She is relieved when he invites her closer to the circle of his small family and the fire smoldering like a tamed sun at his feet. He doesn’t even stare for all that long considering this is likely the first time he’s met anyone who wears her bones on the outside of her body. In fact, she cannot detect even an ounce of surprise or disgust, just that single glance as he takes her in like she is one of the plainest creatures he has ever laid eyes on, and for a moment she wonders if he cannot see well.
It’s tempting to ask him if that’s the case, and maybe that feeling is reflected in the delicate lines of a bone-bright face and shadows made from the rust of dried blood. Even her brow furrows, though that too is hidden beneath bone and forelock and a tangle of antlers. She is so delicately confused, bewildered by what can only be described as kindness, that she nearly thanks him for not recoiling when she stepped into the firelight.
But she holds her tongue.
And she is glad for her choice when that almost-smile slips across his mouth and suddenly hers curves too in a silent echo. “She has a point though,” Wonder finds herself saying, easing forward another step into the warmth of the smoldering flames, “one story is hardly enough. It would be so much easier to rest after two, I think.” Her expression stays so gentle, and that wonderment never quite fades from the seafoam shade of those faded teal eyes as they rest quietly against the lines of his face.
Her eyes widen though, sudden and surprised, when he asks to hear the story of a chestnut mare, of herself. She likely should’ve known her words would lead to him asking, but truth be told her interactions seldom got this far. She blinks and takes an uncertain step back, her eyes so soft and almost a shade of worried. What could he possibly want to know about her? Certainly not about her ghosts, not nightmare things - she pushes those thoughts far away as she glances down at the little sleeping child.
Still, when her gaze returns to his face it is gentle and uncertain, and she finds herself looking for comfort in those mismatched eyes of his. “I’m afraid the only story I know is a bit boring.” But only because she is specifically leaving out the painful bits. “Of a small chestnut mare with a few too many bones and a family she loves dearly. Six children, two of which were born as wolves but are very much horses -” and she smiles, shaking her head as she remembers that moment. “She lives with her family in the shadow of the volcano, and she is happier than she ever thought she deserved to be.”
It is the use of the word deserved that ultimately quiets her again, because a careful man might wonder what happened in her life to make her think she didn’t deserve to be happy. “And what of you? I don’t suppose you have a story to share with me? I might even settle for just a name.”
i am brambles but i am tangled in your love
@[Levi]