@sanctiichor ↳ prompted / unprompted ask ( always accepting. ) Nature, no matter what world and what circumstances are at the present, heeds the call of no god as heavy gray clouds encircle above them. The smell of a storm permeates the air and drops of rain begin to decorate the red, desert ground of the barren land they call their battlefield. The Warrior's eyes follow the rolling clouds above, roving over the horizon and they found themselves settling on the distant tower where Materia made her base, its blue light a beacon against the darkening clouds surrounding it. Nonetheless, there was no chance of them making it before the storm hit. "Seems we will be idle for a time." he finally speaks, pausing for a moment to allow thunder to let itself be heard, rumbling and resounding without equal across the land. Humming in contemplation, the starlit knight reaches up to remove his helm, silver hair falling free and he sets the armor piece down on the floor of the cave they had managed to reach before the storm caught up with them. "I will take first watch, you should take this time to rest."
( rain … ) just great. not that a little rain ever bothered him, really. but this? ... a few drops bead on the leather across his outstretched palm while surveying the storm overhead. dark, foreboding clouds go on for as far as the eye can see. lightning rips through the sky in the distance, signaling the strength of it coming their way — no doubt the source of the warrior’s plan to remain here for a time. his eye also hails to materia’s tower, glowing as a beacon to some and an omen to others. within a matter of minutes of ducking under the rocky outcropping to serve as their shelter, the slow drizzle of rain transforms into curtains, the ground soaking in every drop that's already begun to muddy the soles of his boots. the scent of it, cold and persistent, cultivates some far-off memory in the peripheral of his mind: the pouring down rain, and a deafening quiet. he shakes his head to rid of his reminiscing while moving past the warrior and further into the alcove.
“all yours,” though technically, the watch began when he first set foot on these battlegrounds, and hasn’t ended since. it wasn’t worth getting into the weeds with semantics when in the end, it was up to every one of them to look out for themselves. "we're a long ways yet from making it back,” and there’s a bad feeling that he can’t seem to shake. "we should make the first move when the worst of it passes." their enemy could well use the weather to some advantage, compromising their sight and their movement ( and they would be struck down, all the same. ) this reprieve could at least serve as ample time to focus on salving a few cuts where he’d used his arms in subconscious defense to deflect an earlier attack meant for more vulnerable places. pushing up his sleeve, bruises are already beginning to bloom on his forearms in the wake of such deft exchanges. nothing that he couldn't handle, with or without the wound care. he's used to it. simply the result of getting caught up in close combat with a duelist, knuckles brandishing the crystalline equivalent of brass and elements: sharp, and fire-branded before he’d managed to cut down the imitation of them.
at least, that’s where he’d rather his focus be dedicated as opposed to getting wrapped up in the thought nudging at him just a minute before.
