[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
Thordin slanted a wry smile in her direction, settling back against the pillows wedged in the corner. “Fine,” he murmured. “Fine, fine. You’ve made your point.”
“Well, at least I didn’t have to make it at the point of a spear or worse,” Sif teased him gently, running her palm along the back of his hand as he settled his arms around her again. “Go on, now. I’ll stop distracting you.”
“At least it’s a pleasant distraction,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head back again. The warmth of her resting against him was a touchstone, his way back if he got lost in seeking the storm.
He reached beyond himself, casting his mind upward toward the sky, letting an updraft carry his senses higher, into the stormclouds above. A chill shot through him, head to toe, the cold of the high winds, of the storm. He breathed slowly, easily. In another life, he’d done this a thousand times—a thousand times and more. He’d only done it a few times since—fewer still since he knew what he was doing. Goosebumps raced up and down his limbs as he traveled higher, breathing deeper, reaching further, seeking the roots of the storm. Sif’s touch felt distant, but he could still feel it, though barely, just barely.
I’ve traveled far, then. The storm was huge, and high, and still coming, sweeping off the lake as storms often did. He reached further, toward the west, toward the trailing edge of the storm. Nothing. Then, higher. Nothing seemed wrong, nothing seemed amiss.
A shiver shot through him. He felt Sif’s lips against his cheek, faint and distant.
“Don’t reach too far,” he heard her whisper, the words echoing from far away.
Thordin took another breath and let himself sink back down, let himself spiral down along the winds, falling with the rain back toward himself, toward her.