Oh, no. He’d overstepped, hadn’t he? What had he been thinking, just grabbing Thédore’s pack like that? He’d probably seemed like a thief! Wulf automatically tensed, waiting for the inevitable accusation, but… nothing happened.
Nothing except Théodore calling him kind. That was… good? Théodore was smiling, and not the sort of horrible, anticipatory smile-sneer of the guards of the inner walls of Ironhaust. Just a regular smile. Perhaps.
He hadn’t expected it to turn into a full-blown conversation; the genial question made him blink, surprised. Wulf held up a finger, a silent sorry, hang on, and returned to Donkey to pull one of his journals from his bags. Standing and writing was something he was well practiced at, though it took him a little longer than his usual, pausing and squinting at the page and hesitating. When he angled it so Théodore could read it, the latest few sentences were conspicuously neater than previous entries. His writing on its best behavior.
Being in Anderos has been an unusual experience. It would take a long time to sum up exactly why; the Freymirrans and their ancient lands, the men of Anderos pushing them out constantly to claim land for their own. A people that had been forced to discard most of their culture, a slow evolution toward nomadic raiders, their lineage a thing of pain and not pride. But, this far south, the people of these lands didn’t even really know about it. Which was… likely a good thing. Thank you for asking. How has the city treated you?
he stood, idly petting his gelding’s flank as he watched the other man closely, attentive, intent not to miss another word as he had before. the sound of hooves scuffing dusty earth filled the silence between them, a quiet comfort. but suddenly théodore blinked, dark lashes fluttering, surprised, as a finger was held up ( the gesture undeniably universal ) and something undefinable rolled in his belly ; which he chalked it up to simple anticipation, shifting on his feet as his horse shifted on his hooves, antsy, wishing for nothing more than to know what was to come next. wulf was one of the companions that, even after three weeks, continued to vex him in a way the others didn’t. he was quick enough to blame the communication barrier for it, unassuming, thinking there to be nothing more to it. an obstacle he’d simply just have to continue to work to overcome.
when wulf touched quill to paper, the thread of tension in théodore’s shoulders relaxed, smile melting into something less put on ( courteous, polite ), something entirely more genuine, the warmth of it spreading through his chest as something bubbled up from the well within him ; something almost giddy and wholly too boyishly excited, as if he was to be let in on a secret as the other man tilted the journal toward him. théodore leaned in without giving much thought to boundaries, eyes flitting over the careful scrawl as the index finger of his right hand came up to trace the words, carefully chasing each letter as it came, tongue sweeping to wet his lips as he quietly mouthed the words under his breath as he read along.
not before long the young man was chirping, light and pleasant, ❛ well, thank you. i’ve never seen a market so colorful and rich, i ––– ❜ but he pauses, mind catching on wulf’s words a touch after the fact, and he leans in once more to read again. and what he reads causes a furrow to knit his brows, voice gentling as he continued on, ❛ wait ––– unusual ? ❜ he repeats, cautiously curious, not wishing to overstep.
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