[The Lyceum] Inspired [Syllke]

[Seodai]

69 Fall, 511AV The time spent in the chapel, speaking with the shadowy Veldrys had stuck with Seodai more than he had imagined it might. The resounding truth of his words was something the young farmer couldn't seem to escape, and while he was hardly ready to change his approach to life, it bothered him. He spent more than a few nights staring at the familiar ceiling in his familiar room, wondering how much of his misery was self-inflicted, how many of his own wounds he had caused. This sort of revealing was not a comfortable one, and so Seodai would arise with Syna and attempt to push it aside. He would labor in the work he had spent half of his life doing, the work he loved. He would smile, and it wouldn't be until shadows fell and sleep approached that he'd think again. Worry. What if he could have changed it? Eventually his thoughts became more than errant musings. Seodai made a conscious effort to do better. It was tiny things that no one would likely notice. He tried to force himself not to retreat so viciously on the inside when someone wandered up to the farm. He'd make his smile more sincere, his politeness more than requirement. It would have been invisible to anyone else, this attempted reworking of his approach to things. When Seodai awoke in the later part of fall, and found that the sun was not shining at all, it did impact the choices he made for his morning, though. He dressed, ate, and after tending to the animals, decided to neglect his farming for the day. It wasn't as if it needed constant care, especially at this point in the season. With said justification in mind, the Denvali youth trailed the muddy road that led towards the center of town and, ultimately, the Lyceum. Seodai had spent many hours inside the stone walls, learning to read and to write. He learned basic mathematics, and about philosophical ideas. Seodai had been even more awkward as a child, though, and it had not been the happiest of times for him. Children tend to poke fun at that which is different, at that which they do not understand, and so Seodai had learned the art of hiding in these halls. Both literally, having to be found and dragged back to instruction, and emotionally. He reached the point where he sat impassive, as if he did not even hear their jokes, their laughter. And eventually, he did not have to go back. He had sworn he never would. Such thoughts gave him pause just at the threshold of the main entrance but, recalling both Veldrys' words and his own reason for coming, Seodai entered nonetheless. It was rather anticlimatic, really, because nothing at all happened. A few students shuffled past but paid him no mind, and the Lyceum went on as it always had. He was in just a contemplative enough mood to consider that, just maybe, he made things much bigger than they really were. Having broached the interior, Seodai wound through familiar halls, asking after his friend. He was told that the Vantha was working, but that did little to aide in his locating the smiling artist. Eventually he found someone who did know precisely where Seo might look and, a few moments later, Seodai found the classroom where Syllke had last been spotted. Inside there was a huddled mass of humanity in the form of Denvali children. They had proper seats with pads and instruments to write with. Those were discarded, haphazardly in some places. Instead of sitting, orderly and properly in the chairs, the children had somehow fallen into a giggling mass of limbs at the foot of the stool Syllke perched upon. Whatever class was supposed to be taking place here, well, it wasn't. Instead, Syllke was weaving his spell over the children in the form of words. One of those fantastic stories even Seodai loved to hear held them spellbound, and he could only watch with a warm sort of admiration. He was glad to have Syllke as a friend, and doubly so in his thoughtful mood. He might have stayed for the entire story but, before Syllke could even notice the other presence shadowing the doorway, he was called away. Small talk wasn't his forte, but he did his best. A friend of Theo's, inquiring about the harvest, the plan for the day, and specific fruits his wife liked best. Though Seodai knew little of the personal lives of many of the Denvali, he generally knew what they preferred in regards to the food coming from his farm. A simple way he was tied to the land he lived and worked, even if it didn't take the form of traditional gossip. He even knew which children were allergic to strawberries, made ill by mushrooms, and the like. Seodai considered these things with every planting, trying to ensure that the produce that came from Theo's farm would be enough not only to help the Denvali survive another cold winter, but to please them as well. By the time the conversation had taken it's course and he was free, the classroom was empty. The farmer considered simply heading back to the farm, to his solitude and peace. He'd given it a good go, right? The image of Syllke smiling so indulgently at the littlest of Denval was stuck in his mind though, and he had an inexplicable desire to see that smile directed at him. It seemed worth staying for. Seodai had to search the Lyceum over and again to find Syllke, in what amounted to little more than closet space. It was entirely open on one side, though, and thusly well lit. The Vantha was without a top, though the day wasn't as warm as the ones that had passed, and working feverishly over something Seodai couldn't see. The Denvali leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited to be noticed. Apparently too engrossed in his work, Syllke didn't turn immediately, giving Seodai the opportunity to observe him. How often did he have this chance? Syllke was like a droplet of Syna, sunlight come to life. No matter what they were doing he was constantly vibrant, distracting Seo even from considering him too closely. Now the golden haired farmer could survey the slender tuck of Vantha hips, the lean strength of exposed back, the careless fall of dark hair. Syllke seemed so human. Seodai hadn't really realized, before then, that Syllke was sometimes bigger than life to him. Tireless, passionate, curious, a veritable whirlwind of living and breathing and sensing. The profile that Seodai could see now seemed both boyish, innocent, quiet and also focused in a way that was familiar to Seodai. He had watched the artist work well enough to know that face, but he was most often the subject and would get scolded for changing his position enough to warrant a good stare. It was a rare opportunity, then, to watch Syllke in his element. They almost always existed in the realm of Seodai's world. It was... nice, this change. After a few long moments, Seodai succumbed to a selfish jealousy he'd never really known before and, therefore, did not recognize as what it was. He had tired of standing outside the circle of Syllke's enjoyment. He had become so accustomed to being the center of the artists attention when they were together that, really, he was spoiled for it. Watching Syllke work was enjoyable, but listening to his smooth voice tell stories and laugh and such was all the better. So, Seodai pushed off from the doorway and took the scant two steps it took to reach his friend. Striving for the humor Syllke exhibited so effortlessly, he stepped forward until his chest was only a breath away from the bare back of the Vantha. Still unnoticed, Seodai was amused enough to laugh silently as he lifted one arm and, remarkably quick, crossed it across Syllke's chest in front so that his long, calloused fingers could curl about the ivory column of that throat. All it took was a tug and he'd pulled the slender frame into the shape of his own body. His head tipped aside and, entirely teasing this best of friends, he spoke in a voice that was low enough to be a lovers caress. "Your obsession is dangerous, Syllke. You could get hurt." Seodai, of course, referred to his art, and how easily he had crept up on him.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Seo was indeed lucky that Syllke had already set aside the wood chisel that he had been working with, thus saving his friend an unlooked for wounding. As it was, his hand flew to the one that had wrapped so unexpectedly around his throat, even as that voice sent his brain an entirely conflicting message. His muscles flashed hot, and then intensely cold, as he registered who it was that a hold of him. Those words, though, were baffling in the extreme – dismaying – or exalting, he couldn’t decide which. In the moments it took for Syllke to really process what Seo had said, his feelings ran the gamut from mortified horror that Seodai had finally tumbled to how Syllke felt about him, to overwhelming relief, that he at last knew and Syllke could stop pretending. In the next breath, Syllke’s brain added in the low tone – so sensual as to be almost ludricrous – and the setting in which Seo had chosen to utter them. Surely, a boy as naïve and inexperienced as Seo would not have chosen this public place, this odd time, this unannounced and alarming way to reveal that he had finally tumbled to the secrets of his friend’s heart. Syllke could possibly see Seo’s face flushed, his jaw gaping, his voice incredulous as he exclaimed You love me? What the hell, Syllke . . . ? But this sultry, semi-erotic approach . . . no. So, before he had the chance to say anything really, really stupid, Syllke was able to ratchet his pounding heart and fluttering senses back down a few notches. His fingers, now gripping Seo’s, relaxed the tiniest bit, and his breathing slowed. Without attempting to pull away from the feeling of his body being pulled back into Seodai’s, he replied calmly in a soft, teasing purr, “If you were a bear, perhaps. But as you are only a farmer . . . “ He leaned backwards even more, resting his weight against his friend for another moment, allowing himself that brief, electrifying luxury. His mind flooded with the sensation of his bare skin against the rough fabric of Seo’s shirt, his fantasies taking flight to imagine what it would feel like if Seo, too, bore Morwen’s mark and had found the afternoon hot enough to go shirtless. It was very easy to imagine Seo in any number of states of various undress. The young artist found himself doing so with depressing frequency, especially at night. For one moment more, he let his eyes close and tried to make a mental imprint of Seo pressed against him in this physically intimate way, regardless of his friend’s motivations for bringing them together like this. “ . . . I guess you’ll just have to poke me with your pitchfork – which you seem to have forgotten.” Syllke spoke as he slowly turned around, Seo not making any effort to keep him pinned. Chest to chest practically, Syllke grinned. “Or maybe you’re hiding it? Behind your back?” His arms moved to twine about Seo and he ran his hands lightly over the middle of Seo’s back, before he forced himself to step backwards. “Guess not.” He was smirking, despite the renewed pounding in his chest. Stepping casually further away, he ducked his head, always mindful of his traitorous eyes. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice easy, happy, curious.

[Seodai]

There was a pleasantry in holding Syllke in his arms that Seodai would have never expected. It was accompanied by the blossoming of a warm, protective sort of possessiveness that he did not know what to do with. It wasn't that he wanted to keep Syllke all to himself, or from anything else. Almost everywhere they went his friend ended up socially engaged with someone, even when Syllke made an effort to prevent that. The world loved him, and Seodai could understand why. There was nothing to dislike about the happy artist with life and color in his eyes. Seodai enjoyed watching him embrace everyone and everything about him, and imagined he always would. No, this was different. It was a feeling somewhere at the very center of him, an ambiguous tug on emotion that demanded he make sure Syllke knew. To show the artist, somehow, that he belonged to the farmer in whose arms he stood. As the Vantha leaned back further, making all the more tangible the physical contact between them, Seodai was taken aback by the surge of feeling that made him feel breathless through and through. He had scarcely had friends for the whole of his life, and so it was easy to attribute this to that. Perhaps he didn't understand what it felt like to really, truly care for someone as a companion. Perhaps, too, those feelings were exacerbated since a lifetime of longing for such a friend was now fixed upon Syllke's narrow shoulders. Wherever the truth was hidden in all of those thoughts, Seodai was gladly distracted from them. Syllke was laughing with his words, amusement dancing so well through his tone that he need not literally make the sounds of laughter to make the point. It was as if Syllke was art, and capable of behaving like it. The slim Vantha was turning in his arms, a feast of friction against bare forearm and clothed chest. Seodai dropped his hands with casual familiarity to the bare curve of Syllke's hips, his fingers curling idly against the smooth skin that inched towards the small of the artist's back. In jest those fingers stroked his back, but for the briefest of moments, a single breath, Seodai forgot. About the pitchfork, his own joke, the story, the art. There was the sensation of those well-known hands against his back, if separated by the thin linen of his shirt, and the fleeting memory of what it had felt like to have those hands clinging to him with desperate intent. Seodai had just dropped his head to, essentially, nuzzle into the side of Syllke's throat. Syllke had insinuated himself into the farmer's life and somehow become comfort, safety, and so much more. Seodai did not hesitate to brush his cheek to the line of Syllke's jaw, to sigh at the pleasantry of being loved, if only by a friend. So many people took it for granted. When Syllke stepped back, Seodai resisted the strong urge to reach out to him again. To pull him back to him, to stand so close. He might have been willing to linger in that hug for the rest of the day, had Syllke been willing. Unwittingly, and unbeknownst to either of them, even the most simple of touches Seodai received from his trusted friend was going a long way towards healing the wounds of the past. Seo found restraint enough to not, though, and instead he reached up to first pat the side of Syllke's throat with a crooked smile, then tousle that dark hair that felt like, appropriately enough, silk. "Long enough," he said ambiguously, and with his entire body throbbing still from their contact, his heart absolutely heated from the pleasure of it, Seo stepped around Syllke in an attempt to peruse the art he had disrupted. "What're you making?"

[Syllke Skyglow]

OOCPlease assume the entire front of the sculpture is rough unworked stone, Syllke has only worked on the back. Also assume that Seo’s gnosis mark has been etched into the surface and each branch and leaf, etc, is minutely rendered in exquisite detail. For some reason, I couldn’t find such a sculpture in goggle images – go figure With a breathlessness that caught in his chest, Syllke endured that light touch and let Seo slip by, helpless to prevent being exposed – though there was still a chance that Seo would not see what Syllke saw in the work of art his friend was now staring at. Syllke was well aware how personal art was, and how often even his subjects themselves had no idea what he saw or what he had invested into a sketch or painting or carving. So, perhaps – just maybe – Seo would be as blind as the others. Syllke hoped so, though there was that part of him that did wish for Seo to know. But as always, he squelched that bit of his heart so that things would not get fucked up from top to bottom – as he was sure they would if he was found out. Turning slowly about, to look at Seo as he looked at the soapstone sculpture, he sighed, silently. There was no need for him to look at the piece that he had started the night he had returned from that first night at Theo’s farm. He knew every square centimeter of it intimately – by heart, you might say. Practically every day since that first day, he had gone to it, to work on it, or simply to look at it – touch it – pondering the emerging figure, the boy that had such a firm grip on his imagination. He was in no hurry. No piece of art had ever brought him such pleasure, such satisfaction, or such frustration. For once, he had tried to shape the figure the way he wanted it to be – but of course, to no avail. The stone and his heart – his mind – dictated otherwise. He himself wondered at the somewhat tortured pose. Seodai, in his mind, was such a peaceful person – generally so tranquil, and reserved. Where this energetic, moving, wrenched and straining Seodai was hiding, he had no idea. But there it was. And with each stroke of his chisel, each tiny dent carving away at the material, each polishing sweep of sand and oil, each time his sensitive fingertips ran over the surface – this Seo took on a more definite form – and a more definite place in his psyche. He didn’t know why – but this was right – correct. There were forces at work – on him, on his friend – ones he could not understand – perhaps they had yet to be really felt by Seodai. But somehow, they were working their way into Syllke’s brain and hands and fingers. And woven throughout the beauty and the muscles and the skin and the solid fluidity, was a passion and an affection that perhaps – perhaps – only Syllke would ever see. That was probably for the best. “It’s you.” The Vantha said simply, staring at the back of Seodai, the same back that he had worked on all these months. “Remember the first day we met? I said I wanted to do Bala’s mark? Well . . . “ His fingers went out to stroke down Seo’s shirt, knowing exactly every line that lay beneath. “There it is.” His eyes finally went to the stone and with a sense of fatalism, he saw that he had totally failed to capture anything like the wondrous boy that stood beside him – and he knew that he never could.

[Seodai]

With the brush of skin against his bare elbow, an innocuous thing that would have bothered him months before, Seodai had stepped beyond his Vantha friend to stare at the work. At first, it made no sense. His eyes had naturally fallen to the unfinished part, the neglected surface of stone. There was nothing to see there, nothing to make sense of and like a magnet the art that had been painstakingly carved out called to him. Bright blue eyes, set in an easy and curious stare, drifted there. There was absolutely no question. Seodai did not have to puzzle over details to work out what it was he gazed upon. The truth of it resounded through him like a clap of thunder, and Seodai was touched. Deeply. Born to parents who resented his inadequacies and protected him too harshly, if only to spare themselves the difficulty of dealing with his medical condition, Seodai hadn't exactly been made to feel special. At least, not in a good way. Those feelings had first come with his uncle, Theo, who had praised him for things done well, and generally made him feel like he was worthy enough to occupy a speck of dirt on the planet beneath him. Bala, too, had made him feel significant enough to be singled out, marked with her kiss. But, as far as the world at large went, Seodai had always felt more than insignificant. Unworthy of any such homage. But there it was, the beautiful thing that was, in his opinion, the best part of him. The sum of all of the parts that made up Seodai were primarily insignificant without Bala's beautiful work of art on his golden skin. He had never had the opportunity to evaluate it so objectively, so fully. He felt almost shaken by the sight of it and, when Syllke's hand came up to touch his back once more, he felt adored. Gooseflesh rose quickly along his skin, his bright eyes darting back quickly to meet the Vantha's own. Seodai was a very normal human, and his eyes couldn't dance with color like his Vantha's could. But, it wouldn't be hard to read the myriad of emotion sparkling in those wide eyes. Fascination, humility, awe, a deep, burning affection, and a million more. He smiled, and then turned his gaze back to the art before him. His breath was bated, airy as he spoke in scarcely more than a whisper. "May I touch it?" Given permission to do so, Seodai lifted a hand that almost trembled. His fingertips were ever so gentle as they went to the place which would serve as the nape of the statues neck. Syllke touched him there. He could close his eyes and think of it, the sensation of those smooth, cool fingers against his hot flesh. Downwards his exploration trailed, learning each tiny leaf and branch as he went along. How had Syllke managed to capture something so vividly, implant it into stone and still make it seem alive? The length of the trunk, which ran directly along his spine, felt just the way Seodai had always imagined it. "Syllke," he breathed, before he could reach the base. He began to pull his hand away, to turn and say something to his friend. Before he could do so, though, that elegant hand fell atop his own, holding it to the sculpture. Syllke's fingers were a bit longer than Seo's, slimmer. They were warm today, warmer than Seodai's own as they unfurled over a calloused farm hand. The difference in their skin tone was a fascinating point of focus, complicated today by the presence of the dust from his work. Seo was mesmerized as, with the warmth of his friend pressed in behind him, against his shoulder, the artist himself guided the rest of Seo's exploration. Only once he had felt every nuance with his own fingertips did Syllke release him, and when he did Seodai grappled for the fingers that retreated so that their hands were tangled together. He gave Syllke a squeeze. "Syllke, I've never... I mean... it's amazing." Another glance towards the sculpture silenced Seo for a short while. He could recall the sensation of that emblem coming to life on his back, as if it were yesterday. It didn't matter that it was years and years ago. Syllke had captured it so perfectly and so completely that he almost felt Bala near again, as if whatever cruel magic currently interfering with his connection to his Beloved was gone. "It's beautiful."

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke’s eyes had no need to search Seo’s. Everything was right there on the surface, easily read, like always. Seo’s eyes, his expression and his body language were almost as treacherous as Syllke’s shifting eye color, giving away the game entirely. His friend might often enough be mute, but every part of him besides his mouth seemed determined to give up Seo’s secrets. He saw all the wonder in those blue depths, all the many different levels of emotions, but as Seo turned back to the sculpture, Syllke could not help but admit, amongst those was not desire. Not for him anyway. He, of course, gave an easy, “Of course,” when Seo asked if he could touch, almost able to feel on his own fingertips on that smooth, cool stone. The curves and planes, angles and lines that had tried to contain that vision in Syllke’s heart. He knew what it felt like, what Seo felt like, from the nape of his graceful neck to the base of his spine, just as Seo was exploring it now. Unbidden, his hand moved forward, to rest atop Seo’s, to feel that warmth as it caressed the mark of Bala, his chest brushing against Seo’s shoulder, his arm running along Seo’s, his mouth so very close to that cheek – lips that he had kissed, once. His watchful eye took in each movement of Seo’s own as he gazed at the sculpture, and their hands trailing over each inch. Then it became more than he could stand, and Syllke closed his eyes as his hand dropped away. But Seo was so unknowingly cruel. Trapping Syllke’s fingers in his own, Seo inadvertently leaned back a fraction more. His stammered words of wonder, of inarticulate admiration, of modest gratitude for this tribute went almost unheeded as Syllke felt the rush of blissful yet unwanted warmth sweeping over him as this time Seo leaned into him. With his mouth inches from Seo’s ear, his eyes on the work before him but in his mind only seeing the real Seo, as he had looked in that moment of surprise when Syllke had been over him, on the ground, on the cliff, Syllke could only murmur, slowly, “Yes. Amazing . . . beautiful. Perfect . . . “ He swallowed and turned his head away. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” he said, in a voice so low it was barely a whisper.

[Seodai]

With so very much going on in his own life, in Denval, Seodai was still mercilessly unaware of the pains he caused for his friend. He did not know the torture it was to Syllke to stand by him so, to taste the scent of the farm from such proximity, to feel the weight of the farmer pressed against him. Seodai was simply warmed to the very center by the art, and humbled too. When Syllke turned away and inadvertently jostled him, Seodai at last forced his gaze away too. The only logical place for it, of course, was Syllke himself. Bright blues were positively shining with an unadulterated adoration that accompanied his crooked smile, the most true one he possessed. Seodai released the hand he held, but only so that he could reach up and grip the nape of Syllke's neck instead. He brought their foreheads together, first, noses brushing, breath mingling, not so much unlike that moment on the cliff. Except that Seo's thoughts were a million miles elsewhere. "You're amazing," he praised in a whisper that was felt against Syllke's lips. And then he turned the embrace into a proper hug, with both arms wrapped around Vantha shoulders, squeezing their bodies together as if he thought enough pressure might indeed make them one. His golden head dipped to tuck itself into Syllke's throat, the warm moisture of his breath transferred there instead. He couldn't possibly tell Syllke how it made him feel, this simple and fantastic thing. He wouldn't try. Instead, he used the strength of his arms and the stubborn spirit he was slowly learning from his friend to prolong the embrace, nuzzling affectionately into the bare skin at his cheek. Had he ever held Syllke so, with so few layers between them? The marvel of smooth skin against his palms was not something Seodai missed. His fingertips traced idle patterns upon warm Vantha flesh, and for the briefest moment he was struck with the desire to tug his own shirt off, too. What would Syllke feel like against him? Not because he stole all reason from his mind, all breath from his body the way Lysander did. But because Seodai trusted him, and such mindless exploration, such tactile observation felt safe with his best friend, who wouldn't spurn him for anything. Thankfully for them both, the thought was little more than a passing whisper, and Seodai was leaning back instead, his hands fixed upon the bare shoulders of his mate. "Really," he smiled again. "You're amazing. And earlier, with those kids..." he said, at last relinquishing Syllke altogether. "I feel lucky to know you."

[Syllke Skyglow]

As Seo’s hands moved, and then his body, drawing them back together, Syllke closed his eyes once more, and let go. Wherever Seo's thoughts might be, Syllke’s were concentrated in the microcosm of where their bodies touched. All he could do was feel the warmth through Seo’s shirt lighting his bare skin on fire. And then those fingers, the roughly calloused palms, passing over him, driving nails into him, sharp points of a desire so intense it was physically painful. He turned his head the slightest bit, bringing his cheek to press against the other, so warm. His lips parted and his own forcibly limp hands moved to gather Seo in arms that ached for him. In the next second, Syllke would have . . . But, no, there was to be no next second, for already Seo had pulled away. With an excruciatingly crushing sensation flattening his heart, his chest, Syllke felt those arms release him, hands moving briefly to his shoulders, and then . . . gone. Fled back to Seo’s side as carelessly and as thoughtlessly as everything else the young framer did to so unknowingly torment his most constant source of comfort and companionship. With every such encounter, it was just that much clearer, that what was felt, what emotions there were of anything greater than friendship, was a completely one way street. A street Syllke was destined to wander down alone, regardless of this other boy who was so often by his side. And because Syllke knew where Seo had left his heart, and with whom, he did nothing to bring Seo closer to him. Biting down on his upper lip for the briefest moment, turning his head aside as if he would look out the door leading back into the corridor, the classrooms, the main entrance, and exit, to the Lyceum, Syllke forced his eyes to remain focused on some far distant imaginary point – a point where the was no Seo, and no pain. Unclenching muscles that had unconsciously grown taut with the effort of doing nothing, Syllke drew a deep breath. Without looking at Seo, he smiled, making his face cooperate with his intention. He gave a half chuckle, half snort. “Remember that, when I get famous. Or maybe when I don’t.” The strained smile relaxed a tiny bit. “You must be well bored, to be hanging out watching me teach kids, and stare at rocks.” His tongue ran quickly over dry lips, his hands reached out to pick up a cloth he used to polish the stone, for no reason other than to serve as a distraction for his screaming thoughts. Finally he looked back at Seo, though his eyes did not reach for those deep pools of blue. He asked in a tone that simulated curiosity, “What are you doing here anyway? Did you need me for something.” Moving casually past Seo, he stepped towards the door, as if they should leave now.

[Seodai]

Seodai was puzzled by the question, because he really didn't know how to answer it. He didn't need anything specific, not really. And it didn't seem sensible to explain to Syllke that, when he felt weak and lonely, the Vantha was the first who came to mind. For all of the softness of his personality that came from years of protected isolation, Seodai still had a distinct masculinity all his own, and to admit such would make him feel unmanned, somehow. Especially in front of Syllke, for reasons he couldn't yet understand. "Ah, no," he lied smoothly, scratching at his neck. "I just... you always come to see me, first. I thought I'd pop in and see you... y'know, doing your thing." In truth, Seodai was a bit enamored with the artistic side to Syllke. He'd never really known anything so abstract, so focused on beauty. Even the stories Syllke told were amazing, in his perspective, and always left him a little bit awed. For now, though, he was content to give the emerging likeness of himself one last, long look and then turn on his heel to follow his friend from the room. Whatever they got up to would be just fine. The important thing was that he was at the center of Syllke's attention once again.