[ Upon arriving in Aefenglom, he has been robbed of many things familiar to him; he has been changed in ways he had once sworn he'd never allow himself or others to be subjected to again. But there are little things—little gifts—which he has come to cherish in his time walking among humans. For the first time since before Arcadia (before becoming fae), he is able to look upon mortals with no need for obscuring his face. Imbued in him no longer is the magicked charm of his kind, absolving him of the fear of instilling compulsions in close companions should they only glimpse his features, or worse yet, his eyes. And it is precisely the absence of this enchantment that allows him to study Caren as the waterfall pounds down about him, its roiling temperatures fuel for him, a dragon whose composition is thoroughly crystalline.
(And what a relief it is, to know that while his former magics had been stripped away clean, his origins of heat and flame and crystal could never be taken from him.)
The force of the falls may be a massage, and draining its heat a much-needed treat, but more than that, Caren's wonderstruck gaze is a perfect thing. Her expression is not for him, not by any means, but what he wouldn't do to see it brought about again in the slip of a girl who knew of nature through only vague memory. He cannot imagine her, precisely, as a damsel isolated in a tower on high (despite her being a slip of a thing, fragile-seeming for all that she'd been uncaring of pain in pursuit of her own delights), but perhaps as a small warrior insulated by her chosen purpose instead. ]
Caren! [ —he calls with a grin, giving a great roll of his shoulders beneath the flow of water. ] I suppose we are well met, for I am not yet dead.
And while I cannot say I have found any measure of enlightenment by standing here... [ Raising an arm, he beckons for her to join him! ] ...I can say with certainty that it is an experience worth having.
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(And what a relief it is, to know that while his former magics had been stripped away clean, his origins of heat and flame and crystal could never be taken from him.)
The force of the falls may be a massage, and draining its heat a much-needed treat, but more than that, Caren's wonderstruck gaze is a perfect thing. Her expression is not for him, not by any means, but what he wouldn't do to see it brought about again in the slip of a girl who knew of nature through only vague memory. He cannot imagine her, precisely, as a damsel isolated in a tower on high (despite her being a slip of a thing, fragile-seeming for all that she'd been uncaring of pain in pursuit of her own delights), but perhaps as a small warrior insulated by her chosen purpose instead. ]
Caren! [ —he calls with a grin, giving a great roll of his shoulders beneath the flow of water. ] I suppose we are well met, for I am not yet dead.
And while I cannot say I have found any measure of enlightenment by standing here... [ Raising an arm, he beckons for her to join him! ] ...I can say with certainty that it is an experience worth having.