05-28-2015, 02:48 PM
wolves in our own skin, we're savages.
Dá watches him with a smile as he processes her answer. He has picked up on the crackle, the give in the laws of nature as they bend and swirl around her. But the small girl is not aware of this, all she knows is that this time he does not contest her knowledge. Dá doesn't know what he is thinking, but that's the fun of it, isn't it? If everything went the way you spun it the world would be a very dull place to weave webs.
The quiet between them is a gap through which birdsong and nature-music rushes in; and the girl is not in a hurry to puncture this sweet beloved relief. It makes a change from the repulsive lip-flapping, the slurps and smacks and slimy swishes of conversation.
He speaks again, of kingdoms she has no interest in and volcanoes, which are markedly more interesting. Volcanoes! The melting pot of life and creation. Creation/destruction and everything in between; from the ashes the phoenix shall rise etc. etc. and so on into infinity. She has never seen a volcano before, but she has heard about them. She has heard trees scream as they melt and burn, and the chirruping of saplings as they push their way through layers of hyper-fertile volcanic ash.
"Oh they will, eventually." she says, with a pleased smile. "Does much grow there, now?" He speaks again and hesitates, and Dá watches him patiently, expectantly. His smile is barely there but ever-so-charming, and the small girl returns one of her own, calm and collected as ever. There is no time for admiring physical bodies when there is work to be done; plants to be seen, forests to be wandered through. No, his appearance does not even register with her.
He speaks of the trees, and Dá raises a brow. "Can't imagine why," she says dryly, humourlessly.
"Show me the volcano," she says. "Show me and I'll teach you the names of every flower we come across."
DÁ
The quiet between them is a gap through which birdsong and nature-music rushes in; and the girl is not in a hurry to puncture this sweet beloved relief. It makes a change from the repulsive lip-flapping, the slurps and smacks and slimy swishes of conversation.
He speaks again, of kingdoms she has no interest in and volcanoes, which are markedly more interesting. Volcanoes! The melting pot of life and creation. Creation/destruction and everything in between; from the ashes the phoenix shall rise etc. etc. and so on into infinity. She has never seen a volcano before, but she has heard about them. She has heard trees scream as they melt and burn, and the chirruping of saplings as they push their way through layers of hyper-fertile volcanic ash.
"Oh they will, eventually." she says, with a pleased smile. "Does much grow there, now?" He speaks again and hesitates, and Dá watches him patiently, expectantly. His smile is barely there but ever-so-charming, and the small girl returns one of her own, calm and collected as ever. There is no time for admiring physical bodies when there is work to be done; plants to be seen, forests to be wandered through. No, his appearance does not even register with her.
He speaks of the trees, and Dá raises a brow. "Can't imagine why," she says dryly, humourlessly.
"Show me the volcano," she says. "Show me and I'll teach you the names of every flower we come across."