[ Maybe things should work differently in a dream. Maybe if Caleb had the imagination to take advantage, but his perception of magic is rigid. He knows the steps he needs to take, and the shortcuts that won't warp his spells out of balance.
The surreal edge of this moment doesn't quite settle in for him. He has to hold to something familiar to offset what's happening. Frumpkin trots ahead of him, unconcerned, to rub against Yasha's ankle. It's a more effusive greeting than Caleb manages when he makes it to her side. ]
It was nothing.
[ The usual dismissal of what he's done. ]
You aren't hurt?
[ She looks fine. After a few beats of silence, Caleb tugs off his scarf and holds it out to her. In case she wants to wipe off the slobber. His gaze darts nervously away from her, watching the herd in the distance. ]
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The surreal edge of this moment doesn't quite settle in for him. He has to hold to something familiar to offset what's happening. Frumpkin trots ahead of him, unconcerned, to rub against Yasha's ankle. It's a more effusive greeting than Caleb manages when he makes it to her side. ]
It was nothing.
[ The usual dismissal of what he's done. ]
You aren't hurt?
[ She looks fine. After a few beats of silence, Caleb tugs off his scarf and holds it out to her. In case she wants to wipe off the slobber. His gaze darts nervously away from her, watching the herd in the distance. ]