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If you asked Red Mac Raith, he could give you a list of his favorite things. They were simple things. But they were the things that made it easy to get up in the morning. The things in the world that made life worth living.
Perhaps it was a bit of a foolish thought. To like such trivial things and think that they made the world better. But he didn't particularly care. They made him feel better. And he supposed, in the end, that's all that mattered.
He liked the color blue despite his name. Blue like the ocean. Expansive and vast, like the waves that hit against rocks and beaches, like the water cool and crisp against bearskin on hot days. Blue like the clear sky, unmarred by clouds, pure and endless, stretching long past the horizon. Blue lit the flowers he would occasionally see, dotting around fields and in bushes, giving the green just a bit more color.
He loved it even more when Antea said he looked good in Blue.
Red like the rain, the sound it made on the ground, and the roofs of whatever makeshift home they had taken shelter in.
At night, he loved falling asleep to it. Safe and warm as he listened to it pattering outside. A rhythmic calm that forced his muscles to relax until he fell into an ever-rare blissful sleep. He loved how it felt on his skin when they had to walk in it. Cool and cleansing from the hot sun.
He loved it even more when it made Antea's hair stick to her face, and he got an excuse to touch it and brush away the strands, even if it made Her roll her eyes every time.
There was the smell of rain after it, too. A scent he wished he could just bottle and carry with him everywhere. Rich and unmissable. Flooding his senses till he was a content man. He didn't mind running around all day when the smell was in the air. A perfect aroma.
He missed it whenever they had to be on a ship. Rain was never the same on a boat. He liked the sound it made when it hit the water, but he missed the smell.
But oh, did he love ships. Big wooden beauties that cut through waves. Vessels that survived the most silent of storms. Each with their crew of hardworking men who'd take a risk simply being out in a plane so lonely. Each with their own stories to tell of faraway places and adventures filled with victories, loss, and betrayal.
Maybe he romanticized it too much. He was sure that he did, but he didn't care. A craft so beautiful should be romanticized about. Its beauty should be admirable. You can hate what the ship brought. The things the men did with them. The lives they ruined. But you could not blame the vessel itself.
He loved that whenever he and Antea visited a village for a job, there was always a group of children waiting excitedly for their arrival. They would stare wide-eyed, with an innocent sort of curiosity that only children could possess. A kind of curiosity not yet touched by the cruelty and turmoil of the world around them. Something so simple and yet so precious.
They would look at his rings, his ink and grain fingers, at his firebane and sword. They would crowd him and ask questions, more than he could possibly know the answers to. Some of what he told was truthful, some a carefully crafted lie. On occasion, he would let his ego win, and he would exaggerate reality. But the children always ate it up. Always believed what he told.
He had never particularly wanted children, even before he became a banisher. But there are moments like these that he doubted himself.
He enjoyed cooking. It was a form of art, in a way, to make meals to fill his and Antea's bellies, even if they didn't have much. He liked to see her enjoy what he made. The bliss on her face when he made something she adored. The look in her eyes when he made something new, and she enjoyed it from the first bite.
Red loved a lot of things about Antea.
Her touch was always so gentle, so loving. He was sure her hands would warm him even on the coldest nights. Her hands were calloused, yes, but they were somehow soft. They perfectly fit into his whenever they sit hand-in-hand.
He loved her laugh, the kind that echoed from the deepest parts of her soul. Her eyes would close, her nose would scrunch up, and she would always turn away from him as if trying to hide it. But she wouldn't laugh if she wanted to hide.
There was her voice, always so calm, always so even. He could listen to her talk for hours about anything. Give her a topic he wasn't remotely interested in, and it would cling to every word because it was her speaking.
He once asked her to tell him a story one night. He couldn't fall asleep, and she had chuckled. But she had done so, held him close, and spoke long after he had fallen asleep. Now, he makes the request often. If not to sleep, then to simply hear her speak.
Her eyes, too, were deep and beautiful in a way no one else got to see. The soft way she looked at him when no one else was around. And they had no worries. The way her head tilted. The soft smile that would find her lips. It would make his heart swell every time.
Perhaps Red was just biased, but Antea was his favorite thing.