11-04-2016, 10:17 PM
He touches her neck in return and his gentleness earns the soft curve of a smile against her whiskered lips. It isn’t always like that, the kindness. Sometimes the gesture earns her a grumble or a scowl or the pinning of ears. But the family she came from was whole and strong and so deeply tangled that embraces came easily and touch was meant to soothe and comfort. It is reflex now, after so many years, a learned habit from watching her parents together, from being well loved and well protected.
Uconn. He tells her, sharing his name with a sense of hesitancy she doesn’t quite understand. So she tilts her head at him gently, pausing, touching her nose back against the snow-damp of his shoulder. “It’s a good name,” she tells him with another smile, “it suits you.” She smiles again and pulls her chin back to her chest, remaining close enough to his side that she can feel their shared warmth steaming between them. This is how she remembers the Tundra – the wild beauty of the cold forcing strangers together, and how the awkwardness had been erased by a shared desire for staying warm.
But his sigh disarms her, and she can almost feel his sorrow when it comes rushing in around them, battering them aside. Her eyes are dark and bright when they lift to his face, steadying there in time to catch the confession that spills unexpectedly from his dark lips. “Oh!” She breathes, surprised. “You came from the Tundra, too?” There is something good about this moment, something right, like the feeling of finding family you hadn’t realized you were missing. She reaches out instinctively, brushing her nose against the curve of his jaw in a way that showed him exactly how she felt. Family.
And then there is snow and distance between them, just a little, as she steps back to see if she recognizes those patterns of white and black, or the beautiful wings that arch from his withers. But his face, albeit a kind one, is wholly unfamiliar and she can feel the way her brow furrows with disappoint. She settles in beside him again, comfortable, peering up at him sideways from beneath the tangles of a dark, unruly forelock. “It is different,” she agrees, especially for him she realizes as she traces the feathers of his wings and wonders if he had lost something else, “but the closer you look, the more you’ll recognize it.” She sighs, her tongue tracing the ridges of smooth teeth inside her mouth. “A lot of the old kingdoms came together again. The Tundra, Chamber, and Valley honored their old alliance and claimed Tephra together.”
She pauses, quiet for a heartbeat before continuing again in a voice like whispered birdsong. “It is different, though. Enough to still hurt a little.”
Uconn. He tells her, sharing his name with a sense of hesitancy she doesn’t quite understand. So she tilts her head at him gently, pausing, touching her nose back against the snow-damp of his shoulder. “It’s a good name,” she tells him with another smile, “it suits you.” She smiles again and pulls her chin back to her chest, remaining close enough to his side that she can feel their shared warmth steaming between them. This is how she remembers the Tundra – the wild beauty of the cold forcing strangers together, and how the awkwardness had been erased by a shared desire for staying warm.
But his sigh disarms her, and she can almost feel his sorrow when it comes rushing in around them, battering them aside. Her eyes are dark and bright when they lift to his face, steadying there in time to catch the confession that spills unexpectedly from his dark lips. “Oh!” She breathes, surprised. “You came from the Tundra, too?” There is something good about this moment, something right, like the feeling of finding family you hadn’t realized you were missing. She reaches out instinctively, brushing her nose against the curve of his jaw in a way that showed him exactly how she felt. Family.
And then there is snow and distance between them, just a little, as she steps back to see if she recognizes those patterns of white and black, or the beautiful wings that arch from his withers. But his face, albeit a kind one, is wholly unfamiliar and she can feel the way her brow furrows with disappoint. She settles in beside him again, comfortable, peering up at him sideways from beneath the tangles of a dark, unruly forelock. “It is different,” she agrees, especially for him she realizes as she traces the feathers of his wings and wonders if he had lost something else, “but the closer you look, the more you’ll recognize it.” She sighs, her tongue tracing the ridges of smooth teeth inside her mouth. “A lot of the old kingdoms came together again. The Tundra, Chamber, and Valley honored their old alliance and claimed Tephra together.”
She pauses, quiet for a heartbeat before continuing again in a voice like whispered birdsong. “It is different, though. Enough to still hurt a little.”