Oh, the river of misassumption is astounding, and she nearly laughs aloud at it.
Beqanna had changed, shifting and folding, buckling into something entirely new, but some things never change. This man is one of those things. He is stuck in the past, grinding on through life and floundering with its new purposes. It truly is ironic that she had stumbled across him, that she had drawn his interest and him hers.
She is a keeper of time in a way few others could ever hope to be.
Those blue eyes fix upon him, blue eyes he may have seen before, but never like hers. There has never been anyone like her before. She is the first of her kind. And she, of all creatures, would know it.
He might not care for it, but she knows of him, knows him, with far more intimacy than he would likely be comfortable with. She has seen his past, long and checkered. He is infamous, even if no one remembers him anymore. She knows and she remembers. She would surprise him, perhaps in ways he never has been before.
He might wish her beneath his heel, but he would never have her there. She is both harder and more pliable than he gives her credit for. So when he accuses her, she simply smiles, a faint upturn of her lips that remains as deeply mysterious as she herself is. Slipping forward, she nears him, no hint of fear or reservation in her graceful movements. Her velvety muzzle reaches out, touches, traces a light line up his neck to his cheek. Finally, she whispers in a barely audible tone, “And perhaps I know far more than you would care to have me know.”
Abruptly she withdraws, pulling just out of reach, pale gaze once more fixing upon him, a bold, daring fire hidden just within their depths. Finally, after an eternal moment, she adds, “I think I will allow you to decide for yourself whether I am brave or foolish.”
