04-05-2023, 11:22 PM
— neuna
It softens her (though, this is no huge feat for a thing so soft already) that he should be so eager to offer his help. (Remember that she is more familiar with the dark things, the menacing things, the things more prone to showing their teeth. But she is a thing built for love, softness, and how her heart swells to be on the receiving end of such selflessness!
Her delight shows on her face, she’s certain of it, as she makes absolutely no attempt to hide it. There is no sense in being embarrassed by her joy. “I would love that,” she says. Though he is a perfect stranger. Though she knows for absolute certain that Eros will be even more evasive if she has company. (Always such a jealous thing, Eros, always a thing more prone to showing his teeth.)
Nothing about his question strikes her as silly, perhaps because she knows that Eros (and the two others just like him) are not ordinary wolves. “He’s quite easy to tell from other wolves, but might not be quite as easy to spot in the dark. He’s a shadow-thing,” she glances into the darkness rolling softly away from them. Eros throws a soft glow sometimes, too, though not in the same way that solid things do. Not in the same way this winged stranger does.
There is something troubling in his answer. Something that furrows her soft brow, briefly wrinkling the twin threads between her eyes. She turns to him then, fine head tilted, and studies him. “Are you not allowed out during the day?” she asks, though he looks as adult as she feels and she cannot imagine who might have power enough to stop him. “Or is that you simply don’t like it?”
Her delight shows on her face, she’s certain of it, as she makes absolutely no attempt to hide it. There is no sense in being embarrassed by her joy. “I would love that,” she says. Though he is a perfect stranger. Though she knows for absolute certain that Eros will be even more evasive if she has company. (Always such a jealous thing, Eros, always a thing more prone to showing his teeth.)
Nothing about his question strikes her as silly, perhaps because she knows that Eros (and the two others just like him) are not ordinary wolves. “He’s quite easy to tell from other wolves, but might not be quite as easy to spot in the dark. He’s a shadow-thing,” she glances into the darkness rolling softly away from them. Eros throws a soft glow sometimes, too, though not in the same way that solid things do. Not in the same way this winged stranger does.
There is something troubling in his answer. Something that furrows her soft brow, briefly wrinkling the twin threads between her eyes. She turns to him then, fine head tilted, and studies him. “Are you not allowed out during the day?” she asks, though he looks as adult as she feels and she cannot imagine who might have power enough to stop him. “Or is that you simply don’t like it?”