[There is something beautiful, too, in watching Vyng ascend the floating snow as easily as one might a staircase. There's a joy and unconscious grace to it that's downright cousinly, that's a skew reminder of home, and it strikes some faint chord in Illarion's dead heart.
He smiles back at the other elf. Maybe a little of it's relief, as he can slowly relax his hold on whatever he's done to the snow.]
A ladder may have been more practical, [he retorts,] but this was a good experiment. You are welcome.
[Snowflakes begin to sift back down around them, still stained with unnatural colors here and there, but otherwise not much worse for their journey.
no subject
He smiles back at the other elf. Maybe a little of it's relief, as he can slowly relax his hold on whatever he's done to the snow.]
A ladder may have been more practical, [he retorts,] but this was a good experiment. You are welcome.
[Snowflakes begin to sift back down around them, still stained with unnatural colors here and there, but otherwise not much worse for their journey.
The ones that hit the shrike's skin don't melt.]
Shall we go?