"You could just put grease on the cloak," Van deadpans, scooting companionably aside to make room for Myr on the bedroll. "It might be quicker to cast, if this is as complicated as you say. But I'd rather complicated than messy."
There's something comforting and gut-wrenching at the same time at how familiar and simultaneously unfamiliar that look on Myr's face is. Even with three years' distance, Van remembers so vividly well how Myr's hazel eyes would glaze over and go all faraway as he worked out a problem. The rest of his expression is unchanged, the same old cant of his head and set of his mouth, but Vandelin averts his eyes after a moment's uncertainty.
"Would it be easier if you had a few different ones for different degrees of storm? No, maybe not..." He considers, though he's distracted by the ghost of a smile as Myr chastises him about the books. "I only took the one. I wanted to study up on force magic. It's not Callistus; they'll never miss it."
He shouldn't miss the one he's offered up, either. He watches Myr page through it as if he could tell from the ink what it is, as if he knows--but of course he doesn't; he wouldn't.
"No, it's just poetry." He always had devoured what poetry the Circle libraries had contained, what little of it they were allowed, but never had they been permitted anything like the volume Myr's holding--still, what does it matter now? It's only a book. "And how are we going to test it if we don't expose it to rain? It's fine."
no subject
There's something comforting and gut-wrenching at the same time at how familiar and simultaneously unfamiliar that look on Myr's face is. Even with three years' distance, Van remembers so vividly well how Myr's hazel eyes would glaze over and go all faraway as he worked out a problem. The rest of his expression is unchanged, the same old cant of his head and set of his mouth, but Vandelin averts his eyes after a moment's uncertainty.
"Would it be easier if you had a few different ones for different degrees of storm? No, maybe not..." He considers, though he's distracted by the ghost of a smile as Myr chastises him about the books. "I only took the one. I wanted to study up on force magic. It's not Callistus; they'll never miss it."
He shouldn't miss the one he's offered up, either. He watches Myr page through it as if he could tell from the ink what it is, as if he knows--but of course he doesn't; he wouldn't.
"No, it's just poetry." He always had devoured what poetry the Circle libraries had contained, what little of it they were allowed, but never had they been permitted anything like the volume Myr's holding--still, what does it matter now? It's only a book. "And how are we going to test it if we don't expose it to rain? It's fine."