i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Her touch is warm where it presses against his. Such a simple, light brush across sensitive skin bare of bone, yet nothing about it feels simple at all. It’s a lovely moment - as lovely as the disbelief in her tone and staunch defense of him - yet boor that he is, Reave doesn’t press into it. One of the many paths branch forth fizzling into nothing.
In another life, he might have been a poet, but in this, he is no softer than the sharp edges of his armored flesh.
“Your belief in me is heartwarming, but misplaced, I assure you,” he replies candidly with a chuckle. He pauses a moment when she asks where it was he had been stirring up trouble. When they had first met, he had been as young as she, but so much more world-weary. Now he is even more so, while she has retained so much of the beautiful naivete that had first drawn him to her. A naivete he could so easily shatter. And if that occurred, where would that leave them? Would he still be drawn to her if she did not possess something he never has?
“Hyaline,” he finally replies, his grin slipping. Though the familiar glint does not leave his eye, it shifts into something more chilling. Then, just as quickly as it had fled, the smile is back on his lips as he clarifies with a shrug, “They have something I want.”
@Israfel