he knew. or rather, some distant part of himself knew. attention shifts between the dagger and the blood, of the stained sleeves, marking well the exhilaration after battle. golden eyes do not bask and they do not stare from beneath his hood. the priest’s hands light up with an all too familiar warmth but he does not reach out to tend to wounds that might not even be there. ❝ i see you do not hesitate. ❞ and neither did he in that very same moment. quiet yet never too quiet, his voice barely catching the stagnant breeze that flows past him. never overstepping boundaries or fixating himself in one place, tristian draws his arms by his side. an air of caution sits soundlessly between them. ❝ no hesitation but … you are not of the reckless kind. ❞
♡ @vampyrictouch