#sanctos

❝ you silly sod, what did you do that for? ❞ she tastes the salt from her tears on her lips. there's nothing she can do to stop this. even if they were in a hospital, even if they had the most advanced medical equipment known to man, she couldn't do anything. maybe that was the point. because for belinda that would be it. death is endless. death is a cold body and lifeless eyes. but for gio - they just need to get him back to the tardis. she will be there when he finds his way back to them again. ❝ do you think you can move? ❞

when the man turns to look at siegfried he gives the other a soft smile. it is genuine, less erratic than it had been the night prior. there is no malice hidden in his tone. the dragonslayer's gaze even touches the floor between them briefly, some confidence lost for just a moment, as he thinks about what those words mean to him. a father is a defining presence in every son's life. and they are both heirs. though siegfried has long since run from his own title. he wonders if the other is content with his. such a thing never comes without responsibilities.

"i'm alive." she's sore in a thousand places and probably bruised in a thousand more, but hypatia trevelyan manages to crawl back to her feet and stumble back up the hill without too many winces on her lips. the storm coast is hell. she hates this place. all the rain and mud and wind... the huge hills, the falling rocks, the random rams that gallop past her and kick up more dirt and debris... it's a nightmare. she trudges back to where wil waits, finding their eyes cloudy with concern (and maybe a little amusement, too). once she's back at wil's side, the herald slumps into the grass, sits, and winces again. "feel like i broke something," she grits, face curled in pain at the simple act of sitting down. "can't we get the inquisition to build some safer roads through this place? scout ahead, pick out the best routes so i don't go sliding down a soggy hill again? andraste preserve me." after a few tries, hypatia manages to use the edge of her armored arm to push loose hair away from her face. she coughs. her eyes return to wil, who looks decidedly put together, bright, and content in this environment. or at least, that's the air they give off. competency, kindness, and peace. unlike hypatia, who probably has mud caked in her hair now, wil is a tranquil contrast. "maybe you should lead us instead." it's not a joke. hypatia is too sore to stand. "maker, i hate the storm coast."

“ Dima, ” He says softly, approaching @sanctos with his hands behind his back. Once he's close enough, Ásgeirr rests his hand against his partner's snout, and leans down to press a kiss to it. “ Perfect, as always. ” He remarks, a soft giggle escaping him as the much larger creature bumps him with his nose. “ I've acquired some new leathers and I thought now would be the perfect time to test them out. What do you think? ” The last question is asked in Dovahzul, and the Dragonborn steps back, arms out to display his new attire.

he tries to ignore the feeling of someone looking at him, and continues brushing the coat of a beautiful dapple gray mare, but he finds he cannot. with a loud sigh, he turns around and looks at @sanctos staring back at him. he’s never seen this man before. he has a rather grave face, and he could even be handsome under the right conditions. “ yes? what is it? ” his tone is biting as he turns back to the horse, running his fingers over her back before he returns to brushing her. “ if you’re here to tell me to get out, the prince gave me permission to be here. ” he didn’t — but hopefully this man doesn’t try to call him on his bluff. “ besides, not like any of those lazy sods could be bothered to do this. ”