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He’s laughing when he leaves Berath’s temple, smile bright and clear like the summer sun above. Tekehu’s said something funny again, something about another of Berath’s chosen he had once known, and after being stifled in the cold smell of death permeating the temple, Lark needs the relief.
It doesn’t last long.
He barely notices the two aumaua children huddled near a cracking pillar, their eyes wide, flickering from each other to the temple’s entrance. They’ve been standing there all day, goading one another, daring themselves to draw nearer to the place of death. Lark doesn’t pay them any attention- his is already spent on Tekehu, whose overwhelming presence demands it- until he hears a childish shriek.
“A monster! Hurry, run!”
They skitter off down the cobbled streets, bare feet kicking up dust as they go, nearly knocking a Magran worshipper off of his feet. Lark’s hand flies to the grip of his gun, smile wiped from his face by a look of concern, but when he looks around, searching the near-empty precipice he stands on, he sees nothing.
He’s about to question his companions when it clicks.
It’s him. They were running from him.
A cold chill breaks out in his chest, constricting his throat. He feels like he’s falling, legs frozen in place, shadowed eyes staring up toward the temple, until he feels a cool hand on his, pulling him back to himself. The sounds of the waterfall and the gentle murmur of conversations around him suddenly rushes back into him, pushing past the quiet cold in his ears, and he looks up to see Tekehu watching him with a worried brow.
His touch is welcome, comforting, but Lark still pulls away. His skin feels cold and harsh underneath Tekehu’s smooth scales.
“Lark...” Eder starts, but Lark just shakes his head, forcing a smile.
“Kids,” he says with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s go get those eulogies.”
He turns back toward the steps before he has to see the looks of pity he knows he’ll find on his friends’ faces.