[ Small. Jamil's not wrong, and the notion is almost comforting at this point. Maybe it's better to be infinitesimal in the grander scheme of things. A balm, to know there are greater things out there -- harder battles being fought -- than these little sorrows between them now. ]
Not far! It's just-- Ah! There it is, right over there. Do you see it?
[ And then, just as Kalim tries to grasp at Jamil's arm, he realizes they'd never released one another's hands in the first place. Have they really been like this the entire time? Ever since Kalim helped Jamil up onto Carpet?
...is it really so natural that Kalim barely even noticed it?
He doesn't comment on it, and the faint moonlight doesn't do much to illuminate the dust of a blush on his cheeks. Instead, he calmly takes his hand away from Jamil's, and uses it to point out their destination in the near distance.
Ruins. It looks as if they were once an arena or forum. A crumbling platform of clay brick is flanked in ascending rows of benches to either side and before. Broken columns behind it are the only decor that's survived. ]
[He doesn't know what to expect from whatever-it-was that Kalim had found, and, if he had to think about it, Jamil would assume something like...something soft. A grove of trees, perhaps, maybe an abandoned orchard? Something soft, perhaps with flowers. (But generous and giving and enduring, everything that Jamil knew he was not. How could he be giving when he didn't have a single thing only for himself?) He wouldn't say why it was he had assumed this, because he couldn't.
Instead, ruins. He blinks, not sure why he's surprised, the handhold not having registered to him - it happens so often Jamil has long since come to accept it and expect it, only noticing the absence of it. Like now: things had gotten ever so slightly colder, and his glance slides down to his hand, which is the same as always, so...
He looks back at the ruins.]
I don't know what I expected. But...
[A fire show would destroy that something soft he had expected. So, really, it was stupid that he had expected it.]
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Not far! It's just-- Ah! There it is, right over there. Do you see it?
[ And then, just as Kalim tries to grasp at Jamil's arm, he realizes they'd never released one another's hands in the first place. Have they really been like this the entire time? Ever since Kalim helped Jamil up onto Carpet?
...is it really so natural that Kalim barely even noticed it?
He doesn't comment on it, and the faint moonlight doesn't do much to illuminate the dust of a blush on his cheeks. Instead, he calmly takes his hand away from Jamil's, and uses it to point out their destination in the near distance.
Ruins. It looks as if they were once an arena or forum. A crumbling platform of clay brick is flanked in ascending rows of benches to either side and before. Broken columns behind it are the only decor that's survived. ]
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Instead, ruins. He blinks, not sure why he's surprised, the handhold not having registered to him - it happens so often Jamil has long since come to accept it and expect it, only noticing the absence of it. Like now: things had gotten ever so slightly colder, and his glance slides down to his hand, which is the same as always, so...
He looks back at the ruins.]
I don't know what I expected. But...
[A fire show would destroy that something soft he had expected. So, really, it was stupid that he had expected it.]
It's a good place for a practice.
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