Chimera Fields Until you step into the unknown, you don’t know what you’re made of

i'll go ahead and archive this.

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She calls him wise — a compliment that the empyrean is ready to accept humbly and in the next breath tears it down and snatches it from him by linking his intellect to a good teacher. For a moment, realizing that the insult (though a part of Mato understands that she perhaps does not mean it this way) entirely erases the compliment. Yes, Mato acknowledges, he has a good teacher. Sebastian was a great teacher, even, but he was more than just his father’s teachings. He did not speak his words mindlessly, like a parrot taught to mimic. He had his own interpretations of the things Sebastian taught him and to demean them so cruelly by claiming he is nothing more than mimicked ideals leaves the druid with a sour taste in his mouth. Seething in indignation the starlight king’s lip curls back over his teeth. The impulse to spit that he is intelligent on his own and that no one could possibly teach intellect (for Sebastian could have taught him and Mato could have been as unyielding as a rock) bubbles on the tip of his tongue but he refrains. This indignant beast of wounded pride feels ugly to the druid but he cannot help that he is insulted and no longer wishes to spend any further time in her company. “I have to leave,” The air of the fields has changed, filled with tension that snaps on the chilly wind and he mimics the chill of the wind with terse lips and stiff shoulders. “Good day, Isora.” He is cordial with his parting words before he turns abruptly and heads back the way he came eager to leave her behind.

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