"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Winslow calls his compliment ridiculous but that only adds warmth to his smile. It’s the truth, and he hopes she’ll know that one day. Beautiful is not the only word he will use to describe her but it is the truth, and Tamlin will tell her every day if he gets the chance to. He knows with absolute certainty right now that he would like that chance.
He remains steadfast, letting her accept or reject his gesture - and his smile only grows when she moves past it, stepping closer and his skin prickles with that first contact. When it is her turn to ask him if he likes being the same height he only has one answer “I do.” He breathes out the words quietly, unable to find any real volume and unable to put his thoughts together enough to even try at a joke, even a gentle one. All he can manage is utter honesty as he shifts his wing just a little so she can trace the soft feathers there with ease and his eyes close as a new happiness spreads through him.
They do not open again until he feels her move, and watches from the corner of his eye as she presses her nose into his neck.
He doesn’t want to move at all just in case it spooks her, just in case this is all he gets and then she disappears into the forest again and he has to wait another year or two for a sighting. This works out well, because Tamlin doesn’t know what he would do if he were to move. Is there such a thing as too close?
“I’m glad you did too, Winslow.” He whispers back as his nose gently finds its way into her mane. His soft movements are inspired both by a desire not to push her into an uncomfortable place and his own inexperience. But he’s very much aware of how nice it feels to have her touch on his neck so it seems like maybe that is a safe thing for him to do as well.
“Maybe…” But whatever smooth words about sticking together that he had been intending to say fumble over themselves and he can’t quite get them through the nervous lump in his throat. He tries swallowing, realizing it sounds like a gulp, and laughs at himself quietly before brushing a soft kiss against her neck when words continue to fail.
