Chapter Text
deep, dark navy blues. Rippling waves of oceanic silk, twisting and turning and falling into itself. He wades through it, letting it wash over his body and encapsulate him in what should be a cold, vast feeling. But as he swims, Will The Wise feels warm.
He feels as warm as a summer's day. He is coated in the heat of the sun at its peak in the sky. Soft, dappled light on his cheeks and hands. Gentle sweat rolling down the base of his neck, though it is not uncomfortable.
It is a heat that reminds him most of the days his mother would walk him and his brother all the way to the bottom of Hawks Quarry. There was a small patch of water where they would gather to swim. It was surrounded by willows that wept over the bodies swimming along. The water would gently rock as it stole away the remaining catkins that had fallen in the spring.
He and his brother, Jon, would run and chase. They would throw off their shoes and dash to the creek to splash each other or wrestle. When their stomachs grumbled, they feasted on sweet clementines that left their chins sticky and bellies full. The wizard and his family basked in the warmth of that grove like lazy cats bathed in the sun.
Will feels no different now as he had during those many summers. In fact, he feels like a child again. He glides through the water as though he were once again as small and nimble as he used to be. Towards a pool of careless childhood naivety. When his knees were always scabbed and his hair was usually kept shorter. Before his magic had fully bloomed.
Will opens his mouth, expecting to taste that familiar bitter algae. But on his lips lies the taste of maple and sugar.
Will swims further, feeling lighter and lighter as though slowly shedding away layers of himself. He wades down the river bend as the sky darkens through the trees above. Navy blue water turns as dark as pitch. And yet, the wizard remains warm. Illuminated by constellations, Will swims until he feels something brush against him. He does not startle. As though he is haunted by a past self, Will turns to the figure, familiarity chiming in his mind like church bells.
Sweet, bubbling laughter fills his ears. There's a flash of a mischievous smile aimed right at him. The water rocks as the other figure drops underneath the water and kicks away towards the nearby shore. And again, Will feels his body moving without him, arms pumping faster and legs kicking harder to catch up with his companion.
He dips his head under the water and he pictures himself moving as though he were a part of it. Flowing and stretching forward. His head breaks the surface for air when he recognizes the pinch in his throat, and suddenly it's morning again. Daybreak. The sun peels up over the horizon, and the shore leads into a field of tall, yellowed grass. He tramples through it with the same ease of cutting through the water. There's a speck standing amongst the blankets of ochre. It rears its head towards Will, blinking bright eyes. Another flash of a smile. And as Will nears it, he hears the familiar call of companionship.
Will runs towards his companion now. He kicks forward with such a powerful burst of glee that his body practically shakes with it. The laughter from before twinkles in his ears once more, and the wizard finds laughter of his own is drawn out to match it. He laughs, and he stretches his arms out to the side. He lets the tips of the tallgrass tickle his palms. He feels weightless now. He could kick off into the air and go floating like a feather. He knows he could. But he stays with his feet planted onto the same ground as his companion.
And when he finally falls into his arms, all Will can drink in is raven hair as dark as pitch. Maple and sugar. Eyes as dark as the deepest caverns. Skin like fresh snow. Warmth that crawls across his body and bleeds into every inch of his being.
Will breathes it in, and he winds his fingers tight into hair and cloth. He is held with a reciprocated fierceness, as though his companion was getting drunk off of his presence too. Will rears his own head back when he feels two warm hands cup his cheeks. He looks up, expecting to finally see his friend's face in full. It is like staring through mist. But Will can still make out the shape of his partner's full lips parting daringly. As though he wished to say something. Will aches with the anticipation, longing for a voice he never knew he missed so much.
The words never come.
When the wizard wakes, it is with a gasp of sharp air. He brings his hand to his face. It is cold as ice.
-
"You're painting again."
From underneath the heavy quilt draped around his shoulders, Will's hand jerks to a pause. The paintbrush he holds drives a flick through the cheek of a stoic figure. With a small breath through his nose and a spin of the brush between his thumb and knuckle, Will gently returns the brush to the lip of his easel as he raises his eyes.
It's El, his sister, who speaks. She stands in the doorway of his bedchamber, back-lit by the sunlight that pooled in from the kitchen windows. El's gaze settles gently on her brother's figure, curiously drinking him in. Quietly, Will drags the foot of the easel inwards, to hide the contents of his painting from his sister's peering eyes. He shrugs his shoulders lazily, tipping his head to the side.
"Yes. I…" Will pauses, unsure of how much he wished to share with her, "I had a dream last night. Something compelled me to paint it."
Her curious gaze flickers with concern for a moment.
"It was not another night terror, was it?"
She asks, pulling the violet shawl she wears closer to her body as she leans against the wood of the doorway. It's the way she says it-- so full of genuine concern and curiosity-- that makes Will want to shove the quilt over his head and pretend nobody was around. Or perhaps he could cast Vanishing. And El would have to spend the rest of the day guessing where her brother was wandering about the tower.
"No. It was…"
Will isn't quite sure he knows how to describe the dream. It was nearly feverish in nature, with no true narrative. Just a mashed up menagerie of feelings and flashes of…well what felt like memories. But Will was not quite sure he had really experienced those things corporeally, but rather through fragments of feelings and experiences. Such as the river where he and Jon would swim. Or the warmth of the summer. Or…
Will raises his head to look at his sister. She quietly watches him back. He knows that El does not possess the power to read his thoughts naturally. But her eyes always seem to dig something out from under his skin without her having to ask. He wonders if she could guess the second half of the dream just from the flush Will feels gathering at the tips of his ears.
"It was just. Odd. I felt like I was dreaming of memories but…none of those things have happened before. At least not in the way I had dreamt it."
Surprisingly, El smiles.
"Perhaps it was a premonition." She suggests. "The old woman who gives me the ginger root tells me that when she has premonitions, it feels like she's visiting old friends."
Will can't help but give a small laugh, shaking his head. Whoever Will had been visiting in his dream certainly felt like more than just a friend. But he doesn't say this. Instead, Will reaches for a small goblet that sits on the lip of his easel, water sloshing in it. He picks up his paintbrush as well, dipping the bristles down into the discolored mixture of paint and stream water.
"I'm sure it is not a premonition. I don't…I've never had one. Only the strongest of mages could." He sighs. He realizes these words cast doubt upon the old woman as well, which he does feel the slightest twinge of guilt for.
Will had only met her once, some moons ago. But El was very familiar with her. She was a kind woman, with the strong fingers of a gardener and the gentle smile of a mother. The ginger root she gave them was good for teas and cooking. When their stock became low, El would travel down to her cottage in order to trade something for it. Usually, it would be cheese from their goats. Or once, Will had made a small set of paints out of flowers and berries for her. But always, the woman gave just a little more than what their trade was worth.
Will can feel El's frown pointed at him. He knew she would not appreciate his distrust in the woman's stories-- especially after the kindness that she had shown to them. But in Will's eye, it was nothing more than honesty.
"I believe her." Is all El responds. Will can't help but glance at her again. There's a slight downturn to the points of her ears, but Will chooses not to speak on it. "You should get washed up soon. Mother wants us to meet her in towne."
Will nods, reaching for the thin piece of linen that he had been using to cover his easel when it was not in use.
El used to just call their mother “Joyce.” Will did not know when she had stopped doing as such. He suspects it happened around the time she had moved into the tower with them, around Will's 15th birth year. But the word fell from her lips so naturally, Will would have believed it had been that way their whole lives.
The two part ways as she exits Will's space, going off into a separate area of the tower. The door to his chamber whisks shut without El having to lay a finger on it. He tries to map out where El is headed just from the sounds of her footfalls, straining his ears. As they fall further and further away, he can only guess she has disappeared towards the kitchen.
Abandoning the quilt on his shoulders and resolving to finish his painting later, Will finally moves with a sigh. It's an effort to get his stiff body to start, having stood in the same position for what had been much longer than healthy. He rolls his head to one side, stretching the muscles gently. He raises his arms up towards the ceiling, letting them tense and then release. When he outstretched his fingers, he could feel them crack with the dried paint caked onto his skin. He brings them back down to observe, turning them over as if he were just now seeing them.
"Damn." He curses, glancing around his bedchamber for something to wipe them with.
The small room was lit by nothing more than the sunlight that shone through a small, stained glass window. It illuminated the surroundings in a near golden glow, reminding Will that the day had already begun without him. While he allowed himself to get lost in his dreams, the rest of the world staggered on, and the paint on his hands added to a sudden feeling of shame crawling up his neck. Will frowns to himself as he searches the room. There wasn't much to observe. Will owned very few things.
There was his bed-- a small wooden structure that laid across the floor, topped by a straw mattress. Strewn across was nothing more than the same patchwork quilt he had worn only moments before. On the wall with the window was a wooden chest about the length of a fox. It held nothing but Will's few clothing items and some sentimentals. On the top of it, there was a faded carving, some small painted figures, and a letter folded neatly. And just before Will, where he stood near the chest, was his easel.
It was fine, pine wood. It was the only thing Will had that resembled newness. And even then, the lip of it was smeared in color. A gift from his mother for his 18th birth year.
And yet, after observing every inch of his room, Will finds nothing to clean up with.
With a quiet huff, Will exits the room. He travels down the narrow corridor of the left wing to the main area of their home. The main area was a large rounded room that held a fireplace and table, along with wooden counters for cooking and cabinets for storage. El has seemingly disappeared from this area as well, but Will does not linger on it, turning instead for a side door that leads to the yard outside. When he pulls it open, sunlight peels away the darkness of the corridor. There's a gust of warm breeze, carrying the smell of grass and the peonies Mother had planted during the Spring. Will steps out, his hand instinctively coming to protect his eyes from the glare of the sun. He blinks tightly, suddenly very aware of how strained his sight must have been while inside. He fumbles for the spectacles that sit upon the top of his chest, strung by a chain around his neck. They were small, shaped like half moons. But they make a world of difference as he slips them onto the bridge of his nose. Now able to move without stumbling, Will carries on towards the little crooked well that sits just beside their home.
There's a part of Will that thinks about possibly just spelling the mess on his hands away. It would certainly be faster. But the ache of dreariness that lingered in Will's shoulders made him decide against it. Spelling would be faster, but he knew the effort and energy that it took would only hinder him in the long run.
Somewhere beyond where the well stood, the goats bleat along to the birdsong. Another breeze shoots past, tossing Will’s hair from his eyes as he grabs for the thick twine they had fastened to the top of the well. The bucket swings as Will pulls it up and it breaches the top of the water, Will tightening his grip as the weight shifts. Grabbing the lip of the bucket and resting it on the stone wall, Will carefully sloshes some water over his hands to wash. He lets his mind wander as he does so. Scrubbing away the smudges of ochre and sunshine yellow from his fingertips slowly, Will thinks about his dream.
He thinks about the last few moments. About shooting through the field as if he were wind. There was a field like that, not far from towne, that was filled with dry tallgrass. Yellowed stems that shot up towards the sky and nearly reached Will's chest in height. When he was a boy, he remembers playing in it. Hiding from his mother as she chased after him and laughing all the while. It was not unlike the one he had seen in his dream. In fact, Will was almost sure it was the same one.
Could this be why it felt so familiar? Could it be why the dream lingered in the back of Will's mind, nipping at his heels? Had the dream simply filled him with a sense of nostalgia for the places his childhood lived?
His pointed ears slant downwards at just the thought, but it was the most viable answer.
Will was grown now; No longer the sickly, weedy little child he had once been. He now stood taller than both his mother and sister. He and Jon were now neck and neck. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong. For a brief moment, Will’s eyes flicker to his own reflection in the bucket of water. Tired eyes stare back, taking in the new shape of his face. The strong jaw, the curve of his nose.
This should have been something to celebrate for Will. He knew of many boys whom he grew up with that counted down every sunrise until they were men. They relished in the changing of their bodies, fighting over who was now the tallest amongst their group. There was a light post in towne that was etched with lines and names, marking every inch grown since the age of perhaps 8.
But Will did not celebrate his age. Nor did he spend his adolescence wishing it had come to him sooner. Will recognizes the shape of his fathers features on his own now, and he scowls, looking away from his reflection.
No, Will thinks. His childhood was perhaps the one thing he did not want to shed.
It seemed his dreams certainly seemed to agree with this sentiment. Haunting him with these ghosts of places from his past, reminding him of the things he once did there. The people who had once been there with him.
Will’s hands stop washing, and it’s like his body gets stuck for a moment.
It was not the images of places he had once been that had bothered him. But rather the person he had seen. The figure.
Hair as dark as pitch. Eyes like ravens. A laugh like church bells. Warm hands. A companion.
Will thinks of the painting that still sat in his bedchamber, hidden away under a sheet. As though the painting alone would somehow say the words that Will could not.
He thinks of the stoic figure he had been so careful to place amongst the sheets of golden grass. His handsome, matured face molded through no more than blurry memories now. Will knew now who the face belonged to. And yet, to even think about it felt like such a heavy task.
"Are you done yet?" A voice interrupts. "I thought you were just washing up!"
Will shoots a look over his shoulder towards his sister, who stands with a hand on her hip in the doorway. The heat that had grown from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears dissipates, and Will sucks in a shuddery breath, composing himself.
Without a word, Will takes the bucket into his hands and jolts it in El's direction, causing a shrill sound to escape her and her hands to fly up to stop the oncoming attack. But nothing lands. Will laughs as the water barely splatters in front of her feet, never touching her at all. El groans and shoots him a look of annoyance, which only makes him laugh more.
"That was funny and you know it."
"It was awful. You're an awful brother."
"I'm your favorite brother, actually."
" No ."
By the time Will has disposed of the dirtied water, El has slipped back inside. Will is too distracted by his joke to realize that he had missed a few spots on his hands. He brushes them across his pants to dry them regardless, following his sister back into the tower.
"You think I'm a good brother, don't you, Chester?" Will's voice questions as the door creaks shut behind him. Somewhere a few feet ahead, he can hear El scoff and the clatter of nails on stone.
A tall, white mutt with big brown eyes dashes towards Will at the sound of his name, tail swinging so hard it's nearly spinning. Will smiles as he reaches down to cup the mutts face, scratching behind his ears and cooing at him.
"Of course he does. It's because you sneak him your table scraps and you don't throw water on him!" El tsks. Will finally looks up and finds her amongst the kitchen, swinging a bag over her shoulder. She's changed clothes, now adorning a thin tunic and a brown skirt. She had tied some white stays over the tunic, though Will knew by the perfect alignment of the ribbon that she must have spelled it closed. She looks nice, and it makes Will question his rather plain choice of tunic and brown cloth pants.
She raises an outstretched arm that holds Will's satchel as well, whisking away that thought before Will could consider changing.
"I merely turned the bucket in your direction! No water touched you." He argues as he accepts the bag.
"Quiet before I curse you." El threatens with no intention behind her words. "Sit, Chester."
El handles a thin piece of twine in her hands, watching as their hound comes bumbling up in front of her. She fastens the twine around his neck, making sure it was clear to passerby that he was not a dog of the streets.
It's only when Chester sits down that Will really takes in how big of a canine he really was. His head reached El's waist. He was thin and muscular, certainly some sort of mutt. Though, Will would admit to preferring that. He couldn't imagine their family with one of those strange, small dogs that lived in the kingdom.
The siblings and their hound sit for only a moment to pull on their boots and give a last minute glance over.
"Mother wants us to try and find Jon when we get there as well." El explains as the three of them now inch towards the round wooden door. "He's supposed to give us some firewood."
"Okay." Will nods simply, accepting the apple that El presses into his empty hand. "But-- um…
There's a pause between them no longer than a heartbeat as Will considers what he wants to say.
"Do you mind if we stop by the Inn?" He asks, feeling sheepish under El's cool gaze. He knows she would not judge him, no matter what he asked for. But Will cannot bite away the fear that she would dismiss his hopes altogether.
"You want to ask about letters again? Surely Luc would have made the journey to deliver it to you…"
The tips of Will's ears brighten, and he shakes his head.
"You're right--" He stammers. "Nevermind. Forget I asked--"
"We can go. I want to see Max anyways." Will doesn't even get a moment to register the response before he watches El turn, instantly whisking away any awkwardness that had blossomed. The mousy brown hair she had been so meticulously growing out flicks over her shoulder as she turns, the door opening without her touching it at all. The three trample out into the invasive sunshine, mindful to shut the door behind them.
Although Chester bounds ahead excitedly, Will and El halt in their path, the two turning back to the spiraling tower. If Will focused on it too long, he would realize that the tower was leaning only slightly to one side.
Completely in sync, Will reaches to clasp hands with his sister, raising his free hand the same way she raises hers. They place their flat palms onto the ivy-covered stone wall, and Will shuts his eyes.
There's a faint rush of warmth that gathers through Will's fingertips and begins to spread down down down throughout his entire body. His magic hums through him like the rhythmic beating of a drum.
He had once described how his magic felt to El. To him, it was like stepping out into the sunshine after swimming through cold water. It was like the beating drums of music in the Towne square. It was gentle, like his brush on a canvas. And through that conversation, Will learned that El's was more so like lifting a Boulder. It was being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. It was like flying with a burst of wind under your wings.
Will sometimes thinks he can feel those things too when they interlace their hands. The breeze through his hair. The drums in his ears. Warm, as though in a hug.
Protection. Security. These are the things Will thinks of as their combined magic bleeds into the tower. There is no sound, or rush of light. But the ivy that grew between the cracks of the brick winds itself further against the building, until it's growing over the door.
The drums dissipate as well as the warmth, the spell coming to an end. Will opens his eyes, sighing a quiet breath and noting the new slack in his tired shoulders. Somewhere down the hill, Chester barks.
"Safe." El mutters, bringing her hand to her lips and kissing her fingertips. She presses the kiss to the ivy, and a small, spiraling flower blooms.
-
The trip into towne was not a particularly long one, but it required traversing through several long stretches of hills and fields. Of course, Chester runs happily ahead of the siblings, full of more energy than the two could ever imagine. El and Will make a good pace behind him, juggling easy conversation.
They travel down the winding hill, their path aimed for the crumbling stone walls that circled the towne up ahead. Smoke from chimneys billowed up through the air, and there was a faint rumble of voices and hoof falls from carriages.
As they neared the settlement, Will felt a pinch in his stomach, sickly and tight.
The tallest cloud of smoke ripples above their heads, most likely drawn from the Inn that sat in the centre of town. The Stargaze Inn.
Scott Clarke now owned the Inn, still somehow just as lively and constantly packed as it always had been. And it was Clarke who made himself responsible for some of the mail that would travel through Hawks End, often delivering it himself to patrons of the Inn, or even regular citizens when he had the time.
The Stargaze was once a bakery before it was a hub for conversation and pigeon fodder, offering fresh baked goods to its patrons. But the new management had converted it into a tavern Inn instead, and the inside no longer smelled like fresh bread and maple. Not like it had when the Weststars owned it.
For a moment, Will recalls the taste of maple and sugar on his lips. And laughter like sweet church bells. And freckles like sprinkled sesame on a fresh loaf of bread. The pinch in his gut tightens, and his face grows warm.
"I think Luc want to court Max." El mutters wistfully, breaching Will’s thoughts entirely. Will turns his gaze toward her, brow furrowed and his mind now wiped empty.
Oddly enough, Will's stomach only seems to tighten more. The mention of his friends and their romantic endeavors had always brought a sheen of sweat to Will's brow. His eyes grace the ground, unable to allow his sister a glimpse into his thoughts.
"Well…of course. He has only been in love with her since we were…what? 16?" Will laughs wryly, crossing his arms to hold himself.
"Right. But…I don't know. It's been so long that I did not think he would ever…"
"Follow through?"
"Yes."
Will can't help but agree.
"Have they gone on a date?" He asks. "Luc hasn't mentioned it to me."
Will knows that if Luc hadn't mentioned it, it was because he knew of Will's inability to discuss this sort of topic. And if that were the case, then Luc certainly must have an idea of why Will could not discuss the matters of romance and courting and love. And the idea of Luc knowing-- of anybody knowing-- made Will's stomach nearly jump up into his throat.
"Max sent a letter the other night. She told me that they had gone to find constellations together."
"Oh." Will hums. "That does sound very romantic."
El simply hums in agreement.
The two continue the walk in silence after that, both now consumed by their separate thoughts. There is nothing more than the sound of their feet trampling across the dirt path that led through the grass. It had begun to grow taller and taller the closer they got to Hawks End. And it's then, as the grass shifts from faded greens to a dried yellow, that Will realizes they're passing the field. The field. The one from his dream.
The sound of heavy footfalls thuds against the Earth to their right as two chestnut horses trot past. Upon them sit two figures, clad in shining sterling armor. Will’s eyes catch upon the gilded wings embedded into the chest plates of their armor. These were Hawksmen, surely traveling about the border of the settlement on patrol. The one on the leading horse, a handsome man with long braids down his back, nods to Will as they pass. His expression does not offer more than a steely gaze, his shoulders tight and brow furrowed.
This was not unusual for Hawksmen. They were known for being serious and brooding. As an independent fleet of footmen and bowmen, the Hawksmen took the protection of Hawks End as an oath. To protect a settlement as small and vulnerable as Hawks End was an honor to their citizens. So of course, the Hawksmen took their duty seriously.
But even the most serious Hawksman would offer the average citizen a smile. This man seemed nearly…tense.
“He doesn’t look too happy…” El mumbles under her breath. Will’s eyes follow them as they continue past the siblings and on their patrol, until he can see nothing more than the forest green cloaks that they wore on their backs. He lets go of the view shortly, wondering what exactly had made the man seem so on edge. Ahead, Chester has slowed to a staggering trot, his nose pointed towards the ground as he sniffs about. Will thinks that he must be following the scent of the horses.
But then, there's a pause in his movements.
El carries on, but Will notes the sudden stiffness in Chester's movements, and he slows. Then, the hound releases a loud yap, his tail springing up behind him. Will can't help but jump at the sound, raising his brow.
"What is he--" El starts, but she doesn't get far into the thought before Chester has suddenly darted off.
Will drops El's hand, his heartbeat suddenly quickening as he realizes the mutt has rushed off into the tall grass, where neither sibling could see him.
"Damn! Uh-" Will stammers. "Stay here. I'll grab him." He says to El, who gives him a look.
"Are you sure?" She says as Will starts to walk into the fleet of itchy grass. "What if he's running towards danger?" Her briefly eyes flicker towards the direction of the Hawksmen.
Will doesn't respond, unwilling to admit that that was the very thing he feared. If Chester had spotted something that the Hawksmen couldn’t see with just their eyes, then Will would be walking straight into it.
“I’ll be alright. Just wait here.” Will says, trying to assure himself more than his sister.
Hesitantly, he tramples clumsily through the field, pushing his arms out as if he's combing through it.
“If you don’t come back within a few minutes, I’m spelling the grass to part like the seas!” El’s voice shouts somewhere behind Will. He glances back over his shoulder, but the grass has already curtained her away from sight.
Will turns back now, straining his ears, trying to seek any sound that would give away Chester's path. He could hear another bark just a few feet ahead, and Will decides to follow the sound. He wants to curse the dog for being so excitable, shaking his head and flicking away the tiny flies that buzzed about the grass.
"Chester!" He cries out, his eyes zipping through the raising blanket of gold that seemed to stretch on for miles. He tries to search for a gap in the grass, a possible giveaway to where Chester was standing. But all he receives is a bark that sounds even farther than before. Will groans and carries on. If he was a powerful and cruel Mage, maybe Will would use his magic to completely get rid of the grass and make this easier on himself.
He doesn't.
"Chester!" He gives one last cry, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. This time, Will is not rewarded by any sort of bark. Instead, there's a quiet rumble of…a voice.
Will squints his eyes, his hand now moving to sit upon his brow and block the sun.
There's a glimmer of something silver amongst the sea of gold. It reflects harshly as the figure turns, and Will spots the head of his dog popping up over the grass. Whoever this Silver figure was had been greeted by the old mutt. And it was petting him.
"Chester!" Will calls one last time. And the silver glints again. This time, Will can see the figure has turned towards him. Chester barks, as if to say ' come look!'
Will can't deny the itch of curiosity.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Will marches forward. He keeps his steps even and quick, trying not to appear as any sort of threat to whatever was greeting his dog.
His vision smooths as he grows closer, his eyes no longer having to strain to see ahead of him. He can now see that the figure is wearing armor, and Will can't deny the catch in his throat at the thought. Was this person prepared to fight if he perceived Will as a threat? Was he equipped with a weapon, whereas Will had nothing but his hands and magic that exhausted him?
Will opens his mouth to call for his dog again, and maybe choke out an apology, but then, Will's eyes finally focus completely.
Hair as black as pitch. Skin like fresh fallen snow. Freckles like sesame.
Full lips that turn into a smile.
It was as though Will's stomach was a bucket dropped into the bottom of a well, sinking lower and lower.
"Will?" The rumbling voice from before suddenly asks. The voice of a man that dripped with both familiarity and a newfound maturity to it.
Will thought his legs would give out.
"Mike?" He gasps. A name that Will could not even think before suddenly felt like home on his lips.
Will runs forward to close the last few feet between them. He kicks forward with such a powerful burst of glee that his body practically shakes with it. He lets the tips of the tallgrass tickle his palms. He feels weightless now. He could kick off into the air and go floating like a feather. He knows he could.
But he stays with his feet planted onto the same ground as his companion.
Will doesn't sink into the man's arms the moment he arrives before him. Instead, he stops completely, eyes dragging up to meet his gaze. Dark as a raven.
Laughter somehow bubbles up from Will's throat, catching him by surprise. But Mike just laughs with him.
"My Gods-- is it really you?" Will practically whispers.
It's an odd juxtaposition, to see a man dressed in fine armor suddenly look sheepish.
"Yeah…" Mike breathes.
And then, as though something pushed the two of them forward, they're finally sinking into each other's arms.
Will clasps his own hands together behind his old friend's neck as he holds him tight. And Will realizes then that his hands were warm.