{{ voicetest / khola }}

[wingfic]

((for "canonmates," if they so choose))

IF YOU'RE wandering down by the river this morning, you might (for once) encounter a skinny, redheaded girl of about fifteen, sitting near a clump of tall grass on the riverbank, half-hidden from view.

She's got an (empty) curious little silver bowl in her hands, and she looks faintly displeased--although that's not exactly unusual, is it?

Bother her?

Comments

[sweetestsixteen]

"I understand." So is magic, after all. He tends not to mention the possible consequences of a ritual or a cantrip going awry, but they exist--he's careful, he tells himself, it's not the same. And indeed it isn't, he's fairly sure: the consequences of meddling with the future are in another league entirely. That gives even Tristan some pause. Not enough pause to stop him, however--

"It's just--" He hesitates. "There are some decisions... I'd rather make as informed as I can. That's all."

That's not all, but it's a start. He adds, "I'll be careful." He doesn't consider asking her to scry for him. That's off the table, for numerous reasons.

[wingfic]

Tara-Fay could, of course, tell him exactly what she thinks of some of those decisions of his. The decision to continue dating the asshole ghost of a conquering king, for example. The decision to go off and marry Evangeline Miller, of all people, while one is doing aforementioned king-dating. But they've never been friends, no matter what Tristan has to say about it, and she's not in the habit of telling people things unless she's pretty sure they're going to listen to her.

The thought does present another point in favor of helping him, though: surely anything that might help Tristan make less stupid romantic choices is good for everyone?

"I'll think about it," she says slowly. She needs time, to write Vartilet or . . . decide not to write Vartilet in a fit of panic, more likely, or . . . well. To do something. She's also quite sure she's met her daily quota of Tristan.