Yesterday, 08:17 PM
After a minute she realised he wasn’t really listening. For all Thalia’s distracted nature she wasn’t unperceptive, and she understood then that his absence was because he was busy worrying about her instead of paying attention to the little frozen puffs of her words. The anecdote he shared was far less comforting than he might have intended though; in fact it freaked her out just a little, because she was very carefully not thinking about the reasons she was shivering so badly – and where it was going to lead.
Tristan literally rumbled with the pressure of his frustration. In the same way he allowed her to float after her curiosity undisturbed, Thalia did not obstruct his focus; she understood intuitively that he could not be confined by inaction, and she didn’t try. It was why she’d tried to give him a task to do in the dream when she’d judged their odds impossible. His intention to explore outside also met no argument, despite her own desperate desire to do something other than the pathetic trembling going on beneath the blanket – which was still entirely beyond her control. She wanted to follow, even though she knew it was foolish in the circumstances. Trust in him came easy to her, but she still wasn’t used to allowing others to do things for her. So she watched him duck out the door, irrationally afraid he wouldn’t come back. That something out there would prevent it.
Alone in the station, she couldn’t stay still. Her frozen fingers flexed around the pencil, assuring herself it was still there as she wandered back around the desks. The writings looked Spanish maybe, which meant she couldn’t read them, but she was thinking about ash-strewn glaciers and fiery snakes by then. With a blink she parted the blanket long enough to glance at her own blackened hands – before abruptly regretting the sliver of cold it let in. Not that she was particularly warm beneath it either.
Afterwards she gave in to her desire to explore the raised platform and the grimy window. She used the blanket to rub at it a little, and was contemplating pressing her hands and face to the glass to peer through for a better look at the desolate landscape when Tristan returned the first time to unburden his arms. She barely heard the low grumble of his mutter, but his tone translated anyway – the same one that answered matter of factly why he’d come to Baikal. She wasn’t as delicate as he imagined. But the sentiment warmed in its own way.
After he ducked out again she abandoned curiosity to sit with the things he’d salvaged, bringing the rest of the blankets and casting her eye over it all – the sum of their survival, down to old pots and faded cans. But treasure was treasure. By the time he returned for the second time Tristan looked frozen in a way that tugged new concern into her gaze. She scooted to sit closer by the pot, glad to be able to do something to actually help. Her grip on the power had long since faded, too sharp to hold onto, but she discovered she no longer had any problem calling it back at will.
The small burst of flames flickered a smile to her lips, but not one that lasted when she saw the great shudder with which he warmed himself against them. It made her feel something she couldn’t really describe, that rare break in the stone of his stoicism, but if he was clearly suffering he barely paused in his urgency. Thalia daren’t interrupt him. But she had trouble looking away from the wind-bitten colour of his skin after that.
“Okay,” she said in answer to his instruction, not that she quite understood what he meant about the rocks yet. It’d take time for the water to boil anyway, and she was content to wait. The thin heat didn’t feel nearly enough, but the shivering was a little less even if she couldn’t say she felt comfortable. But it was a coldness with the promise of relief, and that was far easier to deal with. She only needed a tiny bit of hope to smooth the edges of her fears. Beside her, frustration caged Tristan’s assessment of the future instead – the obstacles still waiting. She could tell by the tightness of his expression that he was busy thinking.
She wasn’t sure whether to say anything, aware that it might only be for her own sake. She understood obsession, focus. Truthfully she was glad for the company and didn’t mind the silence. But she did shift closer. Once there she paused, reluctant to break her numb grip on the pencil, but after a moment of looking at it she relaxed her cramping fingers to tuck it behind her ear instead. Her hair was half frozen, melting icy rivulets into the blanket strewn about her shoulders. Somehow she felt that more keenly now that her skin was reaching for warmth. She leaned to take his hand in both of hers, turned his palm over with a frown for the scab, but the touch was only to begin massaging some life back to the chill of his fingers. She’d been joking earlier about having all hers in tact, but she didn’t want him to actually lose any of his. The fire warmed them for the scant time he thought of himself, but this was a comfort more human.
“We’re on a volcano. By the ash, and the fire snake. How else would it be living down there?” She’d seen choppy water by the cave mouth, enough to realise they were also on an island, and Tristan would have seen more from the hill, certainly enough to work out the same. How many frozen volcano islands could there be in the world? Sage had been able to identify Baikal from a drawing, and while they didn’t have Sage, they did have the dream. Thalia might not understand all those mysteries, but she had seen the miraculous way they could create connection. Tristan found her on the rocks in the middle of nowhere. So she spoke with an unshakeable certainty – sure that working out where they were, at least, was entirely within their power. He was thinking practically. But now he’d assured them short-term sanctuary she wondered if better answers might come elsewhere. It wasn’t one of the things she was immediately worried about anyway.
“No running out into the snow naked.” By the quiet way she said it as she rubbed his hands between hers, it might have been a warning for him or a reminder meant for herself. She wasn’t always in control of her faculties when she first woke, it was why she was so attached to the pencil, but that was a worry for later. Her eyes bounced up warm with humour, and she smiled, though she didn’t expect to draw him from his island of determined planning. She got the distinct impression he was used to being alone. But while she was freezing, and certainly shivering the worst of the two of them, he was the one talking about going back out in the tundra. When it came to it she wouldn’t stop him, not any more than he'd stopped her diving the lake, but she did care what happened to him.
Tristan literally rumbled with the pressure of his frustration. In the same way he allowed her to float after her curiosity undisturbed, Thalia did not obstruct his focus; she understood intuitively that he could not be confined by inaction, and she didn’t try. It was why she’d tried to give him a task to do in the dream when she’d judged their odds impossible. His intention to explore outside also met no argument, despite her own desperate desire to do something other than the pathetic trembling going on beneath the blanket – which was still entirely beyond her control. She wanted to follow, even though she knew it was foolish in the circumstances. Trust in him came easy to her, but she still wasn’t used to allowing others to do things for her. So she watched him duck out the door, irrationally afraid he wouldn’t come back. That something out there would prevent it.
Alone in the station, she couldn’t stay still. Her frozen fingers flexed around the pencil, assuring herself it was still there as she wandered back around the desks. The writings looked Spanish maybe, which meant she couldn’t read them, but she was thinking about ash-strewn glaciers and fiery snakes by then. With a blink she parted the blanket long enough to glance at her own blackened hands – before abruptly regretting the sliver of cold it let in. Not that she was particularly warm beneath it either.
Afterwards she gave in to her desire to explore the raised platform and the grimy window. She used the blanket to rub at it a little, and was contemplating pressing her hands and face to the glass to peer through for a better look at the desolate landscape when Tristan returned the first time to unburden his arms. She barely heard the low grumble of his mutter, but his tone translated anyway – the same one that answered matter of factly why he’d come to Baikal. She wasn’t as delicate as he imagined. But the sentiment warmed in its own way.
After he ducked out again she abandoned curiosity to sit with the things he’d salvaged, bringing the rest of the blankets and casting her eye over it all – the sum of their survival, down to old pots and faded cans. But treasure was treasure. By the time he returned for the second time Tristan looked frozen in a way that tugged new concern into her gaze. She scooted to sit closer by the pot, glad to be able to do something to actually help. Her grip on the power had long since faded, too sharp to hold onto, but she discovered she no longer had any problem calling it back at will.
The small burst of flames flickered a smile to her lips, but not one that lasted when she saw the great shudder with which he warmed himself against them. It made her feel something she couldn’t really describe, that rare break in the stone of his stoicism, but if he was clearly suffering he barely paused in his urgency. Thalia daren’t interrupt him. But she had trouble looking away from the wind-bitten colour of his skin after that.
“Okay,” she said in answer to his instruction, not that she quite understood what he meant about the rocks yet. It’d take time for the water to boil anyway, and she was content to wait. The thin heat didn’t feel nearly enough, but the shivering was a little less even if she couldn’t say she felt comfortable. But it was a coldness with the promise of relief, and that was far easier to deal with. She only needed a tiny bit of hope to smooth the edges of her fears. Beside her, frustration caged Tristan’s assessment of the future instead – the obstacles still waiting. She could tell by the tightness of his expression that he was busy thinking.
She wasn’t sure whether to say anything, aware that it might only be for her own sake. She understood obsession, focus. Truthfully she was glad for the company and didn’t mind the silence. But she did shift closer. Once there she paused, reluctant to break her numb grip on the pencil, but after a moment of looking at it she relaxed her cramping fingers to tuck it behind her ear instead. Her hair was half frozen, melting icy rivulets into the blanket strewn about her shoulders. Somehow she felt that more keenly now that her skin was reaching for warmth. She leaned to take his hand in both of hers, turned his palm over with a frown for the scab, but the touch was only to begin massaging some life back to the chill of his fingers. She’d been joking earlier about having all hers in tact, but she didn’t want him to actually lose any of his. The fire warmed them for the scant time he thought of himself, but this was a comfort more human.
“We’re on a volcano. By the ash, and the fire snake. How else would it be living down there?” She’d seen choppy water by the cave mouth, enough to realise they were also on an island, and Tristan would have seen more from the hill, certainly enough to work out the same. How many frozen volcano islands could there be in the world? Sage had been able to identify Baikal from a drawing, and while they didn’t have Sage, they did have the dream. Thalia might not understand all those mysteries, but she had seen the miraculous way they could create connection. Tristan found her on the rocks in the middle of nowhere. So she spoke with an unshakeable certainty – sure that working out where they were, at least, was entirely within their power. He was thinking practically. But now he’d assured them short-term sanctuary she wondered if better answers might come elsewhere. It wasn’t one of the things she was immediately worried about anyway.
“No running out into the snow naked.” By the quiet way she said it as she rubbed his hands between hers, it might have been a warning for him or a reminder meant for herself. She wasn’t always in control of her faculties when she first woke, it was why she was so attached to the pencil, but that was a worry for later. Her eyes bounced up warm with humour, and she smiled, though she didn’t expect to draw him from his island of determined planning. She got the distinct impression he was used to being alone. But while she was freezing, and certainly shivering the worst of the two of them, he was the one talking about going back out in the tundra. When it came to it she wouldn’t stop him, not any more than he'd stopped her diving the lake, but she did care what happened to him.
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