12-21-2020, 09:21 PM
the night is my companion, and solitude my guide.
She has never known a stranger, not really, and that will perhaps come around to hurt her one day. She is so trusting and full of warmth; the forest has never held anything for her other than the comforting scent of wet bark after a summer rain, or the bits of color that pop through the snow as flowers begin to bloom once again at the end of winter. Life has been soft to her and so when her deep almond eyes rest on the scars that tear across his face, her own expression falls slack. Concern deepens within her irises and without thinking, she reaches out to touch her pale mouth to the gnarled skin as if in awe.
“Clegane,” she repeats so softly, her voice a whisper as her breath warms the redness of his scar tissue. She focuses next on the intricate patterns that play across the thick curve of his neck and the near-white tendrils of mane that spill across it, humming thoughtfully to herself as she imagines where he has been and what grand stories he has to tell - more than her, she could easily guess.
Augusta pauses, realizing her closeness and the rather rude way she was fixated on him, and her eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry,” she breathes suddenly, pulling her chin to her chest and chiding herself inwardly for being so unfeeling. It is not often she finds someone to share her day with and it seems like she is well on her way to offending him; she only hopes he does not take to the skies just yet and forgives her for her carelessness.
There is a gentle laugh in her throat, sincere and tender. “I have nowhere else to be but here, either.” She rolls her blue mottled shoulder casually, tipping her chin upwards to gaze at the perfect white clouds that now move unhurriedly across the sky above them. “That sums up my life quite perfectly, actually.” Her voice is as smooth as the water that flows before them, fading into a hum once again.
She turns her blue and white face towards him, that intricate blaze down the bridge of her nose contrasting brightly against the darker auburn of her eyes. “I hope you have a much better one.” Augusta smiles because of course he did; everyone did - they had to - because who would dream of living here, alone, as she does? Years ago, she thinks to herself, perhaps she would have. But now (and perhaps it is the way the wind stirs the darkness of her mane and forelock), she wishes for just a bit more.
“Clegane,” she repeats so softly, her voice a whisper as her breath warms the redness of his scar tissue. She focuses next on the intricate patterns that play across the thick curve of his neck and the near-white tendrils of mane that spill across it, humming thoughtfully to herself as she imagines where he has been and what grand stories he has to tell - more than her, she could easily guess.
Augusta pauses, realizing her closeness and the rather rude way she was fixated on him, and her eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry,” she breathes suddenly, pulling her chin to her chest and chiding herself inwardly for being so unfeeling. It is not often she finds someone to share her day with and it seems like she is well on her way to offending him; she only hopes he does not take to the skies just yet and forgives her for her carelessness.
There is a gentle laugh in her throat, sincere and tender. “I have nowhere else to be but here, either.” She rolls her blue mottled shoulder casually, tipping her chin upwards to gaze at the perfect white clouds that now move unhurriedly across the sky above them. “That sums up my life quite perfectly, actually.” Her voice is as smooth as the water that flows before them, fading into a hum once again.
She turns her blue and white face towards him, that intricate blaze down the bridge of her nose contrasting brightly against the darker auburn of her eyes. “I hope you have a much better one.” Augusta smiles because of course he did; everyone did - they had to - because who would dream of living here, alone, as she does? Years ago, she thinks to herself, perhaps she would have. But now (and perhaps it is the way the wind stirs the darkness of her mane and forelock), she wishes for just a bit more.
@[Clegane]