#◟༺✦༻◞ life is a dichotomy to immortal ones┊yìng xīng → renzhong.┊ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reginrokkr · 1 year

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Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

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