?

their hands are made for two completely different things, —almost on opposite ends of the spectrum—lintang thinks, eyes drawn to their friend's fingers as she speaks. even without touching her hand, it's not hard for them to recall from memory the feel of kai's callused palm, their own fingers pressed into the skin. bloodied, battered, used to hard work. it's a thing of marvel, no matter what anyone has to say about it. the urge to take it and link their fingers together is almost overwhelming, but lintang steadies themselves. for a second time, they allow themselves to meet kai's gaze. it's not quite a smile that greets her, but even to the onlooker, is it not painfully obvious how their entire being softens in her vicinity?

lintang sighs. "no, perhaps it isn't death that will come find us," they say. what goes unsaid: are there worse fates than death? "but with the progress... or the lack thereof, as you say, perhaps trapped is an outcome that we must learn to accept sooner than later." it's a difficult thing, acceptance. especially when the both of them are foreigners, watched by these hawk-like local eyes. "if what the townsfolk are saying is true—" that the mudslide is made of magic, or that it is a hand exacting an ancient prophecy. "—then how much good can scholars do against fate? i wish they'd come up with brilliant ideas already. but no luck."

the answer everything but what she'd wish to hear, singular laugh laced with a tone akin to frustration escapes before her judgement gets the better of it. ❛ if they are not to be of the effort, the least they can do is help unearth the cause. without old tales clouding their minds. ❜ tamed rage grates through trained teeth. sharp, too sharp. but have they not shown more resolve alone to get to the superstitious town that forbids them to resign to whatever folklore plaguing cynefin's own local psyche ? an insult to a journey far more dangerous than roaring waves and sticking earth. ❛ this fate only awaits those who lack the will to fight it. ❜ she's got orders to fulfil, a debt to repay. fuel that keeps her will ever unyielding, no matter the state of exhaustion that's sure to await her in some passing moons. it's simply unimaginable to lay down arms without giving them her all.

sharp tongue cuts the inside of her cheeks after the outburst, unfitting of her rank — most of all ashamed of who the recipient had been this time. solid composure she's made a renown of in an early career all but vanishes at the mere sight of a savior turned . . friend. the double - edged effect of safety ; there's no fear to restrict herself around lintang, only wishes she could control her emotions better about this disheartening situation. ❛ i apologize, i didn't mean to imply this of you. ❜ the truth of it, kai has never known someone with more volition. so much that admiration easily turns to worry in the soldier, the length to which the healer can go to see something through. isn't she breathing proof of their will ? a sigh, pondering on their idea of acceptance. ❛ i do suppose there would be worst company to be cornered in with. ❜ finally, a smile. ❛ for the field, i'm not decided on it being friendly or not. i don't know what to make of so many side eyes. ❜

lintang is not a creature of superstition. perhaps one must be a long-time resident of this quaint town on the cliff, must be able to see the sea under them out through their window to believe in the old crones' tales. but the truth is this: they have seen the dangers of war. the pyres of bodies and the sea of blood are what await clwyd-isle on the war front. believing in a prophecy isn't that different from believing in war, they think. you'll die either way. the thought—spoken in aster's voice rather than their own—is enough to make them snap to attention. "do you think we have a chance?" they ask, gaze focusing on the person at their side. this is something real—something tangible. "has anyone made a breakthrough? with the mudslide? the things i've heard have not been pretty."

❛ we're not dying here. ❜ surely there's other ways to put it, but none more fitting to speak her mind on both the predicament they find themselves in and the tales of the locals. of course they have a chance, of course they're not getting swallowed by either mud nor waves. as for the second inquiry, the stained hand that pushes a shared plate towards her companion answers for her. scrubbing has the same ineffectiveness on calloused hands than a shovel has on the landslide. the mud sticks to her fingers, dry dirt sits where cuticle should be, old blisters burst under fresh ones. hours spent endlessly failing to dent the wall ; dig, drill, delve — nothing budging. the lower her morale gets, the higher her restlessness runs. ❛ nothing so far. and not for lack of trying. when we think we made a dent, a blink and it's not nothing's changed ❜ yet, even stuck between land and sea, she's not ready to call herself trapped. her duty might momentarily lie to the academy and the severed road, but her purpose hasn't shifted ; where lintang stands is where kai shall be. ❛ any of those scholars brewing up brilliant ideas ? ❜ she might be staff, but she doesn't have the interest to listen to them babble in the halls and grounds she patrols.