05-09-2018, 06:33 PM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
Svedka’s way of life is easy. He has never been one to overthink things; to overanalyze, to judge. He has always done what felt right in the moment, going with his gut and enjoying every second out of each moment. It is what he does now, even though face to face with a stranger. There is no business to be talked about, nothing to be discussed besides names and stories, and sharing cold and refreshing fruit beneath the winter’s sun. It is easy because Svedka cannot see how it could be any other way. He wonders if she will find it easy, too. Sometimes he is too relaxed with strangers and it comes off as bold or arrogant, which he does not mind being called because it is their own thoughts and they are entitled to them. But it is only because his heart and soul are capable of so much understanding and compassion that he easily exudes confidence and charm.
His smile is breathless as she (albeit shyly) takes the persimmon from his mouth. His lips close into a smirk, the taste of the fruit sweet on his tongue, the scent of her washing over him in their brief closeness. She smells of the honeysuckle of the valley and the cold that sears in the mountainous caverns, knowing immediately that Hyaline is familiar to her and she is not just a visitor. His cerulean eyes, framed with lashes of white, glance upwards as he stretches his chin up once again, gently pricking a fruit off the branch for himself. Embark. He chews thoughtfully as the fleshy sweetness stains his mouth, turning his gaze towards her.
He wonders to himself how he has gone so long without seeing her within his familiar valley, though it is possible that she has been tucked away in the rocky terrain where he rarely frequents. Svedka is often near the lake, swimming, but with winter freezing it over, he has drifted from that region and further on the outskirts. “Where is it that you’ve been hiding, Embark?” His voice is clear, sweet with the smell of persimmon, a gentle gleam of mirth in his eyes. Svedka repeats her name for the sake of saying it out loud, his deep baritone letting it slip loosely off his tongue.
His smile is breathless as she (albeit shyly) takes the persimmon from his mouth. His lips close into a smirk, the taste of the fruit sweet on his tongue, the scent of her washing over him in their brief closeness. She smells of the honeysuckle of the valley and the cold that sears in the mountainous caverns, knowing immediately that Hyaline is familiar to her and she is not just a visitor. His cerulean eyes, framed with lashes of white, glance upwards as he stretches his chin up once again, gently pricking a fruit off the branch for himself. Embark. He chews thoughtfully as the fleshy sweetness stains his mouth, turning his gaze towards her.
He wonders to himself how he has gone so long without seeing her within his familiar valley, though it is possible that she has been tucked away in the rocky terrain where he rarely frequents. Svedka is often near the lake, swimming, but with winter freezing it over, he has drifted from that region and further on the outskirts. “Where is it that you’ve been hiding, Embark?” His voice is clear, sweet with the smell of persimmon, a gentle gleam of mirth in his eyes. Svedka repeats her name for the sake of saying it out loud, his deep baritone letting it slip loosely off his tongue.
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Embark]