Post by Deleted on Mar 18, 2023 20:13:27 GMT -5
Walnut paused in his eating long enough to preen under Bowen’s praise. Grinning, he turned his head to meet Bowen’s eyes, and Kester rolled her eyes at the smug satisfaction practically radiating from his little body. She found the childlike display of wonder a little strange personally, but the river otter was too pleased at having brought the large man such joy to pay her reservations much mind.
“I like him, Kes.”
Eat your clams before your head gets so big it explodes.
Apart from Bowen’s acknowledgement of their gratitude, the rest of the meal passed in a somewhat suspicious silence that grew marginally more companionable as time went on. Kester relaxed despite herself, a warm meal and full stomach working its magic. In lieu of staring at the man across from her, she looked around as she ate, gaze drifting aimlessly from person to person in the square. Walnut, too, kept himself occupied while the humans finished their meal by playing with the empty clam shells that lay on the table.
At the sound of an unfamiliar voice greeting Bowen, both of them turned to see a stranger, Alexander apparently, waving as he passed by them. The river otter waved back. Offering him little more than the small smile of polite acknowledgement, Kester merely watched him and wondered again what exactly Bowen was to his fellow Arynnites. Two random people, now, had greeted him as if they were seated among the Kushti instead of in Elyusian. She hadn’t seen any other Arynnite in the city recognized in such a way.
“Hey Kes?”
Yes?
“I’m gonna go swimming now.”
She looked back at Walnut.
Ok.
There was a long pause and then a somewhat shameless: “Be nice to the nice man.”
Ignoring her narrowed eyes, Walnut waved happily at Bowen then hopped down from the chair. Kester shook her head and watched as he disappeared into the water.
Hey, I’m always nice.
She received silent skepticism in return.
Now that their food was finished and the otter was occupied, silence hung in the air between the two remaining figures seated at the table before Bowen broke it with the name of her caravan. Kester pulled her attention from her dyr to focus on the Arynnite. She nodded to confirm his answer and noted with some amusement that he seemed especially pleased with himself for remembering on his own. It was strange hearing the name spoken aloud, both because it was by someone who was not Dresmondi and because there were so few Adoi and Dijila in the south to say it. There were far more Rashai and Kushti survivors than there were those from the caravans who had been prepared to - and did, in great numbers - die in defense of their homeland.
He asked her another question, and Kester nodded again. Between them, the notebook remained untouched until she had need of it. Of course, there was a little more nuance than the ambiguous, all-encompassing affirmation that she gave - children who had just found their dyrs, for example, were hardly warriors - but despite their day to day occupations, they were all trained to fight and defend themselves and Dresmond. She could have attempted to tell Bowen this, but what did it really matter? Everything had changed. There weren’t many Dijila left, after all, and the younger generations that were lacked the dyrs that made them such formidable warriors. Older Dresmondi like Kester and Kaveri were among the last of a dying people.