[ The cold air immediately triggers a shiver down her spine but there's not a single word of protest from her. It's a byproduct, a small burden to bear for a short time as they race past the snowcapped peaks. Her eyes tear away to marvel at the landscape below, momentarily not concerned whatsoever about winning this bet with Claude.
The peaks of Fodlan's Throat had always loomed as the backdrop of her childhood and while she knows that these peaks aren't the same, she can't help but draw comparisons. Hilda didn't enjoy those sorts of rocks; they weren't sparkly and wouldn't look half as lovely set in a design, but she can't help but be filled with a reverence for them now, for their steadfast nature and ability to withstand just about anything and how small she is in comparison.
Her attention whips away, feeling Claude's gaze on her as the peaks begin to grow smaller behind them and Waffle pulls ahead. The chill that still remains seems to fade away with a warmth when she realizes that the expression on his face mirrors the exuberance she feels. It's an unfiltered look at him, the mask that he wears so carefully on his face gone for a moment amongst the clouds, perhaps blown away with the force of the wyvern wings and the wind. She doesn't remember when she last saw something like that on his face and she mentally stores it away as a comforting memory for more difficult times.
She wants to commit all of this so fiercely to memory. With a shout she urges Waffle - and Claude - on. ]
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The peaks of Fodlan's Throat had always loomed as the backdrop of her childhood and while she knows that these peaks aren't the same, she can't help but draw comparisons. Hilda didn't enjoy those sorts of rocks; they weren't sparkly and wouldn't look half as lovely set in a design, but she can't help but be filled with a reverence for them now, for their steadfast nature and ability to withstand just about anything and how small she is in comparison.
Her attention whips away, feeling Claude's gaze on her as the peaks begin to grow smaller behind them and Waffle pulls ahead. The chill that still remains seems to fade away with a warmth when she realizes that the expression on his face mirrors the exuberance she feels. It's an unfiltered look at him, the mask that he wears so carefully on his face gone for a moment amongst the clouds, perhaps blown away with the force of the wyvern wings and the wind. She doesn't remember when she last saw something like that on his face and she mentally stores it away as a comforting memory for more difficult times.
She wants to commit all of this so fiercely to memory. With a shout she urges Waffle - and Claude - on. ]
Come on, slow poke!