#drylicu

          one would expect her presence to be here above all else,  permeating this sacred space where mountain meets sky.  gentle.  serene.  almost perfect.  but nature is never quite so perfect and that is the joy of it all.  imperfections doused with babbling brook water,  and the subtle sway of a wolf’s bushy tail.   she feels as though there is no need to make introductions  :       ❛  you are weary.  ❜

          The blood that coats his dark plated armor feels as if it’s seeping beneath the layers. It leaves him wondering where the dark, thick substance from his enemies begins and where it ends with his own. After awhile it all starts to feel the same, and the cool breeze brushing passed him after a battle so desperately fought does nothing to soothe those nerves. If anything, it wires up the voices more. He can almost feel them at his heels and breathing down his neck.

          It’s suffocating, and he wants nothing more than to quiet their pleas and demands. But as it were the consensus was to return back to the monastery. Frustration builds in his chest as he practically stomps away from the professor towards the front of their formation. He needs to get away from the pitying eyes and signs of disapproval, but maybe he also wants to try and gain distance from the voice of his father even more.

          “I swore I will have her head. I just need more time.” His voice is low in his attempts to push forward. Glenn’s tone had never been so cruel in his ear before.

Or, well, maybe not alone, given his presence among them, watching mortals flit about their work and patrols as the sun dipped over the range. It’d only been a few days since he’d arrived, name breathed in doubt and incense- honestly one of the least eventful Callings he’d ever been pulled by. Something about tipping the war further to win the favor of a loved one- whatever it was, he was there, and he was stuck until they perished or persevered. 

So far none of the mortals had enough sight to pay him any mind. Some of the sorcerers quirked a brow at his footfalls, but they all saw right through him

All except this one. 

“You’re a funky little mage, aren’t you?” He called once he noticed her staring. “Come on then- what are you going to do? Stranger in camp. Armed, but no one’s screamed yet, eh? Funny, isn’t it?”

       “alright ya lil shit--- what kinda trouble ya tryin’ t’ cause now?”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

Byleth truly did have an...orthodox way of how he taught his students. But in his defense, he was still getting used to the whole teaching thing. He had no prior experience save for what he’d learned as a mercenary. But he could only talk about that for so long before he was just repeating himself. He was walking new ground, and at some point he decided his students should do the same!

“You excel in magic, and are above average in swordsmanship.” At least, that was what he’d observed and wrote in the little planner book Manuela had given him. Always keep an eye on the students! So she had said.