03-15-2019, 11:25 AM
Eurwen
the secret to walking on water is
knowing where the rocks lie
knowing where the rocks lie
She contemplates. She carefully weighs. The man in front of her is not ordinary, though in perhaps a different way that she herself isn't ordinary. Her childlike youth cut short, most time spent in adolescence, indeed. In becoming something. Something that had not yet finished growing, but took a liking to some that she already knew.
He says something. Assumes that she is trying to ditch all her feelings and separate it from the memory, as far as she can tell. Her head slightly tilts. It might be that that is what he did to his memories; detach. That might be what he (nearly) is now - a shell of the past only looking for the future, but she's not looking to become like him. She's sure of that, although she cannot pinpoint what exactly she would like to become instead; but time would tell.
He also tells her that he reads her mind, though in not so many words. Now she is indeed wary, because the same cannot be said the other way around. A shy and easily-scared girl like she used to be, now actually had cause to be afraid. Yet she comes no further than wary, because he's a mystery just as well. Yet his steps are not followed, the simple gesture now inviting her perhaps a step too far. She shakes her head at his question, though it might as well be denying him herself, her loyalty, following in his footsteps.
For sure, with any other girl this probably would have worked. He posed enough of a mystery to be solved to spark her curiosity, a simple kindness in joining her for a walk, yet she - she's different. Always had been, never had cared to be. Her sister would have followed, would have pushed further and beyond. But they're not alike, they're night and day, even if the rose-spotted girl indeed has caught the spark of infection - from her, from Him, from any other horse in the Meadow, or in Nerine - she's not hallucinative enough to just go along with a stranger in the Meadow.
Heck, she doesn't even know his name, and she has the awful suspicion that he knows hers.
He says something. Assumes that she is trying to ditch all her feelings and separate it from the memory, as far as she can tell. Her head slightly tilts. It might be that that is what he did to his memories; detach. That might be what he (nearly) is now - a shell of the past only looking for the future, but she's not looking to become like him. She's sure of that, although she cannot pinpoint what exactly she would like to become instead; but time would tell.
He also tells her that he reads her mind, though in not so many words. Now she is indeed wary, because the same cannot be said the other way around. A shy and easily-scared girl like she used to be, now actually had cause to be afraid. Yet she comes no further than wary, because he's a mystery just as well. Yet his steps are not followed, the simple gesture now inviting her perhaps a step too far. She shakes her head at his question, though it might as well be denying him herself, her loyalty, following in his footsteps.
For sure, with any other girl this probably would have worked. He posed enough of a mystery to be solved to spark her curiosity, a simple kindness in joining her for a walk, yet she - she's different. Always had been, never had cared to be. Her sister would have followed, would have pushed further and beyond. But they're not alike, they're night and day, even if the rose-spotted girl indeed has caught the spark of infection - from her, from Him, from any other horse in the Meadow, or in Nerine - she's not hallucinative enough to just go along with a stranger in the Meadow.
Heck, she doesn't even know his name, and she has the awful suspicion that he knows hers.
@[Eight] sorry for the lateness, I moved this slightly forward to her having caught the plague but having no symptoms yet since I got her rolled for