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Summary
“So you were not spooked? Not even a little?” Durge asks between heavy breaths.
“No.” Astarion says easily.
“What if it was some dangerous person? Someone looking to kidnap you, or worse?”
“Bah, I knew it was you.”
“How come?”
“I just knew.”
Astarion could simply tell. Not owing to their pre-planned playdate—the day’s earlier drama had completely monopolised his mental faculties. Not even owing to the distinctive smell of Durge’s magic: rain-damp earth, a touch of decaying leaves, ozone astringency—scents in natural abundance given the coming rainstorm. His skin seems to know the way Durge’s shape, his movements, displace air. It is heartening reassurance that Astarion would probably know him blind, drawn to the other boy as a compass needle to its true north.
Series
- Part 6 of Childhood friends Durgestarion