Moonspear fulthark

He fades slightly. Or maybe it isn't so much a fading of himself, but a sharing of himself, across space-time. He's with her again; thinking of the dark creature who lured him from the Wilds, except that her face isn't recognizable, and he can't tell what's real from what isn't. He looks at the man when he speaks and thinks she is standing there instead. Darkness-turned-warm. The burnished tones of the man's coat lending more warmth to Larus' imagined shadow — and for a second he is focused, fully cognizant, except instead of either shadow or man, he sees Blondine standing there.

And his face cracks in a grin. The lessened posture he has been holding to appease the man is gone immediately. There is warmth in his expression — a gregarious shift to his body as the nerves melt away, the confusion, the indecision, all of it. He practically falls all over himself to close the gap between his station next to the stump and where Dirge is.

The light shifts around them; maybe there is a yawning wind blustering through the trees, or maybe Larus is suddenly aware of the dappled light spilling in from overhead, but he catches a shaft of light across his eyes and stops short, squinting, recoiling, losing his train of thought. Tripping himself and staggering in a manner that could've been deadly: but he manages to avoid the ledge, and plants himself in the dirt next to Dirge instead.

The wind is briefly knocked out of him; he breathes raggedly and tastes the piss in the air, the many layered notes of wolf-scent which had lured him to this place, and knows he's too close. His expression melts to worry, and as Larus lifts himself from the dirt he looks sheepishly to the guardsman.

I'm — I'm sorry, I thought — Blondine. You're not her. This isn't... He is shaking in his skin, pathetic, and so lost. He cannot cry but his face pinches as if he might begin to, and a small whine rises from his lungs instead.