UNEXPECTED

Despite having grown up on the island, Marth couldn’t exactly claim any sort of fondness for the ocean. There were too many memories of stress and sorrow associated with it now to ever truly be comfortable with it.

But, at this distance, it’s less bothersome. He’s not interacting with it, and it’s not interacting with him, and thus it’s bearable enough. There are still villages in Altea that are recovering from the years after Dolhr’s invasion, including more coastal locations, and he plans to visit most of them.

The stranger watching the ocean is an odd sight. Though he can’t be entirely certain, he doesn’t seem to be Altean, or frankly any sort of Archanean. As he draws nearer, the other man seems to register his presence, and it only confirms that initial suspicion - he’s not from Archanea.

“Wh - oh, no, no. This land doesn’t belong to anyone, you’re quite all right,” he said, holding up his hands in an effort to calm and placate the man. “I was just traveling myself, on the way to see a village, err…”

He tilts his head at the man, as though silently asking for a name.

— A sigh of relief escapes the mage, all too pacified by the man's assurance. The new knowledge, taken quickly as the absolute truth to him -- what reason would this stranger have to lie? -- implanted the idea that he could revisit this place as much as he needed to, although it made him wary at the same time. Surely the more times he came to look for his old homeland would make him homesick and defeat the purpose of his travels.

But that would be a concern for another day.

It took him a moment for him to realize that the other was requesting a reply from him, and he rushed an answer as an unspoken apology for his delay.

    ❝ C-Cliff- !! M' name's Cliff. It's an honor to meet you, Sir- ! ❞

He said that, though he had little idea who the other actually was. Be polite. Be courteous. It was a kind of mantra that became natural, and his hand opened up, ready for his arm to be outstretched for a handshake but it fell back, closed against his chest awkwardly and in a sort of security. This man was not his friend, and he worried it be rude for him to ask so loosely.

    ❝ A village? May I accompany you then the short distance? I... probably        should head back to the one I'm staying at, and with any luck it'll be the        same one. I won't hold you back, I can pull my wei-- Ah, um... ❞

He supposed the effects of war were still on him if he were going to pitch himself as a temporary ally in arms. He looked embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink and a self-disappointed frown across his face ( his promise itself was empty anyhow, he figured ) before he sighed.

The wait for Celica proved to be difficult for Alm. He hadn’t always been so anxious to see his childhood friend, but the experiences of war had only plagued him with concerns and unnecessary ideas that would often keep him up late at night if he ended up overthinking things - -  and in these peaceful moments there was a lot of overthinking.

Often turning in his sleep and staring at the ceiling wall aimlessly with thoughts ceaselessly drowning him, to compensate for his lack of sleep, he ended up finding himself in one of the castle towers specifically designed for astronomical discoveries.

Keeping his mind distracted, he read few of the numerous books left in the old bookshelves and tinkered thoughtlessly with the telescope. It would probably be safe to say that no matter how much material he happened to look at, he wouldn’t be able to truly decipher their meanings without a proper tutor, and he wouldn’t exactly find the planets and stars carefully ruled out on the maps either.

Still, it kept him busy for the days he had to wait, and still it kept him busy after he finished his daily tasks. 

So engrossed he was with his solitary hobby, and the nagging thought that something bad could of happened to the princess; Alm had forgotten his duty as a friend.

It never occurred to him that he might have been neglecting people from his friendship, and at Cliff’s voice he turned around, surprised that the other had followed him.

“Oh, yes, of course!” He turned around feeling somewhat guilty, but a smile makes itself well-rested on his lips. He notices Cliff’s tone, but says nothing about it. Everyone is worried, he reasons, but knows full well there is an insecurity easily found in his friend. “I’ve found a nice place where we can talk,” He continued to walk ahead. “It helps me clear my thoughts, so maybe it will help you too.” 

— The quick reply back, one that granted him permission, created a euphoric calm within the villager and his countenance was soon graced by a smile to match. Easily pleased in the moment by the weight that lifted off his shoulders, it's still subdued after that first burst.

Don't get your hopes too up -- it's a constant reminder, but somehow he still lets the grin on his face stay even if it falters.

After all, it reminded him a little of idyllic days where it was just Ram in the world that mattered -- nothing of Zofia as a whole and of what lied on the other side of the floodgate. Even if this reprieve lasted a few minutes before Alm would return to his own worries and curious daily ritual, it would be a few minutes he could use to tide himself over until they were on the move again, until they had to return to fighting.

A quick, soft ‘ aw, thanks ’ uttered as he follows after his friend, a small mindful distance kept between them out of respect, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of place could grant such solace, such serenity and relief? A part of him hoped Alm was right, but even if it didn't aid the villager, he wouldn't be necessarily upset. It was enough to spend time again like this and to be shown something in such a kind gesture.

    ❝ Um... did your old man show you it? He seems... to know this place        a li'l more than I thought he would. ❞

Of course he would, Cliff mentally reasoned with himself: he was a general of fame, a hero of Zofia supposedly ( funny how Alm was given that same title now -- perhaps it ran in the family, he thought with a level of heavy ignorance ) and everything! Yet, the statement was said for the sake of conversation. The only thing he held himself back from musing out loud was how curious it was that General Mycen had already been at the castle despite clearly refusing the call the Liberation Force had given to him all those days ago.

      … me …       A voice, barely audible over the rhythmic plodding of hooves over the rocky earth.       … elp me…       There it was again, the same sound, the same cadence as—       H-help me …       Whether the wind had changed directions, or the words had been uttered at the exact moment between steps, the plea at last reached another’s ears and brought him to a stop.       “What is it?”       “I… I thought I heard something,” he answered, staring hard between the trees that grew alongside the path. His companion merely shrugged.       “The wind is picking up.” A dismissive excuse. None in the party wished to stop and chase phantoms in the woods after they had trekked all the way to Crimea’s border and back, offering medical relief to villages devastated by the war with little time for rest or relaxation. The only things on their minds now were the sensations of comfortable beds and hearty, warm meals. Pelleas couldn’t blame them, of course - he, too, longed for a bath and a good night’s sleep - but his threshold for subpar conditions was higher than the others’, given his upbringing, and his conscience perhaps more loud. It was this that, despite resigning himself to following the rest of the company, prevented him from taking more than a few steps forward. One of the other men looked back at him.       “Um… Go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you shortly.”       He stepped off the path into the little grove, ears straining for the sound of a another desperate call, and yet somehow, without that voice, he could still feel something in the air, the tangible sensation of fleeting Essence. Fortunately, it did not take him long to find the bloodied young man who, at first, Pelleas had nearly mistaken for a corpse and recoiled at the sight. But he moved, albeit weakly, which brought the archsage quickly to his side without a second thought.       “Are you alright?” Clearly not, as bloody and weak as the stranger was, but Pelleas could think of nothing else to say as he knelt down beside him. “Can you speak?”       A question not much better than the first, perhaps.       Squeezing his staff with both hands, he hesitated. Which injury needed treatment first? Would a Mend spell even save this boy’s life? Brow furrowed, Pelleas searched for an answer, a sign of some sort, but realizing that he was wasting precious time, placed his hand between the other’s shoulder blades.       “This may sting a little. I… I apologize.”       His words then became those of the ancient tongue, and a warm white light encircled his fingers.

— Ounces of willpower struggled to remain on the surface, fighting the urge to sink underneath complacency. To be complacent with the current situation itself was a watered-down version of any truth that could possibly exist -- of course there would be discomfort, but even in retreat or surrender there was an ache. Indecision ruled his mind, and he half considered biting his tongue to prevent any grunt. His plea was more than he had anticipated doing anyhow.

It was enough, somehow, to still let someone find him ( or perhaps they happened to just be lucky -- fortune on his side more than this stranger's ) and a guilt cast over him. He didn't move save for his lips to be able to give decency of an answer.

    ❝ Y... Yeah. ❞

Though he was aware that two questions had been asked, he only gave one and barely. Ambiguity came to the forefront, a subconscious effort, so as to try and deafen any concern this stranger had for him. Perhaps the effort itself was futile considering his wounds, but it was nevertheless the reply given.

With someone in such close proximity, his voice grew weaker as if it full well knew it didn't have to project to be heard anymore. Habit, he supposed, but worse in the conditions that existed. He didn't know what else to say -- an apology, maybe? He kept his gaze averted, deciding to conserve himself.

His hesitance was put to a halt, however, as he felt the other's touch and little time was given for him to fully process what was happening before the warning came to light. Cliff lurched a bit, ever so slightly, and where his voice barely escaped before it became just a bit more pronounced and recognizable beyond a wisp as he failed to stifle a surprised yelp.

The initial reaction subsided and he actively attempted to stay as silent and still as his benefactor did his work. He could not help but watch now, eyes wide and uncertain of what to make of the situation between being healed and being reminded of the pain that had not numbed --

-- but he was alive.

For that much, as he regained some strength, though he still did not feel completely better ( that much was too tall a request and thus one he would never give ) it was enough for him to be able to focus on something other than mere survival.

    ❝ Thanks though... you didn't hafta. ❞

Quiet. Whether it his character or was it the circumstance that made his voice so, it was the result, and he started to try and shift himself to a position where he didn't look so helpless.