A flush of embarrassment warms his cheeks when she mentions her mother’s galaxy markings; the heat spreads further as he realizes that he is behaving no better than an uninhibited child in this moment, staring unabashedly at the swirl of stars on her chest. His mortification creeps into the odd slant of his smile and he is grateful that she does not comment on his gawking. When she speaks of her appreciation for the inheritance of her mother’s entrancing stars, a dull sadness dims the light of his eyes, perhaps for longer than he would like.
His feet shuffle quietly and he relishes the gentle way the feathers of his forelegs wave in the currents of air the movements create. They, along with the striking blue of his eyes and his slight build, are the small ways that his mother’s appearance has manifested in his own and he, too, is grateful for the reminders, though for different reasons. He is of a mind to share this with this stranger, but he ultimately refrains; he knows his melancholy can be overwhelming for some and he does not wish to scare her off just yet.
But perhaps it is inevitable that he must reveal something of his past, for she inquires about his affinity for the ocean. He does his best to arrange his features into a contemplative mask to disguise the new bout of sadness inspired by the idea that he belongs to the water. He nods, almost absently, at her question. “I haven’t been in for a very long time now.. too long, actually.” He pauses, realizing now that part of his long-standing discomfort has been due to his avoiding the water and his Baltian blood, once returned to its natural surroundings, had been behind his reluctance to resurface.
Eventually, he continues, “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it, so I guess I’ll have to be better about sharing my time between land and sea.” In that moment, he knows that he will certainly be more diligent about balancing the conflicting needs of his mixed heritages.
The warmth of embarrassment returns to his face immediately after he blurts out his somewhat crass question and any traces of cheerfulness slip from his features just as abruptly. “I’m sorry if that was rude,” he apologizes profusely, not quite wanting to meet her eye now. But as he averts his gaze, he notices the smile that she gives with her answer and that encourages him to look at her again just as she offers her name to him.
The corners of his lips turn up once more as he lets the feel of her name roll over his tongue. “Hourglass.. that’s pretty.” His voice is soft, shy, as he says this, but it quickly turns both stiff and hurried, as though in attempt to gloss over the compliment. “I’ve never…”
He is on the verge of saying that he’s never met anyone made of glass before, but the memory of his first encounter in Beqanna stops him in his tracks. He had nearly forgotten the entire experience, for it had soured rather quickly, but now he remembers that she had also been of a similarly glassy make; and the longer he thinks of her, he also remembers the stars that decorated her petite figure.
He casts a suspicious eye over Hourglass, wondering if it is possible that the two women are related. If that’s the case, he’s not so sure that he wants to find out just how similar the two really are. But he swallows down the bitter distrust and continues, “Does the glass come from your mother too? It’s not something I’ve seen much of around here..”
@Hourglass