Meeting the eyes of his fellow guard, Wolf's gaze flickers briefly in recognition. It's the man from town -- the one who took the thief off his hands. He nods once in acknowledgement, but as he begins to look away, his attention catches on the bouquet.
"...You too, huh." A slight shrug pushes forward the too-colorful flowers he's been saddled with this evening. Well, at least he's not alone in that.
"you are..."
so this is the partner he's been paired with to guard the entrance. a familiar stranger. it's a wry twist of fate, to encounter the man again and in such dutiful proximity at that, but all those born beneath the stars of sacae and in the shadow of hanon know there's a reason for everything. a reason for rath's quietude, a reason for his exile, a reason for nergal's evil and the wrath of the dragons long ago - a reason for this.
the crisp air of the night is a soothing caress against rath's exposed arms. there's a second wind as wolf settles beside wolf. he observes the flowers pushed forward and notes with some silent amusement that they're roses just like his own.
once again, they're the same. all things happen within the great cycle of reason, and so he makes the most of it; this impromptu opportunity to speak more with the other, neither sought nor chased, but chanced upon as if it were always meant to be.
"i was given flowers, though i told the staff i had no need for them...that i was a guard." he brings his own peeking roses out from their place in his satchel. why didn't he throw them away? rath doesn't know, exactly; he wasn't being sentimental but pragmatic. they were given, and the taciturn nomad had been unsure whether they were a gift or just a particular rite at this ball. sacaens did not squander gifts.
"i've a horse in the stables that can eat these." he looks over at his fellow guard, coaxed to speak, and to offer by virtue of an inexplicable sense of camaraderie: "give some of yours to me...i can dispose of them for you."
