"Oh? Are you so certain about that?" Solomon lifted an eyebrow at him, smirking. "Your pine-needles quiver when you're gleeful, did you know? So it's either sadism or masochism, which would you prefer it be?"
At Ghastly's comment he could only laugh. "I'm a cleric, not a saint. Call one of the angels if you're looking for comfort. It's really not one of my strong points."
He was aware of Barney beside him, aware that Barney wasn't really paying attention to the conversion--or not his full attention, at least. He was also aware of the sudden warmth, not like humour but more like ... sunlight had beamed through the thick canopy and left the moss aglow from within. That wasn't humour. That was ...
Solomon looked at Skulduggery, at the dark threads between panes and the way they were now, as they had not been before, entwined with a thread of purest white. They were different, but the ripples they cast were the same.
It was hope.
"I say you're crazy for thinking I'm going to trust your driving again anytime soon," Solomon replied dryly. "You've already run me into a wall today. I'd rather not put my life into your hands, thank you."
And speaking of lives. Solomon tore his gaze gladly from the rainbow crash of currents before him to look at Barney. "Speaking of thanks, I believe you deserve mine. I don't know where Valkyrie meant to take me that night, but if you hadn't insisted on the hospital I don't know that I'd have lived to see morning. So ... thank you."
Though Solomon tried to keep it to a minimum, his words had the faintly awkward tone of someone who did not give thanks very often at all.
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At Ghastly's comment he could only laugh. "I'm a cleric, not a saint. Call one of the angels if you're looking for comfort. It's really not one of my strong points."
He was aware of Barney beside him, aware that Barney wasn't really paying attention to the conversion--or not his full attention, at least. He was also aware of the sudden warmth, not like humour but more like ... sunlight had beamed through the thick canopy and left the moss aglow from within. That wasn't humour. That was ...
Solomon looked at Skulduggery, at the dark threads between panes and the way they were now, as they had not been before, entwined with a thread of purest white. They were different, but the ripples they cast were the same.
It was hope.
"I say you're crazy for thinking I'm going to trust your driving again anytime soon," Solomon replied dryly. "You've already run me into a wall today. I'd rather not put my life into your hands, thank you."
And speaking of lives. Solomon tore his gaze gladly from the rainbow crash of currents before him to look at Barney. "Speaking of thanks, I believe you deserve mine. I don't know where Valkyrie meant to take me that night, but if you hadn't insisted on the hospital I don't know that I'd have lived to see morning. So ... thank you."
Though Solomon tried to keep it to a minimum, his words had the faintly awkward tone of someone who did not give thanks very often at all.