Ferns shifted about him as Scholomance stepped back onto the path. Its slow, coiling pattern felt familiar, with a smattering of lights to guide him. They each wheezed their hazy luminosity over the darkened park where the moon touched only briefly, and Scholomance kept to their vigil. He passed beyond a dozen more as he approached the immense swell of a knight's auric energy.
As he walked, he wondered - what best suited showing gratitude? Few arrived to collect the spoils that Scylla issued. Scholomance himself balked somewhat at the trite price placed on lives saved. The war's participants only tolerated indirect monetization, he found, and while that thought gave him a chuckle, it strayed from the point. He wanted to see Hvergelmir again, and he wanted to convey to her the effect her actions had over his continued state of being. And he wanted to do so beyond the obvious; his thankfulness for having his life saved was a foregone conclusion at this point. But balancing thoughtfulness and clarity against triteness proved an eternal struggle - where would one end and another begin when explaining his gratitude to anyone, let alone Hvergelmir?
The road to the bench ran shorted than the road to an answer. Soon, he found himself in hailing distance of the seated star and knew his time to deliberate over the issue came to an end. That realization irked him, though he smoothed it from his countenance. After jerking down the mask, he flashed her a reserved smile.
"You surprised me." He spoke evenly. Anger's friction lessened somewhat. He approached then, with bone heels splitting blades of grass as he walked. A hand gestured toward the bare spot on the opposite end of the bench. "May I?"
Shazari
