Polaris
She does not notice him through the trees, does not hear him close the distance between them with the quiet of the creeping dawn. It is only after she stumbles and looks up from a ground knit through unevenly with knots of dark and winding root, wide-eyed and uncertain in the wake of new pain, that she discovers him watching. She makes a soft, surprised sound and reaches for the nose he stretches out to her, too new to know that she should be wary of a stranger like him.
He smells like damp earth and sunshine, like deep forests and she smiles because this is what she knows, what she must smell like too. Without the wariness she should have, a wariness she should’ve learned from her mother, she pushes her nose against his, further up to touch his jaw and his cheek, to lip at those dark ears and the impossible softness of the hair tangled between them. She loves that best, the softness, that which she lacks, and when she drops her nose to his again and huffs her quiet pleasure, those pale amber eyes are bright and trusting.
His breath fogs the surface of her skin, dims the reflections of the world in blue around them. She doesn’t notice though, is too busy watching the winter of those glacial blue eyes, his world in white and silver and pale blues. It is at once her favorite color, soft and steel, a strange kind of fragile strength and she clings to it instinctively, unable to blink until he does. Even then she wonders at them though, wonders at him, wonders if she is as soft and warm, if her eyes are the same kind of beautiful.
Without warning his legs fold beneath him and he drops to her height, his head appearing massive in contrast to her much smaller one. She reaches out to nose at his forehead once, then steps back delicately to give him room as he rolled first to his side and then to his broad back to peer up at her. With a growing smile on her twinkling lips, she peers back down at him, inching closer to lip at the foreleg that bends in the air near her nose. He twists again, so careful of her closeness, until he is once more on his side with a quiet huff.
She eases closer to his stillness again, each movement a chorus of tinkling bells, pausing only when he reaches out to her to breathe the coolness of winter against her strange skin. She turns to watch with him, twisting so she can see as much of herself as that short, delicate neck allows. He makes her white-silver in the middle, fogs the teal so that only the points and a spattering of coin sized spots still bleed brightly through. It takes a moment for her to understand, to see her new-white and new-spots, and turn to see his true-white and true-spots and realize that she is like him now.
But when she does realize, her face is soft and bright all at once, that glowing smile so painfully fragile in its innocence that it could melt iron. He lays his head back down again to watch her with his cheek against the earth, and she stumbles forward with a flick of that watery purple tail to follow. In the curve of his neck and against that damp, silvered chest she folds neatly, almost feline in her quiet grace, and tucks impossibly close to his growing warmth and soft. Her legs chime beneath the delicate weight of her body so she rolls into him and more on her side, letting them slide out from beneath her. Then, so quietly, she lays her head across his neck, breathing lightly into the curve of his ear and across the hollow of his jaw.
She is exhausted and hungry, but she is no longer uncertain tucked like this in the crook of his neck, pressed to the chest of the man who had somehow made her look so much like him – it is not a magic she understands, but it doesn’t bother her because it is safe and it is good and he stays when no one else had. Gently she shifts, rubbing the side of that gleaming face against the suppleness of his neck with a quiet, relieved sigh. When she stops it is only to wonder why his skin is soft when her legs are more like the smooth stones littered around them, worn and gleaming and cool to the touch. There is sudden worry when she lifts her face to him, when she wonders why he is like sunshine and she is so much more like the cold night. Her lips are hesitant now when they find his cheek, when they nuzzle hard instead of soft into the hollow near his jaw.
Am I wrong? Those eyes ask when they find his, pale amber like deep gold.
He smells like damp earth and sunshine, like deep forests and she smiles because this is what she knows, what she must smell like too. Without the wariness she should have, a wariness she should’ve learned from her mother, she pushes her nose against his, further up to touch his jaw and his cheek, to lip at those dark ears and the impossible softness of the hair tangled between them. She loves that best, the softness, that which she lacks, and when she drops her nose to his again and huffs her quiet pleasure, those pale amber eyes are bright and trusting.
His breath fogs the surface of her skin, dims the reflections of the world in blue around them. She doesn’t notice though, is too busy watching the winter of those glacial blue eyes, his world in white and silver and pale blues. It is at once her favorite color, soft and steel, a strange kind of fragile strength and she clings to it instinctively, unable to blink until he does. Even then she wonders at them though, wonders at him, wonders if she is as soft and warm, if her eyes are the same kind of beautiful.
Without warning his legs fold beneath him and he drops to her height, his head appearing massive in contrast to her much smaller one. She reaches out to nose at his forehead once, then steps back delicately to give him room as he rolled first to his side and then to his broad back to peer up at her. With a growing smile on her twinkling lips, she peers back down at him, inching closer to lip at the foreleg that bends in the air near her nose. He twists again, so careful of her closeness, until he is once more on his side with a quiet huff.
She eases closer to his stillness again, each movement a chorus of tinkling bells, pausing only when he reaches out to her to breathe the coolness of winter against her strange skin. She turns to watch with him, twisting so she can see as much of herself as that short, delicate neck allows. He makes her white-silver in the middle, fogs the teal so that only the points and a spattering of coin sized spots still bleed brightly through. It takes a moment for her to understand, to see her new-white and new-spots, and turn to see his true-white and true-spots and realize that she is like him now.
But when she does realize, her face is soft and bright all at once, that glowing smile so painfully fragile in its innocence that it could melt iron. He lays his head back down again to watch her with his cheek against the earth, and she stumbles forward with a flick of that watery purple tail to follow. In the curve of his neck and against that damp, silvered chest she folds neatly, almost feline in her quiet grace, and tucks impossibly close to his growing warmth and soft. Her legs chime beneath the delicate weight of her body so she rolls into him and more on her side, letting them slide out from beneath her. Then, so quietly, she lays her head across his neck, breathing lightly into the curve of his ear and across the hollow of his jaw.
She is exhausted and hungry, but she is no longer uncertain tucked like this in the crook of his neck, pressed to the chest of the man who had somehow made her look so much like him – it is not a magic she understands, but it doesn’t bother her because it is safe and it is good and he stays when no one else had. Gently she shifts, rubbing the side of that gleaming face against the suppleness of his neck with a quiet, relieved sigh. When she stops it is only to wonder why his skin is soft when her legs are more like the smooth stones littered around them, worn and gleaming and cool to the touch. There is sudden worry when she lifts her face to him, when she wonders why he is like sunshine and she is so much more like the cold night. Her lips are hesitant now when they find his cheek, when they nuzzle hard instead of soft into the hollow near his jaw.
Am I wrong? Those eyes ask when they find his, pale amber like deep gold.
though i never needed any proof to trust the heart that beats inside of you