#starsoared

          There is silence, no bickering nor shouting that forces him to focus on all the noise. Where he rests, they are quiet. Light snores from Nott and the Dwarven woman, Keg, but nothing out of the ordinary. This group was anything but, after all. 

          Caleb sighs a moment, flicking a small firebolt at the base of the fire, reigniting it so that he and the others would not freeze. It is one of the few times his flame had a use, and he’s not sure if that is a good or bad thing. It was good to not use it for killing, for pain. Yes, the fire he conjured was a good thing. 

          The thoughts pass, and he is left wondering why he is still there with them. They’re on a path toward slavers that took near half his group, what did that have to do with his goal? They didn’t care about him, not the way they cared for Mollymauk or Beauregard. He was useful as a source of light, or detecting magic. He couldn’t fight like Yasha or Fjord, couldn’t heal like Jester. No, he was made to hurt. But he couldn’t even do that right. 

          “You should just go,” The sound of his voice booms in his ears. The fire and insects and the soft rustling of the grass being the only other thing making noise. “It... it is time to go. Ja, time to go.” 

          He sits for a moment, then another, and he feels his feet lifting him as he stares into the fire. The rest of him knew it was best to go now, avoid the cries and arguments and bickering the group was so fond of. It would be difficult, but he spent years in hiding. Years struggling, years starving, and he would miss them. He would miss the full belly, would miss the money, would miss the safety. It was better this way, he told himself, it was better to go without a word. To disappear in the night, and not look back. Caleb straightened himself, patting his pockets to be sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He pulled a pack over his shoulder, a day’s rations to get him back to Hupperdook. He would restock there, use what little change he had on him, and keep going. That’s all he had to do; keep going. 

          By the time he had returned to the town, the festivities of the previous night having returned to the industrial buzz it had when they first arrived. He prayed the remains of the Nein hadn’t tried to follow him, seeing as he was already a day away from their campsite. Foot travel was less ideal, but it meant he wouldn’t bring attention to himself if he traveled by horse. He meant nothing while on foot, he was nothing. He was never something, never close to becoming something. 

 caleb’s  always  been  the  one  with  the  better  memory  out  of  the  two  of  them  –  of  course  he’d  remember  their  last  meeting  so  vividly.  (  as  if  she’d  been  able  to  forget.  )  astrid  isn’t  one  to  shed  tears  over  much,  at  least,  not  around  anyone  other  than  him.  but  she  remembers  nearly  sobbing as  they  dragged  took  him  from  her  that  night;  remembers  trent’s  cold,  unforgiving  gaze  on  her  as  she  forced  herself  to  have  some  semblance  of  sobriety  over  the  overwhelming  grief.  

             it  nearly  consumed  her,  she  remembers.

  but  this?  caleb  widogast  cannot  be  standing  in  front  of  her,  alive,  breathing,  mostly  unscathed  –  she  does  not  trust  it,  the  idea  that  she  might  not  be  alone  in  her  escape  into  a  much  colder,  darker  world.  her  hands  shake.  breathing  is  much  harder,  she  notices.  astrid  does  not  want  to  shut  him  from  her  life  when  he  has  only  so  suddenly  been  reintroduced  to  it;  but  she  is  afraid  and  wary  of  trickery.  

    her  caleb  is  not  a  trickster,  but  a  kind  man  who’d  been  hurt  one  too  many  times.  astrid  would  kill  to  help  him.  has  killed,  to  help  him.

     ‘    caleb,  i   —  ‘ astrid  feels  her  heart  seize  for  a  moment.  what  can  she  say to  someone  she  was  so  sure  she’d  never  see  again?  she  doesn’t  think  there  are  words  to  describe  the  cacophony  of  confusion  and  old  despair  rising  to  the  surface  right  now.  and  when  words  fail,  then  –

        ‘  caleb  widogast.  ‘  the  name  spoken  into  the  air  is  jarring  for  her,  and  the  world  seems  to  shake  beneath  her  feet,  and  on  instinct,  astrid  reaches  out  for  him.  anything,  his  shoulder,  hand  —  she  lands  on  his  forearm,  and  forces  herself  not  to  claw  into  his  skin.  

       ‘  i  -  don’t  know  what  to  say. ‘

There are not many things Caleb can remember from his time spent clouded in madness. From the first scream uttered by his mother and until stumbling away from a stranger with curing hands, for those eleven years, he might as well have not existed. For example: he doesn’t know if he ever said goodbye to her.

He remembers the night before their graduation: how their bodies were pressed together, warmth seeping through their clothes and flowing into one another; how he fell asleep with his nose in her hair, and the taste of salt on his lips; how they parted unwillingly, by now not a secret but afraid of the consequences of Ikithon finding them together like a pair of scared rabbits.

He remembers the taste of the simple broth cooked by her mother for the four of them: how her mother hummed as she stirred; how her father told them stories about Astrid’s childhood; how Astrid’s hand shook a little when she poured the poison while Ikithon pulled her parents aside under the pretence of discussing Astrid’s future.

He thinks ... he thinks he remembers her hand squeezing his as they approached his home.

Then nothing.

Maybe that is why he has never been able to let her go, all of these years. Maybe that is why seeing her now, looking exactly like herself, save a few hints at her now near-doubled age, all he can think is ‘ in another life, I would have asked her to be my wife ‘.

Her touch sobers him. It is an anchor. It is the closest feeling to home and a sense of belonging he has had for the better part of fifteen years. His eyes, swimming in the tears collecting there, take her in like he is a dying man and she is the angel come to guide him on his last adventure. She is so clean, and he is so dirty, and he feels entirely unworthy, but he can’t stop himself, so he reaches out for her and greedily pulls her into his arms, pressing her so close to him he nearly hopes it is enough to set back the time and bring them back to the night before graduation.

@starsoared

@starsoared 

Positivity | Accepting

idk what this is its been 84 years @starsoared 

   Mind moves at miles per minute, too much chatter too much noise too much sound. He cannot focus, he cannot see, he cannot hear. The rattle in his rib cage, the shiver in his skin, he has to be breathing. The heartbeat hammering in his ears, he has to be living. There’s pain in him somewhere, somewhere he cannot place. Something is bitter on his tongue, but it shifts and becomes metallic instead. Vision blurs in and out of focus, he can barely see Astrid.

   She speaks, and it is mumbled and buried in the rest of the world. Every sound, every second ticking by, he knows she is there. Something in him hurts, he feels like he is being turned inside out. He feels like he is being turned inside out. His insides are coming out.

   He screams. He screams something horrible and feral, fingers pressing into his abdomen in sheer torment and desperation. His stomach was melting, it was writhing up his throat. It would spill from his lips in a mix of green and black and red, putrid and disgusting. He felt like he was going to die.

   “Leave him!” He can hear his mentor command, and it was to warn Astrid of her actions. Right, we are training. She was always good with poison. He can imagine Eadwulf laughing later, reminding Bren that she had a knack for the worst. She would be the best of the trio.

   Bren would see it as a challenge.

@starsoared

He listens to her begging, a mess and needy. He taps his pen to stray the excess ink from his quill and stays silent as he finishes his correspondence. The contraband had been just a little processed consumables, nothing big. But examining them and naming them harmless, and dipping in to the stash had been two very different thoughts. The buzz had been pleasant for him, but something about it had struck her like lightning and fire, and he had to hide the last of it to ensure she didn’t abuse it while he was out on business.But how pretty she begged, and they had a week before they even had to return to Rexxentrum. He clicks his tongue and sets his quill down, before reaching in to his pockets to produce a small folded wax paper medicine packet. 

          “Come here, head on my lap, love.”

nta | no longer accepting @starsoared