Closed Where the Heart Lies

[Laszlo]

Winter 30th, 512 Before sunrise. "I appreciate you doing this for me, Sakana." Though Laszlo's clawed hand pinched shut his woolen gray cloak, the dry chill of predawn still managed to bite past his clothing. Lhavit was still illuminated by starlight and patrolled by Leth, but off to the east, past the monolithic rise of the Dawn Tower, the sky was fading from indigo into a lighter gray. The mountain air was sweetly fragrant with freezing dew and the newly crystallized frost that coated the plantlife and clung to the corners of windowpanes. The bronze-skinned Benshira standing in the manner's door frame stifled a yawn. Dawn Rest would see him into his bed within the next bell or two. "It was nothing, Laszlo." Leaning against the frame, Sakana turned his collar out against the draft from the door, but he otherwise did not seem bothered by the wintery chill. "Although it is a shame I am losing my courier. You know, you may come inside if you like. Does no good to stand out in the cold." "I would, if I had time. I still haven't said my goodbyes to Fia yet, and…" "Ah. No need to explain." Sakana tipped his head through the door and took a casual look around the Sharai Peak. Street lanterns cast golden halos onto the snow, becoming only small points of light further down the road and near the okomo grazing pastures. It was much quieter compared to the center of the city. He may as well have had the peak all to himself. "Was there anything else you needed from me? I did remember to pay you, didn't I?" Laszlo nodded. "I just wanted to thank you. For the job and… and it's been an honor knowing you. I'll be sure to write." Sakana put on a hazy smile and, after a moment of wading through his thoughts, nodded. "We will meet again, I'm sure. The world will continue to move while we stand still." The younger Ethaefal meekly laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Yes, I suppose… Ah. I've been wondering." He lifted his head, meeting Sakana's mortal eyes again. The image of a Benshira. It was the only one Laszlo could ever remember meeting. Yahebah would be one of the stops along the way to his final destination. He wondered how differently the true Benshira would look from Sakana's decorated image. "You said you've been to Yahebah before, haven't you? So… why Lhavit? What has kept you here?" "Mn." The alchemist flicked his eyes down, shifting his weight against his shoulder. Laszlo began to get the impression that he had been asked this before. "Circumstance, mostly. An Ethaefal must choose where his duty lies. I belong in Yahebah about as much as you belong in Kalinor." A wan smile appeared on Laszlo's face. Four hundred years of existence was impossible for him to fathom. What experiences did Sakana have with his estranged, former people? They couldn't have mirrored what Laszlo known with his own. The compromises he had to make. The line he walked between worlds. The younger Ethaefal opened his mouth to speak. "You should make haste." Sakana straightened and reached for his door. Wearing a placid expression, he observed the Symenestra in front of him with countless eras of wisdom locked behind his young eyes. He managed to see what Laszlo was thinking before he could think it. "Your blacksmith waits for you. Goodbye, Laszlo. May fortune find you in Eyktol." The questions died in Laszlo's throat. "Take care, Sakana." After the door shut, Laszlo lingered in place for a quiet moment. Finally breaking out of his own mind, he turned and made for the inn where Fia was staying. She was not there. The innkeeper, who barely remembered her name, informed Laszlo that she had vacated her room. Fia was already on her way to Zeltiva. He never had the chance to tell her that he was leaving Lhavit as well. If she did send him letters, they would never reach him. The Ethaefal told his feet to take him to the harbor, and behind him he dragged his heavy heart through the snow and ice. --- "It's called a kersha, you said?" At last, Laszlo found himself on the deck of a long, ornate vessel. The Eypharian captain stood nearby, but barely seemed to notice Laszlo was standing there. He was overseeing his crew, who were busy checking the riggings (so Laszlo guessed based on his limited knowledge of ships) and loading differently sized crates of cargo into the underbelly. A dozen or more souls were wondering above deck, but there were more below. The huge oars protruding from either side of the ship required forty rowers, the captain had told him. Massive sails did the other half of the work of propelling the ship, but at the moment they were still tied to their masts. Confirming what Fia had said earlier, the winter winds were good for southward travel, and kershas were particularly mobile. Laszlo could see why, though he wondered where the truth ended and the captain's pride began. "That's right." A thick, exotic accent sharpened the captain's Common. It was the first Eypharian Laszlo had seen since Alvadas, his glittering skin not dissimilar to Laszlo's dayside form. This man was noticeably older than Ifran and had four arms instead of six. The Ethaefal wondered if Eypharians had a different number of arms, but it seemed rude to ask. Perhaps he had somehow miscounted Ifran's hands. "Have you found your room yet?" "I was about to go look." The captain suddenly barked at a passing deckhand, using words in a language Laszlo had never heard. The deckhand nodded and motioned to Laszlo. "He'll show you where you'll be staying. We set out at sunrise." "Thank you." The Symenestra turned and followed another Eypharian into the shadow of the kersha, where he was thankfully out of the moonlight. The captain of the kersha shook his head. Even if Laszlo was truly an Ethaefal, he could not make himself get over the way Widows walked. Somehow it turned his stomach.

[Fia Eaven]

"Laszlo?" She sang the name to the window and called it into cracks in the door as she struck the wood with her palm. A courier had brought word to the forge after the midnight rest: Today at dawn the ship would bear her down the river away from Lhavit and towards the other end of the world. She had stood trembling at the forge's hearth for chimes after. He had asked for the last goodbye, no matter the bell. There had been silence between them of late. Neither had asked for it or intended to give it. They were simply on rafts drifting slowly to different shores. Why burden a departure with more memory? "Laszlo…" There was no answer but quiet, cold and bare. She couldn't even leave a note, only crude symbols on the pane and snow. But even those would fade: a horseshoe, a sun and a river between them. "'Twasn't meant to be," she explained to the door, "When the tide went out, we'd see the truth o' the reef." *** Fia carried the entire accumulation of her life on her back, gingerly navigating the slow trickle of bodies coming down the Misty Peaks. Unlike the rest of Lhavit, the darkness kept them cowed. The mountain's crags and burrows still softly radiated the phosphorous tones. Fia raised her palm to catch some of the alien color on her skin. The city had always outshone what she asked of it, and by doing so, left her behind. She didn't wear finery well. Bowed and dumb like cattle, she walked up the ship's gangplank, and showed her symbol of passage purchased. It would be a cot if she was lucky and the deck if she wasn't. "…widow in the big passenger cabin. Climber might be useful for the rigging when we get underway. Especially in high winds." A human seaman shouldering a bundle was keeping a low confidence with a multi-armed man coiling rope. "A widow?" Fia stepped into their conversation. The sailor shook his head, like she had flecked his brow with water, then moved to pass her. Her step to block him was wide and purposeful. "You shouldn’t have one aboard a ship where you sell general passage," she said steadily. "They shouldn't be with good people. It should be kept in the crow's nest." "Well it paid for a cabin…" the sailor adjusted his heavy burden and looked past her to where he was supposed to be, "This isn't my problem, lady." Fia's tone was grave rather than angry, "Then where's the Captain?" "Captain cleared him, and he's got other matters," the man's impatience sharpened his answers, "We are setting sail, if you hadn't caught that." He sniffed a laugh, "Get some grit, it looks harmless." "Harmless didn't—" Fia fumbled with her pack. It struck the deck loudly and she perched her foot on it while she rolled down her left stocking. The flesh from knee to ankle was like clay that had been raked and poorly smoothed again. Some scars were white and others pink, but they were perfectly arranged in lines of four and five. "—gift me this." Attention had been drawn. They looked at her ruined limb and it made their features curl. Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, Fia's request became a timid thing. "Fetch your Captain, please." The sailor clenched his jaw, then livened with recognition as he saw someone beyond Fia. "This one wants the widow lashed to the crow's nest. Best get the Captain for her." The smith was reaching for her stocking when the sailor shucked her for more pressing and less complicated things.

[Laszlo]

The widow in question stood just outside a mouth of shadow that led deeper into the kersha's insides. His wide, vibrant irises were set on the jagged ridges that ran lengthwise up Fia's calves. It never had occurred to Laszlo that Fia's unwavering preference for colorful stockings might have had a purpose. While the scars were shocking, it could only have been the whim of Kelwyn that had Fia Eaven standing there at all. Her familiar voice, if uncommonly excited, had pulled him into the open air again. Laszlo thought he had to be mistaken. Logic had convinced him that she was already long gone. Furthermore, this ship was bound for Eyktol, not Zeltiva. Desperate reasoning rushed in, attempting to take the place of disbelief. Was he on the wrong ship? Or had Fia somehow gotten wind of Laszlo's plans? Was she following him? That didn't seem right, or even possible. Why would she? Was Sakana responsible for this? He wanted to thank the sailor for weathering Fia's protests, or even nod in acknowledgement, but all of his thoughts were on the autumn-haired girl in stockings with her life sitting at her feet. It finally occurred to him to speak. "Fia…" Reality caught up to him, and suddenly he became aware of the rest of the world again. His eyes fruitlessly searched the kersha's deck for answers, but none of the men moving on board looked half interested in whatever was transpiring between them. The Symenestra received curious glances and nothing else. Laszlo shook his head and blinked rapidly to clear his mind. "What are you doing here?" The beginnings of smile became visible on his shadowed, grayish features. It was part incredulity, part cautious relief. "I mean… well, if it makes you more comfortable, I could always sleep in the crow's nest. But what are you doing on this ship? I thought you were going to Zeltiva. Shyke, I thought you were already gone."

[Fia Eaven]

The brevity of Fia’s name caused her to lose it often amidst the similar sounds of a crowd. And the voice that made it now was not possible in this place. She shook it out of her ears until it was near enough to strike her. Her hands were still fumbling to smooth her dress when she was pulled up to meet the dusky voice’s questions. This Symnestra shape had a place in her memory too. Though it was not as sleek as the other and did not move with the same unfettered grace, it had as much power to keep her attention. She answered in staccato phrasing, not aware enough to word any of her own disbelief. “I am. Trade route goes from Yahebah to Zeltiva. Take it in legs. Pay for it in pieces.” She looked around, as if another bird was going to drop an explanation from the sky. “You had obligations,” she said, “Couldn’t leave, but you’re here and not to see me off neither.” Laszlo was given a glorious instant to think when an eavesdropper couldn’t stand the confusion. “Did you still want the Captain, lady?” Fia blushed and shook her head. “Ah, no. Thank you kindly. He’s not real.” She winced quickly, “I mean he’s real, but he’s an Ethaefal. Won’t be this for much longer.” Her eavesdropper seemed unconvinced as he scanned the lanky ghoul. “We’ve met before,” she assured with heat still in her cheeks. As she spoke to someone who didn’t have the same emotional weight as Laszlo, her voice found its music again. “He’s good people.” When the eavesdropper walked away, he was still peeling his eyes off of the Symenestra. Fia lifted her head. Her right hand was clasped above her left elbow, as if trying to compress a wound. “I went to your house.”

[Laszlo]

Take it in legs. Pay for it in pieces. This was Fia's ship to Zeltiva. How could… How could Laszlo have never known about this? It was true he and Fia had scarcely spoken since leaving his apartment, but it how could he never had learned that this kersha was her way out of Lhavit? There had been other ships, hadn't there? One conversation could have shed light on her plans if he… only… had the courage to ask her… "I…" After glancing over his shoulder, Laszlo drifted a few steps closer, trying to close the moment between them and make it private. The warm light from the nearby torches made Fia's hair look especially red. They were finally out of the colorful glimmer of Lhavit, like stepping out of a dream. "I wanted to talk. Tried to find you at the inn." She wasn't there. This was why. It was the same reason Fia couldn't find him. He rubbed his mouth with one clawed hand. This was a bit awkward. "I, um… I'm sort of running away. You were already leaving. The only thing left for me here is Abalia's ghost, and I can't… I can't be here alone." Laszlo looked down with a sad laugh. Left to his own devices, his apartment had become devastatingly silent. The teahouse, the observatory, the city's parks, the temples, even just Lhavit's streets, Abalia was everywhere all at once. His entire summer had been spent trying to enjoy what time she had left. She was gone, but the city still remembered she was here. "All I've been able to see are the memories of things I don't have anymore." He wondered if Duvalyon always knew how suffocating the guilt would become. Perhaps Laszlo should have never left Kalinor again. His apartment here had become a shroud. "It's more like one, single obligation. And it's not even… It's a bit complicated." He couldn't begin to explain Avalyon to Fia. Not even Laszlo knew exactly where he stood with her. It seemed wrong to leave her behind in Kalinor, but Lhavit was just as far as Eyktol if he still only came to see her once a year. "I'm going to Ahnatep, Fia. It's less remote than Zeltiva. There's a temple to Syna that I've read about. It's somewhere new."

[Fia Eaven]

Somewhere new, somewhere not here, somewhere she wasn’t going. It was hard to compete with a temple to his goddess and a city known for luxury. “Ah, well. You’ll shake this city off your shoulders and it’ll make you feel a mite better.” Fia didn’t know what else to say. Laszlo was here, yet he wasn’t. Everything was temporary between them, and his answers betrayed an unwillingness to divulge too much. It wasn’t her place to ask. He owed her nothing, rather, he could claim a debt from her. “I’m being rude and taking up deck space with me things.” She smiled but there was nothing worthwhile in it. “Best find me place and stow it all.” Fia bent to grip her pack, it was easier to drag than hoist it on her back again. “I’ll find you again. ‘Tisn’t a very big place.” After a quick inquiry, Fia made for the cabins, weaving through the busy sailors and idle passengers. The cabins were midship but otherwise familiar. There was a square common space with stained rugs. Small, private chambers were against the wall and given the luxury of a tiny porthole inhabitants could fasten shut like a diminutive door or leave open for fresh air. Sliding wooden panels that latched gave precious privacy from the lower class of passengers. Two of the rooms lacked the desk, chair and wider beds. They still had a chest or two, but they were to be shared amongst the many who would inhabit the bunks affixed to the ground within the narrow space. Delayed by her conversations, Fia was stuck with a middle cot. It was better than the deck. She’d slept on those before. After twenty days of damp and cramp, she had thought she would never feel warm again. “Ah me,” she sighed to no one after pressing her things into a chest. “Now what?” The trip down the river to the sea would be brief, and then she’d breathe nothing but brine and see nothing but water. Every moment with the familiar hunch of land in view was to be seized, so out again she went to find her place along the rails. How was she to behave? Laszlo had no eye toward a future that included her, but seemed fond all the same. They were a happy diversion for one another in an otherwise lifeless season. With the city and its memories behind him, Fia suspected her presence would lose its purpose. “Well,” she began upon finding Laszlo again, “I guess you get a little more time o’ me before the unavoidable, ifn’ you like it.” And it was unavoidable in her mind. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the rails. “I won’t act spurned if you’re worried. I know it was silly to ask you to tag along. We’ll blame Lhavit and its pretty lights. Fair?” Using a smile to distract, Fia turned to Laszlo. She extended her hand so they could shake convivially on the agreement she had fashioned.

[Laszlo]

Laszlo wordlessly stepped aside to make way, allowing Fia to move past him and get her things inside. All he could manage to do was look at her. The desire for words sat uselessly on his parted lips, but eloquence had never been one of his strong suits. A true Symenestra could have woven sonnets out of thin air. In every way that mattered (for better or worse), Laszlo was still a cheap imitation, like an echo of a thing badly remembered. Her disappointment was heavier burden to shoulder than her scorn. Fia was not angry with him, but she did sound hurt. Even looking at her diminutive frame, holding her thin arm at her side, made his insides wrench up. Laszlo had easily forgotten how she had lost her fiancé. Tynan, he remembered. A man who went out to sea and disappeared there. In his efforts to cleanly remove himself from her life, he'd made things much worse. He couldn't do anything right. But damn it, how was she even here? Laszlo had been certain until a moment ago that he had seen the last of her. Were the gods conspiring? First the bird and the book, and now this. Some days, Laszlo wondered if he was still in Alvadas and the entire past year had been one of Ionu's illusions. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think that he might suddenly wake from a bath to hear Seven ordering Laszlo to finish up in the washroom. The sky had brightened to a feathered gray by the time Fia made good on her promise to find him again. Laszlo had attempted to help the crew prepare the kersha for departure, but was politely excused when all could manage to do was get in their way. He stood at the side of the ship—starboard, was it?— in the wintry air, his cloaked, lissome shape leaned forward on the railing, staring up at the glowing peaks of Lhavit. From here, the view of any city structures was obstructed, but the light given off by the skyglass still made sweet, colorful promises from afar. Laszlo had been trying to remember the first time he had seen Lhavit sparkling in the distance. So many other things had been on his mind then. He turned his head slightly when the blacksmith began to speak beside him. In spite of the situation, seeing her still made him forget how to worry. The part of his heart blind to reason and circumstance was simply glad to see her there in front of him. She turned to him, and Laszlo reciprocated. One set of black claws was left on the railing and remained even when it was summoned for a handshake. He looked at her proffered hand and hesitated, eyes narrowing. The false Symenestra seemed pained by what she had said. Instead of taking her hand, Laszlo stepped forward and, gently, laid his arms around her. The edges of his cloak made an attempt to pull her in as well, making the embrace somewhat awkward, but all the more warm. A long, tired exhale materialized as a short-lived cloud somewhere behind Fia's head. "Gods, Fia." His voice brushed by strands of her copper blonde hair. "I thought you had left already. I was trying to figure out what I had done to make you decide not to say goodbye to me." Syna must have appeared somewhere beyond the Unforgiving, hidden on the other side. Fia was briefly enveloped in bright, golden light. Embarrassed, Laszlo loosened his hold on her. Liquid amber eyes slanted down to find her face. "Ordinarily I would hate long goodbyes, but this is better than none at all." A faint smile sat on his lips. He knew wasn't off the hook, but everything was looking much brighter to him than it had between the inn and the harbor. Figuratively speaking. "I'm sorry. I had this entire speech planned for when I saw you at the inn. I was trying to pull away from all of this before I changed my mind and asked if you still wanted me to come with you." He shook his head, scoffing good-naturedy at his own foolishness. "I barely know you, Fia. And gods, how well do you think you know me? I can't just pick up and relocate to follow a pretty girl halfway across the world. I'm fond of you but… I just lost someone." Laszlo reached back and rubbed the back of his head, remembering that his hair was free and untied. Stray wisps were catching on the coastal breeze and whispering against his dark, jade-like horns. "The last thing I need to do is inflict myself on someone else's future because I'm afraid of being alone. I just needed a new start. My life has always been a bit of a wreck, and I really don't think you understand what you were asking. I am the opposite of stability."

[Fia Eaven]

The Symenestra shape stared at Fia's offered hand wanting none of it. As her gut swung low, she forced her fingers to not shrivel into her palm. If she just persevered an instant longer, he'd have a little pity. The uncannily long arms set softly around her, spoke more than mercy. "Aye me." Fia leaned forward, despite the secret grimness the feel of drawn limbs and a narrow chest brought her. Her arms slipped bashfully under his cloak to complete the circle. When her head rested against his chest, she closed her eyes. They squeezed tighter when the sudden, burning cloud paled the back of her eyelids. They withdrew a space almost simultaneously, Fia clasping her hands behind her as if caught with something she wasn't allowed to touch. His arm might have lingered, but she slid from it reflexively. Strange that she should discover his dreaded mortal shade easier to embrace. It was nearer the dust of earth, like her. The rest could sometime bring her to airy fascination like watching fire. Listening was something Fia could do. Her ignorance demanded it and her temperament was inclined to it. She let Laszlo bundle and deliver his apprehensions and reasons into her hands. They were weighed and found sufficient. "It's alright, Laszlo," she assured in a quiet, rosy voice. "I know it was not the wisest gesture. It was a happy whim pulled out without thought." She released her hands from being primly held over the small of her back. "Fondness is no reason to change a life. Someone has left a hole shaped like herself, and I just stood in it for a bit to keep the cold from coming through. 'Tis a good thing if it keeps proper." Fia had a halo of understanding. It warmed words before she passed them on, and colored her looks more kind than sad. "You wanted more time, and I was thinking that's what I don't have much of. Me near family is fading or gone, me home burnt up, I'm not fit to catch any god's eye, can't even learn another trade without prenticing..." Fia stopped her mouth with the back of her hand, before she let herself lose hope. She closed her eyes and thought a prayer to Priskil before continuing. "Hard to know you're not even near the heart of anyone's world anymore. I want to make up a home. Get back some of that." She laughed, "I guess I grabbed the nearest glittering thing that made me feel right to stick in the nest." She looked at Laszlo's face a little more steadily, "I didn't know anything more than the fact I liked it and it seemed a good thing to me." Fia exhaled, and tried to send her dread out with her breath. "Well then. I like a story. Even if it's got no purpose. You've got a long while to tell me yours, if'n you like. Then maybe I can say I knew you instead of just meeting you." She walked to the rails and rested there again. Her head turned from the view of the mountain to look at Laszlo. "Though I don't right believe you when you talk about ruining things. You've done me a few uncommon kindnesses."

[Laszlo]

"Ha. Maybe I'm compensating." Alarming to think that when Fia looked at Laszlo, she could see none of the man who had witnessed murder and had victims of his own. Laszlo was "good people" as far as she was concerned. Sparing an occasionally harsh temper, nothing dark could fit in the picture she held of him. Fia liked a story? If Laszlo told her only half of his, he was certain she'd be climbing out of the ship in a hurry. "To be honest, I thought it was a very flattering gesture. It makes me glad you can see good in me. It almost makes me believe I'm actually capable of it." The Ethaefal attempted to smile, but it came out a grimace. He turned his head away, shifting his attention to a human sailor climbing the kersha's masts. Perhaps it was dramatic for him to worry that he could hurt her like he had hurt Abalia, but before she died, he had often looked at the Alvad and thought about how someday soon she would not be standing there anymore. Fia was here in front of him, alive and well, breathing and healthy, the memory of her shape still warm in his arms. He could not help but draw the comparison. It made him sick to think that he could cause something to happen to her, too. It stuck in his mind the way Fia had moved away from his arm. He had not expected her to return a Symenestra's embrace, but she was quick to step out of it moments later. Without knowing her reasons, Laszlo could not know whether it was the intimacy or his shape, or even if there was anything at all that bothered her. He only reminded himself to keep a more polite distance in the future. Wanting to move their conversation away from difficult things, Laszlo plucked out a memory of his past that he was comfortable sharing. He also liked the idea of Fia having known him. "I've only been on a ship once before." Laszlo moved his attention to the Misty Peaks soaring above them. The scenery had been worlds different at the Syliras port, with the black Suvan Sea laid out flat before them. The sky, however, had been the exact same color. "It was almost exactly three years ago, when I was leaving Syliras. There was talk of pirates, then. I actually worried our ship would be attacked." He turned and smirked at Fia. Though iridescence of his skin was subdued in the smoky dawn, he still seemed to be catching more sunlight than the rest of the ship. "It was before I ever knew about the Symenestra, when my claws still frightened me. I never took my hood off at night." He looked down as an exhale of astonishment caught him by surprise. "I was running away then as well." It was easy for him to run when he had nothing truly anchoring him down. His lack of a true family was a simple fact of his existence, but as he considered what Fia had said, she had even less than he did. At least he was always welcome among Duvalyon's family. He was even a father. The blacksmith seemed severed from whatever her origins had been. From what little he knew, it seemed like there was nowhere in Mizahar where she would be invited for dinner. Somehow, Fia managed to be more of a stray than Laszlo. And it was frightening to think that her youth would one day escape her. There had been a point in her life when she was affianced and must have been thinking of a future. Opposite of Laszlo, as time passed, she seemed to have less and less. Even if his company was temporary, it made him glad he could fill a void for her the same as she had done for him. It would be difficult when the time finally came to leave her on her own. Laszlo thought of Fia's scars and became filled with a sense of worry. At some point, they had been open wounds. He could only imagine what Mikendril had put her through. With a certain amount of effort, he forced himself not to wonder. It would be unthinkable to ask. From somewhere else on deck, the captain called an order to his crew. Whatever words he shouted were unrecognizable, but there was a visible reaction from everyone else on deck. A loosed rope flailed through the air as the sails were carefully released. They roared proudly as they caught wind and immediately inflated. A second order was called, and the Amaranthine violently cast the kersha's oars from the water. The entire vessel moved suddenly beneath their feet. Laszlo grasped the railing as a precaution. Much like the way he seemed to light up with fascination at the forge, he wore a boyish grin of excitement. "Here we go, then. No turning back." He nodded up toward the city, still glittering in the sky. "This could be the last we ever see of Lhavit. Any parting words?"

[Fia Eaven]

"Ooop!" Fia's voice flared with surprise as the ship lurched under them. She blushed at herself and prettily reflected Laszlo's grins. Her fingers wound about the railing and her stance widened a fraction. She would have to earn her sea legs again or spend the trip on her backside. Laszlo drew her attention to the city and their impending parting. Final words? It did seem fitting to give Lhavit a farewell. "'Twas lovely while it lasted. I'll never forget you." Fia pressed her palms together and bowed slightly toward the rising sun. It gave her goodbye a courtly finish. Her body was quick to lose the precision it adopted for the gesture. "It was a mite too pretty for me tastes." She grinned at Laszlo, after confessing her secret. "Don't know how that's possible. I like pretty things. But everything glittering... made me feel out of place. Like I was always trailing mud into the house." Fia realized Laszlo probably had no idea what she was talking about. Whenever he suffered for lack of esteem, he'd only have to wait twelve bells to be renewed. He never had to wear wool stockings in summer to avoid looks or feel the subtle recoil when someone touched surprisingly calloused hands. When overspent and alone, she wondered if Tynan would still be charmed by her should he miraculously appear. Turning her face away from the Ethaefal, Fia laughed, more at her thoughts than her words. "Lud. A woman grown and still worrying." How long until she was fully at peace with her tarnish? The smith eased into quiet, listening to lap of water against the kersha's sides and watching the light's ponderous journey through the peaks. This was a beauty she could bear without shyness. It had been amongst humans when they still struggled to fathom shelter, nonetheless glass domes and high towers. "Compensating?" Fia observed, "A wee bit ominous." She was pulling resting thoughts upright again. Her sense of time was always a little strange in conversation. "What a terrible thought, to not know what you are... the claws are a mite frightful." A thing she knew firsthand. "What were you running from back then?"