kemala, wondering if she would try to wriggle free of the hook now they were not confined to the boat.
“Eat with me,” he said.
There were plenty of restaurants along the waterfront that would offer better fare than the hostel, and she had declined breakfast that morning. Or at least she had haughtily attested to having her own food. A smile hinted at the corners of his expression, and it might have been charming had it not also had a slight air of needling to it. If she had an answer for him, or perhaps an upbraid for the forwardness, he didn’t get to hear it.
Sören’s eyes swivelled to the distance. No alarm seeped through the sudden austerity of him, though the abrupt weight of menace was nothing short of threatening. The hairs on his arms prickled. “A man is weaving the runes,” he said by way of explanation. The amounts were vast, and it pulled a frown over his brow just as the sky began to darken.
[[The sudden storm is the same one referenced in Dream, Memory, and Blood. The channeling Soren senses will occur in this thread]]
He was still opening looking when her attention landed back on him. Sören’s gaze was steady for her reaction, and his lips twitched into a self-aware smirk when she snapped. For once he did not find frustration in her lack of gratitude. Kemala sat like a queen in judgement. It wasn't forgiveness, but he had no use for that anyway. He found her intriguing.
***
Their way back to shore was uneventful, and Sören spent much of it in contemplation as he steered the boat. Elias had no female channeler at his disposal, which meant he had time to plan and prepare thoroughly for his next move to recover the creature’s shard. There was still Thalia and her theft prickling at his pride, of course, but ferries to the island on the lake were not frequent, and it was not like she could simply disappear. For the first time in a long time, Sören toyed with the luxury of time at his disposal, and a new object of his curiosity.When they disembarked he helped Kemala in whatever way she directed; the water was her kingdom, and for the same reason he had asked for instruction on steering the boat he deferred now. It was not subservience, nor apology, but acceptance of an equal and the respect it was due. On the docks it was cold and bright, teeming with tourists and locals both. The runes took the worst of the chill, though Sören had long since found that he could simply ignore the temperature if he focused past it. His sodden shirt had been dried with a moment’s attention while they were still on the water, but his sweater was slung over his shoulder along with his bag. He glanced down at Kemala, wondering if she would try to wriggle free of the hook now they were not confined to the boat.
“Eat with me,” he said.
There were plenty of restaurants along the waterfront that would offer better fare than the hostel, and she had declined breakfast that morning. Or at least she had haughtily attested to having her own food. A smile hinted at the corners of his expression, and it might have been charming had it not also had a slight air of needling to it. If she had an answer for him, or perhaps an upbraid for the forwardness, he didn’t get to hear it.
Sören’s eyes swivelled to the distance. No alarm seeped through the sudden austerity of him, though the abrupt weight of menace was nothing short of threatening. The hairs on his arms prickled. “A man is weaving the runes,” he said by way of explanation. The amounts were vast, and it pulled a frown over his brow just as the sky began to darken.
[[The sudden storm is the same one referenced in Dream, Memory, and Blood. The channeling Soren senses will occur in this thread]]
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)