02-06-2022, 12:23 AM
When the lungs were empty, the surface was farther away than conceivably possible. It was a relief that the stretch of his fingers found a surface, though he pulled himself into darkness rather than the lakeside. The air plunged into his chest the moment his face broke, and a ledge of their cave became a slippery beach onto which he pulled himself. The gild of his eyes adjusted quickly, but searching for understanding amid this madness was abandoned in favor of helping Thalia to find seat. The smell of blood tanged his nostrils. The whiff was small enough to not warrant great concern but enough to wrench his face with a reflexive licking of the lips.
“There’s nothing here,” he told her with no response but sharp draws of air in return. He pawed at the rock as if hopeful something may give way. Tristan had seen first-hand the enchantment of tiny doors and the flickering of stones in and out of phase with the world, but he was convinced quickly that theirs a dead end.
Thalia’s breathing changed then. Brisk and shallow. The beating of her heart quickened, drums beating inside the echo of the rocky bubble. Then, whatever changed, it made him gasp in the way of one leaping great distances in a single step within the wolf dream. When next he knew, light flooded his eyes, light that burned at first before his senses adjusted. A snarl of warning kept any new threat at bay, even as he barricaded himself between Thalia and the contents of this room.
But her question broke the spell of tension. He realized they were alone. He turned, nodding that he was fine. It was her that was shaking out of her skin. His brow nuzzled low, and he wished that he covered in actual fur for warmth as he drew her close. What was there of his body heat would have to do until he found a way to get her dry. Most people thought that the cold was the greatest danger in Iceland. While not an unworthy opponent, it was the wind and rain that killed the foolhardy more than the frost. “Gluggave∂er*” he muttered, rubbing her shoulders briskly with the heat of his palms. His grumbles turned reassuring as he peered into her face, searching for glimpses of something out of place and time. More muttering followed before turning to explore their location, “Gakktu hægt um gleðinnar dyr.”**
The room was strikingly nothing like rock or cave at all. In fact, Tristan was suddenly quite aware of being out of place. No windows. No lamps. Yet lines within the walls glowed like LED strips. The scent was unremarkable but for Thalia’s bloody head. He should have insisted she wait for the wound on her scalp to set a scab. Instead, he beckoned her to follow as he cautiously explored ahead for something to sate her pulse.
The next room was arranged with worktables full of boxes, bottles, beakers and potions. The smell shifted upon entering the next. It smelled like a fish-tank without the stank. Finally, a lump was on a table over with was tossed a cloth, like it was protecting whatever wait beneath from the dust. But there was not a trace of must or dirt anywhere. He shook his head and brought the cloth back to Thalia to wipe her face and press to her head. “There’s a place to sit,” he guided her to a work stool that seemed to sense her diminutive height and accepted her weight to the perfect level as soon as she sat. The technology was advanced within the space. Like something out of a movie. But there was something ancient as well. The tools, he leaned to sniff one, were completely foreign to him. He dared not touch a thing.
But it was a quiet sound that pricked his ears toward an archway. Like water lapping on the edge of a spa. He sniffed the air, but it wasn’t wrong in the way of the trolls or beckoning in the way of the huldufólk. It was completely alien and completely known at the same time.
“What is this place, Thalia?” He asked, wary of exploring further.
*Window-weather. Means it’s the kind of temperature to enjoy from indoors.
**Walk slowly through the doors of joy. Means don’t get too excited and hurt yourself.
“There’s nothing here,” he told her with no response but sharp draws of air in return. He pawed at the rock as if hopeful something may give way. Tristan had seen first-hand the enchantment of tiny doors and the flickering of stones in and out of phase with the world, but he was convinced quickly that theirs a dead end.
Thalia’s breathing changed then. Brisk and shallow. The beating of her heart quickened, drums beating inside the echo of the rocky bubble. Then, whatever changed, it made him gasp in the way of one leaping great distances in a single step within the wolf dream. When next he knew, light flooded his eyes, light that burned at first before his senses adjusted. A snarl of warning kept any new threat at bay, even as he barricaded himself between Thalia and the contents of this room.
But her question broke the spell of tension. He realized they were alone. He turned, nodding that he was fine. It was her that was shaking out of her skin. His brow nuzzled low, and he wished that he covered in actual fur for warmth as he drew her close. What was there of his body heat would have to do until he found a way to get her dry. Most people thought that the cold was the greatest danger in Iceland. While not an unworthy opponent, it was the wind and rain that killed the foolhardy more than the frost. “Gluggave∂er*” he muttered, rubbing her shoulders briskly with the heat of his palms. His grumbles turned reassuring as he peered into her face, searching for glimpses of something out of place and time. More muttering followed before turning to explore their location, “Gakktu hægt um gleðinnar dyr.”**
The room was strikingly nothing like rock or cave at all. In fact, Tristan was suddenly quite aware of being out of place. No windows. No lamps. Yet lines within the walls glowed like LED strips. The scent was unremarkable but for Thalia’s bloody head. He should have insisted she wait for the wound on her scalp to set a scab. Instead, he beckoned her to follow as he cautiously explored ahead for something to sate her pulse.
The next room was arranged with worktables full of boxes, bottles, beakers and potions. The smell shifted upon entering the next. It smelled like a fish-tank without the stank. Finally, a lump was on a table over with was tossed a cloth, like it was protecting whatever wait beneath from the dust. But there was not a trace of must or dirt anywhere. He shook his head and brought the cloth back to Thalia to wipe her face and press to her head. “There’s a place to sit,” he guided her to a work stool that seemed to sense her diminutive height and accepted her weight to the perfect level as soon as she sat. The technology was advanced within the space. Like something out of a movie. But there was something ancient as well. The tools, he leaned to sniff one, were completely foreign to him. He dared not touch a thing.
But it was a quiet sound that pricked his ears toward an archway. Like water lapping on the edge of a spa. He sniffed the air, but it wasn’t wrong in the way of the trolls or beckoning in the way of the huldufólk. It was completely alien and completely known at the same time.
“What is this place, Thalia?” He asked, wary of exploring further.
*Window-weather. Means it’s the kind of temperature to enjoy from indoors.
**Walk slowly through the doors of joy. Means don’t get too excited and hurt yourself.