Octave

“Oh. I think I am interrupting something.” The calm, almost monotone voice of a familiar dragon makes Night look up from his book. He doesn't startle, used to Aularian's quiet footsteps, but it is, of course, not Aularian who looks down at him from the cave's entrance, but instead a pale white wildclaw. His ghostly visage would give a scare to anyone not from their little clan, but Night knows his appearance only through descriptions, not sight, and so he has nothing to fear.

“Not at all, my friend, not at all. I was only doing some research.” Night smiles at him, and lifts up his book. He's not sure if Mist would be able to read it, seeing as it is written in braille instead of their common alphabet, but it is the thought that counts.

“Research?” Mist asks, sounding curious. “What research do you and Aularian do, that you need to hide it away from the clan?”

“Now, that, is a good question, is it not?” Night gets from his spot at the table, moving to where he knows the fireplace to be. This cave was found by Aularian, furnished by him, too, as a place the two could work without gathering attention from the others. It is good that Aularian is so organized, as Night does not have any trouble moving around with his hood and bandages covering his eyes.

Night himself enchanted the entrance to be hidden and to redirect anyone coming away, but he is not surprised the wildclaw managed to find his way inside anyway. The undead so often elude the tricks and spells from the living.

“There are many things not understood. Of course, they should be researched.” He finds the kettle, always on top of the fireplace, by the left corner. Next, he gathers their teacups and tea. “Someone has to do it.”

“But that's not what you're doing, is it?” Night can hear the curve of a smile in Mist's voice. “We are too alike, for you to misdirect me.”

Night laughs good naturedly. “Indeed, we are, my friend. Perhaps we were even one and the same, once.” Putting water to boil, he returns to his previous spot, gesturing for Mist to sit as well, should he wish. “Would you like some tea?”

Footsteps, and then the sound of someone sitting on the cushion next to him. “No, thank you.” A pause, and when Mist next speaks, his voice is quite closer than before, his breath ghosting over Night's snout. “One and the same?” The monotone turns somewhat disbelieving. “I have trouble believing that, we don't look similar at all.”

Night laughs once more. “Well, I will take your word for it. What were you doing here, friend?”

A huff of laughter, Mist likely realizing Night tried to prevent the topic from coming back to what exactly he was doing. Still, Mist does not call him out on it, and simply shrugs his shoulders, if the sound of clothes shifting is anything to go by. “I don't know.”

“You don't know? The usual, then?”

“Yes. Honestly, I wish it would just stop. It is no fun, wandering around like that. I would much prefer to be lazy. Haven't I worked enough?” He sounds frustrated, and Mist can't help but pity him. An adult he may be, but he has spent so much of his childhood doing a parent's job. In Night's opinion, Mist should be able to play and enjoy life in the way he couldn't before.

But fate is pesky like that, and Night doubts Mist will get such an opportunity like that anytime soon.

“I wish so too, my friend. We miss you, when you go.”

Mist sighs. “This topic is too depressing. How about we talk about something else? Like about what you were doing.”

Night surprises himself by laughing loudly at that. He really wasn't expecting Mist to bring up the topic again! It seems they'll be talking in circles for quite a while, then.