whofrownedthisface: (the fuck is that)
whofrownedthisface ([personal profile] whofrownedthisface) wrote in [community profile] lethevale 2016-11-12 05:07 pm (UTC)

Look at them both, just a pair of intrepid travelers who definitely didn't jump a mile out of their skins in fright over a thunderclap. Stupid storm, it had to go and give the lie to his words about being surprised it's still going strong. Personally he thinks storms should stick to what they do best, preferably someplace else, and not argue. This is dreadful, but how was he to know it was going to storm? And she wouldn't have liked being left behind, nor would she have been that much warmer, probably. The irrational panic of thunder and lightning blend surprisingly uniformly with the very rational panic of suddenly doubting all his decisions. He keeps a tight grip on her hand and does his best to hurry without winding up in the mud. The last thing they need is for him to dash his brains out on a rock. He shivers once very thoroughly, like a bird fluffing up its feathers. The light, at least, seems undeterred by the storm.

"Don't worry," he says for probably the thousandth time, and with a surprising lack of irritation. She's adventuring just fine. And she's survived worse than a little weather. That's probably not what you say though, right? How do you talk to children, he has no idea. Traumatised children! That have been dragged out into a positively apocalyptic storm. Well, enough about his mistakes. His mind, like the finely tuned instrument it is, can suggest only a few courses of conversational action for a stormy forest, and she probably isn't interested in ghost stories, having recently been the subject of one. "In the morning this will seem like a bad dream, like nothing at all. And then you can have breakfast. That's how it always goes, with unfortunate circumstances. They wind themselves down and become forgettable, and then you can have breakfast."

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