[private] gold cage; hostage to my feelings; tamlin

[Celina]

When he comes closer, accepting her offer, Celina sidesteps again, giving him better access to the fish and herself a better angle to watch him from. Her seafoam eyes are partially obscured by the long fall of her navy forelock, behind which she stares unceasingly. His open mouth reveals flat teeth even before he bites down, and Celina’s forehead furrows farther as he takes one of the smaller pieces she’s already torn loose and holds it in his mouth. When it falls, she smiles, even before he begins to laugh. So he is not a hunter, but he had been bold enough to try. That endears him to her in a way she does not quite have words for. Her appreciation for boldness is not small, and lingering this near to her is a bold enough action itself. Most often, she is used to being fled from. She enjoys it, even, and harkens back to the paint stallion who taken so quickly to the sky. “I’m Celina,” she tells him.  “Perhaps fish are not your forte. I have heard deer are better.” She has not tried, at least not tried to catch her own, and the haunch that she’d once found drifting along the Taigan shore was too salted to get a good idea of the flavor. Deer are quick things, yet they do not feel like prey in the same way that fish do. @[tamlin] celina i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type