#int. w/froy.hrimthur's

[alrikhart]

@froyofthe-ironwood location: Hrimthur's Outpost notes: short and sweet, eventual jestie connect

It was so fucking cold here. Alrik sat, wrapped in furs with his bum leg uselessly propped up. He was meant to be grateful but gratitude wasn't something that came washing off of the witch as of late: some people were saying that there was no chance Alessia was still alive. He'd know if she were dead but from here, in the condition he was in, Alrik couldn't help her. He wasn't sure if anyone could, it'd fall on his sister's shoulders to save herself. He could care less about the others.

This uselessness addled his mind worse than the fall, all he could do was try and keep his mind busy. To pass the time some makeshift boards were made to play stones, Alrik didn't have much of a mind for these types of things, but it was better than nothing. "It's noble," Alrik remarked, "coming back here." If Froy wasn't a druid, he might even be jarl, but Iskaran law would have to change before that ever came to pass - assuming there would ever be such a thing as Iskaran law again. "Your move."

[alrikhart]

"So optimistic." Alrik teased, the two of them weren't of the same mind - perhaps it was a trait of druids to retain a semblance of optimism. "But I'll invite the opportunity for you to prove me wrong, friend."

Froy's move had Alrik studying the board further, even idle his leg throbbed, the pain radiated in short bursts as the witch shifted from one position to another. He sat upright and reached for a stone so he could ponder his move; neither of the men was particularly engrossed in the game, but Alrik was competitive.

"Had I the mind to seek out such a companion then maybe my predicament wouldn't be so sore." Alrik sighed, thinking of the falcon, Valr - a useful scout and hunter, but sadly could not be ridden. For now, the witch would have to stumble forward through the snow on crutches; a punishment that Alrik was all too ready to do. If one leg was damaged then the other would just have to compensate in the meantime.

There was a beat as Alrik turned a stone over between his thumb and forefinger, "Fate keeps bringing druids into my life; you, Prospero," he didn't often reveal many personal details, but he trusted Froy. "there's another that comes to see me in my dreams, Fharzai, he's in Lysara."

Froy watched Alrik as he propped his chin on his hand, seemingly lost in thought. He had a feeling Alrik was thinking about his sister. The pain of losing family was something Froy understood all too well, though he tried to mask it with optimism. He leaned back, the warmth of the fire washing over him, and smiled gently.

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but I believe they can become better. They just need someone to show them the way."

He moved his stone piece, not really caring about the game as much as the conversation. His mind wandered to the weight on his shoulders. Leading his people after his parents' death was a daunting task, especially while trying to figure out what his calling was for as a druid. The burden of it all often felt overwhelming, but he couldn’t afford to show it.

"Months, huh? That's rough." He sighed, looking thoughtful. "You'll get through it, though. You’re strong, and you have people here who care about you. Including me."

The giant red elk, standing nearby, seemed to snort in agreement, making Froy chuckle. "See? Even Aldaron has your back."

[alrikhart]

For just a moment, Alrik thought about Alessia. He didn't think missing her was enough. "You came back, that says a lot about you." Alrik said as he propped his chin up on his hand, hardly paying attention to the makeshift board. He'd never said that he was sorry for the other's loss, maybe he would, but it felt implied. It was selfish but Alrik had a bitter streak in him. Did Froy's father save any others over the years, or just Froy? Had the druid been the one to change the man's mind. Someday he might ask, but for now he was content to live with the game in front of them. Alrik had few friends, fewer still that had the mind to actually teach him something. "If it was me-" Alrik shrugged, he didn't know.

Iskarans prided themselves on picking off druids and witches when they were young, or untrained. Alrik wondered how well a witcher would fair against an Olympian - or druids like Prospero or Froy. Under his breath, he couldn't help but mutter, "They don't deserve you."

"She said I'm lucky I didn't lose it. Recovery is months... maybe more, maybe less. Depends a bit on me I guess." Alrik didn't know how it was possible, "but she works on it a bit more every day." It killed and the first few times the witch had screamed like a baby before he'd settled into the pain. One of the drawbacks of being in the middle of nowhere apparently was a definitive lack of sedatives.

As Alrik set up their game, Froy busied himself with kindling a fire beside them. He didn't even need his powers; though the frozen pines were tricky to light, they were nothing compared to the ironwood trees of his home, which he had mastered. With the fire crackling warmly, he scoffed playfully at Alrik's words while toying with his stone piece, contemplating his move.

"Is it noble to miss one's family?" he mused aloud, though he knew what Alrik meant. Being a druid in Iskaldrik was a death sentence, though, as he was discovering, it hadn't always been that way.

"It's a good thing I did come back, though. My people would have dropped much faster if I wasn't here," he added, thinking of how his powers had helped protect them from the dark spawn and kept them warm as they trudged through the blistering snow afterward. He made his move, though his mind was only half paying attention.

"Has anyone told you how long before you're walking on that thing again?" he asked, nodding toward Alrik's leg.