Snippet #2651277

"Here, Paladin!" Simon spoke over the din of worry when his name was called, like a schoolboy. Elisabeth wordlessly pushed her way to the front of the ground, dragging him by the wrist after her. The discomfort only grew as she neared the portal, and her sneer and the way her eyes suspiciously looked over the display betrayed it.
Simon couldn't be further from upset. It was beautiful. And strange, and in need of study. He felt so left out, but the awe of the regarding something so unknown pushed those thoughts aside. He had no words. Just a pleased smile, until Elisabeth squeezed his wrist to get his attention.

Simon knew few things about Elisabeth. He didn't know where she was from, how old she was, or why she was always so temperamental. But he knew when her anger or discomfort was no longer exaggerated, and he leaned towards her to ask what was wrong. She responded in her own tongue, which wasn't that of Centralia or Elves. It was brusk, with hard 'sh' and 'k' and 'ack' sounds. It was foreign enough from Centralia that Simon himself, the great linguist, had difficulty understanding it. "What is this? What are we doing?"
"I'm not entirely sure." She pressed back against his chest, not like a child seeking shelter in the folds of her mother's dress, but like a cat against a wall. "...will it hurt?"
"I hope not."
Simon put his hands on her arms, and for once she didn't shrug them off. He looked to Martellus, and the others he called, and nodded to each of them. "We are ready." He spoke in Elisabeth's place because her own mouth was occupied with apologizing to Elsir, like a dead god could somehow save them from walking into the unknown. "...though if there's time, I could make do with a small lunch."