#sarana is in his corner what could go wrong

[volot]

“well now, i suppose there is no harm! best to elude the mystery for too long, don’t you think? there’s no better feeling than long-awaited curiosity sated! that said...”

pspspsps, barry. come here. he has coffee for you.

[floaroanemoia]

[ lift ] ( they're traveling together what could go wrong :^) )

Nonverbal Meme 

@volot

[ lift ] for your muse to give mine a hand stepping up or over something etc.

     How long has it been since she has travelled with someone not for the sake of getting from one end of Hisui to another? Truly, Sarana cannot recall. Yet, with their paths crossing at an increasing frequency—from vacant smiles on the medium’s end turning into ones of familiarity and acknowledgement—, the proposition to travel together had been an agreed upon idea with little hesitation. Company in the desolate, snow-covered plains of Hisui, why it is grounding—a shred of hope, of humanity, keeping alight flames of one’s will to push on, despite the odds. Despite the howling winds, the frigid temperatures, and the struggle to simply survive. And how could Sarana have turned Volo away, when a spark of intrigue had been caught in his gaze upon hearing of her destination? Of travelling to a site to pay her respects to the deities of spring and flowers?      He had said before the mythology and ruins of Hisui seize his curiosity so.

     Even if she had also warned him that the trip would be quite treacherous, filled with dreary sights and the stench of death. That no lush fields awaited them; only barren, decaying lands before they would be surrounded by a forest where time comes to a standstill.

     His gesture is an unexpected one, but comes when there is no choice but to travel to higher ground. Mere moments after climbing up had a hand of the merchant’s been extended towards the medium in a manner both ceremonious, and yet not. Her own steps had stopped, gaze flickering up to fingers, and then to Volo’s features, a questioning look hiding behind her usual, serene stare. And then, a smile breaks out onto her expression, announced with a hum light and unbothered. Maybe, had it been someone else, she might have simply ignored the gesture, or deliberately turned away from it. But to do that to him—someone who has shown her nothing but kindness, if not an underlying sense of understanding and a yearning to know of Hisui’s past? Sarana cannot find it in her heart to do so. His presence is a temperate sort-- like the sun’s first light peeking over the mountains--, and it is far better than once again braving the darkness of the land alone.

          “My, how gallant of you,”

     Laughter laces her words, warm and falling freely from red lips as a hand moves to settle itself in the grasp of his own. A thoughtful gesture this might all be, yet surely Volo knows that should she fall, he would also be pulled to the ground, right? Perhaps, Sarana thinks, it is something done more out of respect or politeness, in lieu of any real threat of slipping. Nevertheless, it is with a smile that she tackles the all-encompassing, all-terrifying threat of the single step up the boulder, a challenge that the medium’s meets with the slightest of squeezes in her hold—as necessary as the gesture itself. And what a feat it is! Why, a whole three hands higher above where they had been before, and she can see the entirety of Hisui fall before this ice-covered perch.

          “You have my thanks, but… be sure to not fall, yourself, yes?”

Comes her response—a mix of gratitude and concern perhaps expected of Sarana, for a soul who has braved such parts throughout a majority of her life simply cannot overestimate the skills of another traveller, no matter their experience. However, the question is not one ushered in a patronising tone, or anything teetering along the lines of being insulting, no—it is a gentle urging; a reciprocation of Volo’s own gesture with words in lieu of another action. And perhaps no better indication of such a thing comes than the way the corners of painted lips twitch upwards, and an ever-composed expression softens its brow.

“How unfortunate it would be, if all you could see were mere rubbings of texts, rather than the real thing.”