She is not often approached at night. Perhaps it is because she runs away whenever she hears someone approach. Perhaps it is because she chooses the paths that are traveled infrequently. Whatever it is, she startles when she hears his voice crackling through the distance, her slender head whipping to the side and then up, her doe eyes wide. Her legs move beneath her with nervous energy and she fights against the urge to leap into the night, to let him take chase or watch as she bounds away.
But there is something about the anxiety in his voice that stills her.
She frowns and considers him, dragging down the moonlight to illuminate the space between them more, so that she might see better. So that she might feel the comforting weight of it as it rests upon her spine.
“I do not believe so,” she finally answers in her breathy voice. She shifts back into her normal body, although it is becoming increasingly difficult to think of it as her default. When the dust settles, she is herself again, silver wings folded over her back, crooked horn curving up in the air. “If it was my dream, I would not still be trapped down here,” she confesses, because it is always easier to say such truths during the dark.
But she has not forgotten the anxiety in his voice, and it’s enough to soften her. She takes a step in his direction, her eyes darkening with worry. “Are you okay?” She sends a ripple of moonlight his way, a silvery light that would feel cool to the touch. “You look worried.”
@lannister