The knoll had become her podium, and she watched the dozing stretch of land in hushed parallel until his words broke the silence like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples disturbing the sleepy surface; maybe she was the pebble afterall.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lip with the realization, but she left it there where it warmed her, turning her attention back to the sable man beside her. His glowing eyes drifting out along the moors, but her own just as keen to stare alongside him, flicking an ear at his easy ‘no’ and nodding her head ever so slightly. The young mare found herself wondering what had perturbed him, but she stilled her questions before they unraveled like the night along her skin.
The sun assailed her amber eyes, drawing several rapid blinks against the sudden change, collecting a hiss between her teeth that left no room for misconception.
Someone had turned on the light, leaving her momentarily blind, though her eyes dared not shut, there was nothing to soothe them from unseeing. Precious moments pass, she can feel his breath when he turns, ears swivelling toward the tiny nuance of his head twisting and the sound that comes with adjusted movement. The faintest warmth pricked her skin, laughing as it touched her face, her neck and evaded the premise just as quickly.
‘Far worse’, now that should have held some value, and it does in its own sense, but Rowe is drawn to the distraction of seeing such things. Rather, not being able to see them, and that final inflection tugs her ears forward, leaving her lack of caution behind until a gentle, ”Oh, I’m Rowe,” draws itself past her pale mouth.
”Perhaps I can help,” she offers, carefully filling the void with something that is assuredly near to pleasantness, though I’m not convinced I’d call it even that. “I found you, didn’t I?” There’s no offer at smugness, nor would one be able to pin her as proud, but there is something delicious in her certainty, the ease at which she navigates the gloam and asserts herself where others find blank canvas. She watches, she waits, and tilts her head at his stretch.
An obsidian hound, she asides, noting the action and saving it for later. Filing the movement under interesting behavior, one that she might try when no one is looking.
“What are we looking for,” she begins, before an ear turns thoughtfully toward him. “—and what should I call you while we look?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lip with the realization, but she left it there where it warmed her, turning her attention back to the sable man beside her. His glowing eyes drifting out along the moors, but her own just as keen to stare alongside him, flicking an ear at his easy ‘no’ and nodding her head ever so slightly. The young mare found herself wondering what had perturbed him, but she stilled her questions before they unraveled like the night along her skin.
The sun assailed her amber eyes, drawing several rapid blinks against the sudden change, collecting a hiss between her teeth that left no room for misconception.
Someone had turned on the light, leaving her momentarily blind, though her eyes dared not shut, there was nothing to soothe them from unseeing. Precious moments pass, she can feel his breath when he turns, ears swivelling toward the tiny nuance of his head twisting and the sound that comes with adjusted movement. The faintest warmth pricked her skin, laughing as it touched her face, her neck and evaded the premise just as quickly.
‘Far worse’, now that should have held some value, and it does in its own sense, but Rowe is drawn to the distraction of seeing such things. Rather, not being able to see them, and that final inflection tugs her ears forward, leaving her lack of caution behind until a gentle, ”Oh, I’m Rowe,” draws itself past her pale mouth.
”Perhaps I can help,” she offers, carefully filling the void with something that is assuredly near to pleasantness, though I’m not convinced I’d call it even that. “I found you, didn’t I?” There’s no offer at smugness, nor would one be able to pin her as proud, but there is something delicious in her certainty, the ease at which she navigates the gloam and asserts herself where others find blank canvas. She watches, she waits, and tilts her head at his stretch.
An obsidian hound, she asides, noting the action and saving it for later. Filing the movement under interesting behavior, one that she might try when no one is looking.
“What are we looking for,” she begins, before an ear turns thoughtfully toward him. “—and what should I call you while we look?”
ROWE
Michaelis x Padma