03-15-2021, 07:52 PM
He can tell he’s scared her by the way her body jerks and moves away from him, all those delicate muscles dancing quietly beneath her skin like the light used to dance beneath the crests of waves. His eyes wander back to her face again, small and dark and watching him now with eyes like wide green gems. He is glad that she doesn’t disappear into the dark, glad that her quick feet only take her far enough from him to be safely outside his reach. It is ironic, he thinks, because if he had not shifted into this form then it would have been that of a glowing equid skeleton, eyeless and scentless and made of disembodied sound. He feels certain she would not have liked that much better.
He sits so that she can see he has no need to come closer, that he is not hunting, not dangerous to anything more than the instincts inside her telling her to run. But he has no desire to chase. He wraps his armored tail around his body, concealing the barbed stinger carefully beneath him before her eyes have a chance to notice it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He tells her, and while it is impossible for his words to sound anything but rough from a manticore’s fanged mouth, he tries to make himself sound as unobtrusive as possible. “This is no longer a world where one should make much sound, it is better to be invisible whenever one can. There are many things whose attention it would be best not to attract.”
He studies her again, wondering at the thoughts that must be racing through her head. Does she consider him one of those things? It seemed likely. Yet she had not left him, and even now she squares herself up to face him, scolding him for his thoughtlessness. It makes him smile, though the only sign is a new flooding warmth of amusement in his honeyed eyes. He thinks it is best not to smile and let her see his teeth.
It seems though that the longer she stays, the less she seems to mind his presence there beside her, because she begins to soften again and allow her attention to return to the bird. Still, he holds himself away from her. He watches her, feeling mildly mesmerized by the level of her focus and equally amused when one single ear flicks back to remind him of her mistrust. He only barely manages to quiet the rumble of feline amusement that rises in his chest. Alas, when she turns to pin her gaze on him, the effort is wasted. The rumble escapes him and he rises to step away from her, moving in a half circle around the bird and resettling across from the girl where she can more easily keep an eye on him.
His brow quirks as if to say, better? But no words fall from his mouth.
He mimics her position, making himself small in the grass in case it eases his mistrust, but the muscle beneath his thick fur ripples with uneasy tension as he listens to the, for now, distant shrieks of these midnight creatures and their helpless prey. There is nothing nearby yet, but he is surprised to discover a certain fondness tying him to this scowling girl who had squared up with a manticore for the sake of a wounded bird. He would keep her safe here for as long as she was brave enough to stay. “Not mine, but this is home.” And then another chuckle, just barely muted as he lifts his giant head to study her once more. “I promise I do not feel,” a brief pause as his gaze sharpens to trace every single line of stubbornness in her small, dark face, “disturbed.”
Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Is that how you feel?” He is certain her answer will be yes, and certain that yes will disappoint him. But he cannot keep himself from asking anyway.
He sits so that she can see he has no need to come closer, that he is not hunting, not dangerous to anything more than the instincts inside her telling her to run. But he has no desire to chase. He wraps his armored tail around his body, concealing the barbed stinger carefully beneath him before her eyes have a chance to notice it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He tells her, and while it is impossible for his words to sound anything but rough from a manticore’s fanged mouth, he tries to make himself sound as unobtrusive as possible. “This is no longer a world where one should make much sound, it is better to be invisible whenever one can. There are many things whose attention it would be best not to attract.”
He studies her again, wondering at the thoughts that must be racing through her head. Does she consider him one of those things? It seemed likely. Yet she had not left him, and even now she squares herself up to face him, scolding him for his thoughtlessness. It makes him smile, though the only sign is a new flooding warmth of amusement in his honeyed eyes. He thinks it is best not to smile and let her see his teeth.
It seems though that the longer she stays, the less she seems to mind his presence there beside her, because she begins to soften again and allow her attention to return to the bird. Still, he holds himself away from her. He watches her, feeling mildly mesmerized by the level of her focus and equally amused when one single ear flicks back to remind him of her mistrust. He only barely manages to quiet the rumble of feline amusement that rises in his chest. Alas, when she turns to pin her gaze on him, the effort is wasted. The rumble escapes him and he rises to step away from her, moving in a half circle around the bird and resettling across from the girl where she can more easily keep an eye on him.
His brow quirks as if to say, better? But no words fall from his mouth.
He mimics her position, making himself small in the grass in case it eases his mistrust, but the muscle beneath his thick fur ripples with uneasy tension as he listens to the, for now, distant shrieks of these midnight creatures and their helpless prey. There is nothing nearby yet, but he is surprised to discover a certain fondness tying him to this scowling girl who had squared up with a manticore for the sake of a wounded bird. He would keep her safe here for as long as she was brave enough to stay. “Not mine, but this is home.” And then another chuckle, just barely muted as he lifts his giant head to study her once more. “I promise I do not feel,” a brief pause as his gaze sharpens to trace every single line of stubbornness in her small, dark face, “disturbed.”
Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Is that how you feel?” He is certain her answer will be yes, and certain that yes will disappoint him. But he cannot keep himself from asking anyway.
sorren
i'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat
@[Cheri]