Leander turns towards the tree and Ellis makes a study of his face, reins rolling between the fingers of his right hand. There's nothing prohibiting in Leander's expression. Or there's nothing Ellis discerns as prohibiting, not just yet.
What little Ellis knows of Circles comes to him secondhand, in glancing asides traded around campfires or on long, winding journeys not unlike this present expedition. Set against those minor recollections, what Leander mentions fits in alongside the impression Ellis had already formed.
"I've never known anyone who spoke of art that way," Ellis tells him, eyes returning to the road. This is likely unsurprising to hear from a Fereldan Warden, regardless of Ellis' particular background. "But it seems to me that you'd find the apple easier than you'd find anything else."
A beat, then, tacked on almost as if to underscore his obvious shortcomings: "Not that I've seen enough art for you to trust my judgement."
They go bumping over a few small runoff grooves, where some recent rain made its own paths across the road. Leander waits for it to come and go, grasping the side of the cart as they're jostled, so his voice won't sound like it's being run across a washboard.
"Whether or not you're able to express it as some critic might expect, or compare it to this or that work or in whatever context, or what-else, your opinion is what it is, and it's perfectly valid."
The assurance feels like a kindness, as Leander glancingly passes over what has always seemed to Ellis to be a particular deficiency. His reply is similarly delayed, attention diverted to a soft cluck of his tongue in encouragement to the horses and light snap of the reins to spur them on before he directs a brief, sideways flicker of a smile.
"I won't hold you to that," he promises. "Should you decide to take it back on the occasion I do volunteer an opinion."
Some theoretical occasion that Ellis doesn't expect to materialize beyond this outing. There's better company in Riftwatch. He's aware of that.
"You've taught yourself?" Ellis continues, eyes shifting away from Leander back to the road, the reins in his hands. "About art?"
Some theoretical occasion that Leander will keep in mind, should some opportunity arise to bring it about, materializing the imaginary being his speciality—
He tilts his head for the question, this way and then that. "Mmmm, yes and no. I did have a mentor for a time—a year or so. The rest I suppose you'd call self-directed. But I would say my education is ongoing and perpetual."
Borrowed words, worn to familiarity in Ellis' mouth. (His mother, fingertips ink stained, tipping a book towards him, voice soft.) His left hand leaves the reins, fingers opening and closing, then shaking the cold and stiffness out.
"Have you ever seen sketches of the lost thaigs? I'd heard of one explorer who published some written account of his expedition, along with what he'd drawn."
Not as good as what Wardens had in their collections. But it's enough, he thinks, to offer up for this purpose.
"The sketches might be of interest to you, even if they aren't properly art."
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no subject
What little Ellis knows of Circles comes to him secondhand, in glancing asides traded around campfires or on long, winding journeys not unlike this present expedition. Set against those minor recollections, what Leander mentions fits in alongside the impression Ellis had already formed.
"I've never known anyone who spoke of art that way," Ellis tells him, eyes returning to the road. This is likely unsurprising to hear from a Fereldan Warden, regardless of Ellis' particular background. "But it seems to me that you'd find the apple easier than you'd find anything else."
A beat, then, tacked on almost as if to underscore his obvious shortcomings: "Not that I've seen enough art for you to trust my judgement."
no subject
They go bumping over a few small runoff grooves, where some recent rain made its own paths across the road. Leander waits for it to come and go, grasping the side of the cart as they're jostled, so his voice won't sound like it's being run across a washboard.
"Whether or not you're able to express it as some critic might expect, or compare it to this or that work or in whatever context, or what-else, your opinion is what it is, and it's perfectly valid."
no subject
"I won't hold you to that," he promises. "Should you decide to take it back on the occasion I do volunteer an opinion."
Some theoretical occasion that Ellis doesn't expect to materialize beyond this outing. There's better company in Riftwatch. He's aware of that.
"You've taught yourself?" Ellis continues, eyes shifting away from Leander back to the road, the reins in his hands. "About art?"
no subject
He tilts his head for the question, this way and then that. "Mmmm, yes and no. I did have a mentor for a time—a year or so. The rest I suppose you'd call self-directed. But I would say my education is ongoing and perpetual."
no subject
Borrowed words, worn to familiarity in Ellis' mouth. (His mother, fingertips ink stained, tipping a book towards him, voice soft.) His left hand leaves the reins, fingers opening and closing, then shaking the cold and stiffness out.
"Have you ever seen sketches of the lost thaigs? I'd heard of one explorer who published some written account of his expedition, along with what he'd drawn."
Not as good as what Wardens had in their collections. But it's enough, he thinks, to offer up for this purpose.
"The sketches might be of interest to you, even if they aren't properly art."