northern magic

[Tristan Nakado]

[html]

Above the smell of wood and dirt came a feminine one, though Tristan did not turn from his work until she crossed an imaginary line. The bow was returned with a dip of the head, which caused his hair to fall back into his face. Using the free hand to pushed this back, he smiled faintly in response to her statement. “I’ve been here for a little longer then the rest of you,” he said, explaining no further. Tristan’s patterns were as unplanned as a flash flood and as reckless. Where he went and where he lived varied upon the alignment of the stars and the direction of the wind.

“How are you settling in?” He asked, pale eyes still remarkably cold despite the distant concern in his voice.

[/html]