01.02.09 - Whenever Summer Was

Location: Redwall Grounds

Characters Involved: Sivaine, Nathan

Sivaine has gotten used to the routine by now - roll out of bed at an ungodly hour that, to be honest, doesn't seem so blasphemous now, work until midday, eat, rest, repeat until dark. Apparently this is one of those days she's been allowed to play quietly by herself, or Zade has wandered off to see what the kitchen has on offer. She's left off her over-tunic and cloak, opting for the freedom of movement shirtsleeves provides as she practices, over and over, a single movement - bring it around, couched under one arm, in a strike. Sivaine pauses after each one to frown and slightly adjust her grip or stance by a few inches. Sweat beads her brow, and her hair is looking disheveled; she's been at this for a while.

Nathan wanders outside partway through lunchtime when Sivaine never appears. He has on his jacket, scarf, gloves, and a cap pulled down low on his forehead - this is not a winter mouse. Extra warmth for his fingers comes from the mug he carries, steaming cider fresh from the pot, held a little close to his body like he just might freeze to death without it. As he nears the pond Sivaine comes into view and he slows his pace, watching her through squinted eyes, admiring the motion of her body as she repeats the same gesture over and over. "Hey," he greets with a smile, whiskers ruffled by some chilly wind. "You coming in? .. brought you some cider."

Sivaine's ears perk at the sound of that voice, but that's all until she's completed her set - "Nine, /ten,/" she whispers and stops, bringing the light staff upright as she turns around. "Hey," she returns, husky from hours of cold air, and quirks a questioning brow. "..were you waiting?" She glances to the cider and remembers a "Thanks," sounding a shade surprised.

"No," is Nathan's smiling answer as he holds out the mug to her. "... okay, maybe. Maybe. You coming inside or should I go get you a plate of food also?" The offer is said teasingly while he steps closer - no swinging staff anymore - and rubs his gloved hands together once the drink is taken from him. These are then shoved in his pockets.

"'Maybe, okay?'" Sivaine parrots, smirking at him as her fingers curl around the mug. "You sure about that? I'm done for now." She bends her head to inhale the sweet, spicy steam and take a sip, then offers the warm vessel back to him. "Here. You're not used to this weather."

Nathan shifts his shoulders in a shrug as the mug is offered back. "Well, I figure you've been out in it all morning. Drink the cider, Siva. ... holy hell it is unbearably cold. Can we go in?" He gives her a questioning smile, tail curled close to his body and ears tucked down, most of those rounded extremities guarded by the cap.

"Been out in it all morning moving around," Sivaine corrects him, and gives the mug a little push towards him again. "I don't need you getting sick on top of everything else." Her shoulders twitch in an almost-shiver and she mock-glowers at him. "Take it and we'll go in."

"I'd think me getting sick would solve a world of problems," Nathan chuckles, reaching to take the mug at her insistence. He just holds it between his hands, letting the warmth seep in. ".. okay, well. The infirmary is kind of Harper's domain. Not sure if I want to end up there." He sips the drink, then holds it in one hand and offers the other to her. "Come on."

"That's what /you/.. yes, you see?" Sivaine snorts, making a satisfied nod as the drink is taken. Good, good. Man has sense. Mention of Harper somewhat sobers her mood; the look she gives Nathan's outstretched hand is hesitant. Her eyes flick up to his face. "..you'd better wait on that," she tells him quietly, and starts ahead.

The hand flexes absently and is withdrawn; Nathan goes back to holding the mug with both, following her path through the snow back toward the entryway. "Not that I'm impatient or anything," he mutters wryly to her back, "but can I get a time estimate on the waiting?"

Habit makes Sivaine use her practice staff like a walking stick; she looks over her shoulder at the other mouse. "Ask me questions like that and you'll be waiting longer," she tells him, eyes moving searchingly over his face. "Just.. give it a little time, all right? I'm not going anywhere soon."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry," Nathan says, grinning at her. "You've got all the time you want. /I'm/ not going anywhere, either." He falls into step with Sivaine on the way inside, head a little ducked to bathe his face in cider-steam, then glancing over at her face. "... you know," he starts, musing.

"You'd better not," Sivaine mutters to herself. She makes a brief detour by the gatehouse to return her staff and shoot a longing look at her halberd, dormant and docile in its wrapping cloth. ".. what?" she asks guardedly, pulling the door to and leaning on the handle.

"Letters," he says, and leaves it at that as he sips the cider, waiting for her to put the staff away. He swallows the heated liquid and glances up, brows a little lifted. "I got letters from you. ... you know. Long after they were sent, I assume. It was autumn already when I got the first. You were long gone the second time."

"You got the.. ... ..oh," says Sivaine quietly. Her eyes stray away, studying the gleam of silver detailing on a sword hilt with Ardice-like levels of interest. She worries at her lower lip and doesn't say anything for a while.

Sivaine says, "I wondered what happened to those."

"Yeah." There's silence after this. Nathan shifts his weight a little, looking down at the cider. A wayward wind flutters against the two of them and he glances upward. "... heh. What's .. uhm, interesting about them? Ah.. remember the one where you said .. you ... would be coming toward the end of summer?" He clears his throat a little, and his voice dropped. "... I got that about .. oh. A week after I got married." Blame the nonexistent mail system.

"..oh," Sivaine repeats. What else do you /say/ to something like that? Her fingers curl around the door handle and she shivers once, the small of her back curling to slump against the ancient timbers. "Right, I remember that one." More silence. "..when in the /hell/ did you get married?"

"... when my father's health went bad," Nathan answers quietly. "So, uhm. .. I was almost ten seasons. Merchant handed it to me on his way through town."

Sivaine's brow furrows; she closes her eyes and mutters an impolite phrase. "..I guess that explains some things," she replies, covering up the quaver with false levity.

Nathan's hand comes up, away from the cider - which is now just lukewarm - and he rubs the side of his face. "... you. You didn't think I waited. ... but." His shoulders move in a helpless shrug, eyes shut, voice low. "I. .. well." And he exhales, slowly.

Sivaine's ears fold back. Wilt. She takes several slow, deep breaths. Northern-born she may be, but drying perspiration is wicking away her warmth, and a shiver runs up her arms and ends in a furious shake of her head. "..I thought you would wait /for/ the summer." It comes out hoarse. "Not until."

Nathan's brows furrow. He leans down, puts the mug in the snow - and peels off his jacket. Underneath is a long-sleeved shirt and vest; not exactly good for this weather. He steps toward Sivaine, sweeps the jacket around her shoulders, then grasps her upper arms in each hand. Looks at her face, steadily. "... I'm sorry Siva. It's .. my fault."

Sivaine's shoulders flex and she looks up at him; her mouth is a solemn arc, but her eyes search over his. A few long seconds pass. Then she bows her head with a faint sigh, butting gently against his collarbone and resting there. "Let's go inside," she murmurs. "Whenever summer was, it's not summer now. You should stay warm."

"You're only allowed to worry about me if I can worry about you," Nathan responds, voice a little gruff. His arms slide around her, briefly, and he hugs Sivaine in toward him while dropping a light kiss on her head; then he detaches, leaving her with his jacket while he picks up the mug and heads for the great hall.

"Heh. Fair enough," Sivaine murmurs, finding the curve of his shoulder with her muzzle in that short span of time. Her lashes flutter shut and she utters a little 'mnh' noise; when she looks up, Nathan is.. halfway to the great hall. Without his jacket. Sivaine.. smiles in an exasperated way and follows after. "Idiot."