#sifallorsum

[arceun]

@sifallorsum​  is  gonna  be  annoyed!  ♥

 careful  &  careless  waltz,  double-stranded,  in  manners  and  silent  unspoken  language。  between  lady  and  merchant,  in  the  quietude  of  the  ancient  retreat,  exists  the  invisible  rift  between  time  and  space。  ❛  cogita!  ❜  a  greeting  chirp,  rife  with  excitement  and  a  zest  for  that  which  remains  unspoken。  ❛  i  knew  i’d  return  to  you!  i  have  news。  ❜

[floaroanemoia]

' come. ' a hand, warm and inviting, extends forth, palm out to the young woman who had stepped within her domain. ' you look like you have traveled far, and are in need of a good rest. '

@sifallorsum

     She is no helpless traveller, roaming about the unforgiving environments of Hisui-- trudging through layers of snow, scaling mountains high, and following the rivers down their stream. No stranger to the ways of the land, and the way the sky decorates itself to serve as fatalistic warnings of the weather. Yet to call Sarana faultless would be inaccurate; immune to the whims of the region simply incorrect. She is a living being-- a human--, and like all others, fatigue weighs on her muscles, clutching onto bundles and binding them together. Walking for days on end, over considerable distances, a straining activity, no matter how necessary. Protests and warnings creak from out between the gaps of their restraints.

     The stranger’s offer does nothing more than give them the voice they had been yearning for.

     Bones wish to creak and crack, as though to speak the words that they already know the blonde might be too stubborn to admit out loud. Muscles scream in the form bubbling, agitated sparks of heat. Rest. Yes-- that is what the medium needs. And as red eyes focus on the older woman’s features, Sarana sees that perhaps she has picked up on such a fact, too. Lips press themselves into a tight line, mind muddling through thoughts. It is never wise, to trust a stranger-- especially when there are no others in sight-- and yet, there is something about the air around her. It is familiar, almost-- akin to the sort she recalls from her own family; a welcoming hand; a sanctuary from the harsh climate.

     The medium cannot say no to that. Not to the sort of kindness she has long extended to others. It is a sign from the world to stop-- to rest.

          “...Thank you,”

     She mumbles, accompanied with a soft bow of her head. And the younger woman need not glance behind her to see the way that the shoulders of her Zoroark relax, or how the edge of concern fades from the ghost-type’s features. Just for one night, Sarana tells herself. One night, and then it is back to searching. Back to following the latest lead during a trek to the next tablet to see if the surface has been wiped clean-- if the Shaymin have returned.

          “We would greatly appreciate whatever you are willing to offer. I’ve not much to give in turn, but you may pick from what we have gathered along our way.”