merri & wolfe
It was a welcome opportunity to stand back and watch others fight instead, especially after his recent exertions last week. Wolfe wormed his way through the tight-pressed crowds on the bleachers (no expensive box seating for him, alas) and watched the affair with intent curiosity. It was his first sight of the tournament after three years away—for all intents and purposes, it looked the same on the surface, but there was something different about it this time. The very air around them felt changed, Emillion’s populace letting off tension, seizing some opportunity to channel their attentions elsewhere. Much like the king’s fete, in hindsight.
And it was right when Wolfe was absorbed in eyeing the mages’ palings encircling the ring, wishing he could’ve gotten closer to and check on its magickal nature, when he spotted a familiar figure in the aisle.
“Priddy,” he said in pleasant surprise, once again edging through the row to take a seat beside the younger man. It was much better than being pressed in amongst strangers, after all. “Morning.” Long time no see.