He won't admit that he thought Istredd might be disappointed in him. It's the worst thing any adult in your life can feel about you, disappointment. Anger, at least, lights the kind of explosions that feel satisfying in the moment, sharp words flying like knuckles that you're sure to regret later. Disappointment is just cold and small and fragile.
He won't admit it out loud, but the relief that loosens his jaw and shoulders tells enough of the story. As he follows Istredd through the door, he expects the vast hall that he usually practices in, but instead he finds himself in a study. One that looks like it belongs to a conspiracy theorist, or the sort of person who obsessively follows the career of a serial killer.
When Istredd offers his apology, Wilhelm's gaze wanders back to him. Oolong has left his shoulder, but he keeps watch from the back of the chair.
"I'm ready," he insists. "I actually got a lot of practice on the mountain. I carried a little fire with me all day, so then when we stopped at night, I could get it going right away."
Pride glows in his voice, so different from the shame and timidity that used to shadow any discussion of his magic.
no subject
He won't admit it out loud, but the relief that loosens his jaw and shoulders tells enough of the story. As he follows Istredd through the door, he expects the vast hall that he usually practices in, but instead he finds himself in a study. One that looks like it belongs to a conspiracy theorist, or the sort of person who obsessively follows the career of a serial killer.
When Istredd offers his apology, Wilhelm's gaze wanders back to him. Oolong has left his shoulder, but he keeps watch from the back of the chair.
"I'm ready," he insists. "I actually got a lot of practice on the mountain. I carried a little fire with me all day, so then when we stopped at night, I could get it going right away."
Pride glows in his voice, so different from the shame and timidity that used to shadow any discussion of his magic.