The relief of the cold passing through his hand is staggering. If Paul were anyone else, he might choke on a hitching sob, whirl to pursue Big Boy for the sake of remembering what it's like: winter rains, deep bays, the bite of frost, the high and howling winds off the northern shores.
But there's Gideon become Kiriona, and she's right. He wants her, picking fights. He wants that more than cold or succour. He wants it badly enough to have come all this way for it, at the very threshold of the house of someone he wishes was as uncomplicated as his enemy. He stays where he is.
"I apologize. Perhaps I'm being unfair." Paul looks Kiriona over properly, head to toe, taking his time from the crown of fronds to the shiny boots, with all the crisp white and gleaming braid in between.
"You look like a gilded prick," he says, thoughtfully, tipping his shining head to the right. "Is that better?"
no subject
But there's Gideon become Kiriona, and she's right. He wants her, picking fights. He wants that more than cold or succour. He wants it badly enough to have come all this way for it, at the very threshold of the house of someone he wishes was as uncomplicated as his enemy. He stays where he is.
"I apologize. Perhaps I'm being unfair." Paul looks Kiriona over properly, head to toe, taking his time from the crown of fronds to the shiny boots, with all the crisp white and gleaming braid in between.
"You look like a gilded prick," he says, thoughtfully, tipping his shining head to the right. "Is that better?"