The tattooed sailor didn't miss the color that rose to Nira'lia's cheeks at the mention of other men, not at all clueless to the kind of reactions he was capable of eliciting from others. In any other situation, he would have been more than flattered, if not willingly distracted by the implications the pale woman revealed in such a physical response. Obviously, this moment was not such an opportunity. If medicine was indeed her profession, then the undertones of her expression were hardly professional. Despite the pressure of his much more concerned on-lookers, he smirked, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought instead of blurting out the first response that came to mind,
"S'fine." He finally replied, almost too quietly, though there was something in his tone that implied he had more to say. His questions for the Konti were unrelated to his physical injuries, however, and he was loath to bring up the depth of his concerns to the woman in front of his current audience, "Jus' sore. Long as I'm careful the next few days, it should be a'ight. I'll only submit to doctorin' if you insist."
It took a conscious force of will to remain as expressionless as possible under Sylkra's toothy, threatening glare. He hadn't dismissed the kelvic as harmless, but at the same time, he'd come to understand her perspective as short-lived. Comparatively, she was a candle burning at both ends, twice as bright in her immediate passions and concerns, untempered by time because hers was so brief. If only she could wrap her mind around him as being hardly as tame and half as dangerous as she seemed to have long-since concluded. He'd made nice with other animals before. Just a few. He hardly felt far from one himself some days, though not this one.
Cerulean eyes refused to acknowledge the kelvic's snarl, forced instead to drag themselves back to the Drykas with a flash of uninhibited indiginance. She'd done the right thing, she knew that, but still, she blamed him for it. Petch her horse. It wasn't his fault she was lost. It was a familiar enough feeling to him, but there was no pity in his chest at her words.
His weak smile faded, thin-lipped and suddenly uncomfortably serious. Was this what he'd sailed all the way back for? Teeth and accusation?
It was a reminder why he kept himself untangled and free, that look in Sariana's face and the weight of her tone with just a handful of words. That was unnecessary, but there it was. Had she spent the whole time angry at him?
Of course she had.
She was still a woman.
"It's petchin' dangerous out there anyway." Pash'nar finally managed to mumble, obviously withering under the swordswoman's angry stare, "No better'n'the Suvan now. Djed-mutated things all over th'place." His words were empty, attempting to fill the space between them with something other than what was really there weighing them down, despite being a warning. While his concern for her safety was true and blatantly obvious, he avoided directing his answers to the questions he heard she wasn't asking.
He was heavy. Burdened with too many thoughts. Running had solved nothing, and if anything, made things worse. It always did. He hadn't burned bridges. Just his hands. And Laviku's whim brought him in touch with too many Svefra all at once. His heart ached in a way he'd thought he'd snuffed out long ago. The sapphire gaze boring into his own only made everything he felt—felt—more tangible, more real than it had been in decades. Magnified in his discomfort, he simply surrendered on the spot. He had no fight left to fake, no bravado to conjure.
He wanted something else, something different.
Inked shoulders sank and a calloused hand fiddled helplessly with stray bits of sea glass in his dark hair. He looked back to the Konti briefly in some kind of helpless apology, then to the Drykas, avoiding Sylkra out of fear she'd just leave him bleeding on the snow. A cloud of chilled breath, held too long, escaped his lips before he spoke again, honest and unwilling to veil feelings for convenience's sake, "Don't hold yourself back jus' 'cause Nira's here, Sariana. It ain't doin' anyone favors. If you've got somethin' to say, go on. You shouldn't still be here. You've got places to go. Why'd you stay?"
This was not an appropriate question for their public situation, and it was obvious that Pash'nar both knew this and ultimately didn't care. He knew, inside, why he came back.
He waited, not truthfully expecting a reason to stay. |
