Midday was slowly turning in to afternoon, the sun’s light slowly moving though the thick trees as time ticked on. Despite the sun’s attempt to filter through to the forest floor, the coldness of winter’s breath is on the breeze and stops any warmth from reaching him. The cold is sharp and unfriendly against his russet skin, his jaw clenching tightly in discomfort. Whether the discomfort is from the unfamiliar bite of wintry air or from the pounding ache in his chest or his lack of sleep that he would never admit, he couldn’t tell. He almost didn’t care.
Warrick continues to watch her, eyes soft yet wary – though he had no reason to be cautious – as he listens, absorbing her presence and body language. She sounds cliché and he almost tells her so, but he remembers that he does still have some manners.
If Djinni had met Warrick a few weeks prior to this moment in the forest, she would notice that his temperament and demeanor had changed slightly. Slowly and sneakily, his grief (and his inability to deal with it) was breaking apart pieces of him, throwing small bits to the wayside as each day passes. Right now it’s the unimportant parts of him that are fading away – imperceptible, barely noticeable; his relaxed way he hangs his head, the dark eyes that once held more life to them if you had known him truly. Little things that a stranger wouldn’t care to see unless they had been looking for them.
No, Warrick won’t crumble fast – he won’t allow it. He is too proud for that. It will be a slow fade, a painful transformation that will recreate him from the inside out and that he can do nothing to stop.
He snorts, navy nostrils flaring as his breath leaves them in a cloud of vapor around his face. “Talking rarely solves problems.” He says this almost with a chuckle as if trying to take away from the severity of his situation (an unknown one, to her). He continues to move towards her now, his indigo legs easily moving through the dead brush of the forest’s floor. He comes to a halt beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder, but not close enough to be uncomfortable. He glances sideways at her through a long and tangled forelock that almost reaches the point where his auburn skin becomes blue on his tired face. “I really doubt you’re some kind of therapist,” he says to her with a lopsided smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “I'm Warrick.”
warrick.
like the sun swallowed up by the earth