[ When he and Diarmuid had first discussed making this trip to investigate the magically significant discovery, Waver hadn't realized how far out into the Wilde the caves in question were. Not even halfway there, he'd begun to rather regret his choice. Being out here made the fine hairs on the backs of his arms and neck stand on end, the tension in his shoulders solidifying nearly into an ache of stress, every sense on high-alert. Diarmuid insisted they couldn't turn back and break their agreement to the organizers of this journey, and in fairness it wasn't as though they'd be any better off trying to make their way back to the city on their own either, so Waver grudgingly resigns himself to putting up with it. He's quiet for most of the journey there, intently focused on their surroundings; he eyes the dark corruption seeping from the trees with wary interest, walking close to Diarmuid and making sure to keep them squarely in the middle of the party as much as possible so there's no chance of getting lost or separated.
By the time they made it to the caves, the heavy, eerie silence was wreaking havoc on his nerves and heart rate, palms sweaty and clenched so tight his short nails left half-moon marks in his own skin. He was practically glued to Diarmuid's side.
Even with the oppressive heaviness of the forest behind them once they finally got their supplies and instructions on exploring further into the caves -- where the air thankfully didn't feel nearly as skin-crawlingly laden with foreign, messed-up magic -- Waver takes a while to relax. They shoulder their supplies, and he follows Diarmuid's lead further into the cool damp for a while, eyes shining oddly reflectively in the low light. Despite their alluring pull (or, likely, because of it) Waver doesn't trust the pools of water and insists very firmly that they give them a wide berth, though if Diarmuid really wants to check out the runes, he'll wait nearby nervously, gripping his pack tightly and keeping a close eye on his companion the whole time.
When they reach a part of the cavern that looks like jagged steps leading up or down, Waver grabs Diarmuid's arm before he can start on either side. ]
Up. [ he insists, a little too sharply. ] I don't want to go further underground.
→ for diarmuid.
By the time they made it to the caves, the heavy, eerie silence was wreaking havoc on his nerves and heart rate, palms sweaty and clenched so tight his short nails left half-moon marks in his own skin. He was practically glued to Diarmuid's side.
Even with the oppressive heaviness of the forest behind them once they finally got their supplies and instructions on exploring further into the caves -- where the air thankfully didn't feel nearly as skin-crawlingly laden with foreign, messed-up magic -- Waver takes a while to relax. They shoulder their supplies, and he follows Diarmuid's lead further into the cool damp for a while, eyes shining oddly reflectively in the low light. Despite their alluring pull (or, likely, because of it) Waver doesn't trust the pools of water and insists very firmly that they give them a wide berth, though if Diarmuid really wants to check out the runes, he'll wait nearby nervously, gripping his pack tightly and keeping a close eye on his companion the whole time.
When they reach a part of the cavern that looks like jagged steps leading up or down, Waver grabs Diarmuid's arm before he can start on either side. ]
Up. [ he insists, a little too sharply. ] I don't want to go further underground.