[In all the noise of it, the constant-clamor among new meetings, he hears him. Distinguishing voice from dull murmur, its sea of faces blurred over, obscured by his brightening realization that he knows one familiar, one loud voice among the many, his favorite sound his low swearing with little in ways of more comfort—safe. This, accompanying dark hair and smoke-scent—this treasured someone he's come to know, who, still-familiar by way of grumbling, voice; too-crude mouth and rough manner—leads him steadily towards its source in hurrying, too-quickened footsteps. He is, maybe, months older, months removed from joining the Knights, from Avalon's wishes, his first uprooting before the war and all its painful firsts after, from a mess of things.
He's healing burns and bright cuts, and still-youth's dampened, salt-streaked face peers almost warily from the others, heartbeats matched to quick footsteps, dizzy a bit as he's approached with dried blood flaked across lips and cheeks and all uncertain hopes, quiet-voiced—anxious. He calls him as no other names yet, his precious tutor to whom he's owed so much, whom he admires. It almost asks.]
Arrival Part 2
He's healing burns and bright cuts, and still-youth's dampened, salt-streaked face peers almost warily from the others, heartbeats matched to quick footsteps, dizzy a bit as he's approached with dried blood flaked across lips and cheeks and all uncertain hopes, quiet-voiced—anxious. He calls him as no other names yet, his precious tutor to whom he's owed so much, whom he admires. It almost asks.]
Sensei?
[Do you remember me?]