There is always a twinge of worry in her chest when she watches him stray from her side, a little burr of sharp uncertainty when he wanders too close to the deep shadows beneath trees just out of her reach. She knows of the things that live in the dark - not soft, beautiful things like her Merry, made of the shadows cast by stars, of fractured dreams. It is usually the broken that the dark is filled with. Those who find solace in an hour where unease creeps.
But he doesn’t stray far from her, not far enough that she couldn’t reach him should something happen - certainly not far enough that her magic couldn’t defend him. So her expression stays soft and gentle, a tired smile stretched in velvet white across her lips. She is changing though, a weight in her expression that never used to be there - a weariness she felt in her bones, in the lessening ease of the light of her magic. It shows in the soft point of her hips through the mix of blue and black on her skin, in the long, traceable line of her shoulders where once it had only been smooth. No sign of her ribs though, so strange.
She blames the dreams for her exhaustion.
Always the same, always waking up before she can turn around and see the face of the man she knows she loves in that place.
Her tired smile widens, catches crookedly in one corner of her mouth as she reaches out to tug at Merry’s dark little ear with impossibly soft lips. “We can if you’d like,” she tells him conspiratorially, dropping her head lower to nuzzle his jaw, “we’ll have to find the perfect spot to camp.”
But then something snags his attention and he’s gone in a second, those small, gangly legs carrying him directly into the path of someone she does not know. Her softness is gone in a heartbeat, her own strong legs surging her forward so that she is beside Merry again by the time he has his nose pressed against the strangers scales. She is the very picture of quiet aggression, the promise of it etched into the tension of coiled muscle beneath her neck and along her flank, the harsh line of her jaw prominent as she meets the stallions gaze. Dark drifts like dust from her skin, fogging her outline, pooling in the hollow of her shoulders and hips. There are flecks of light there too, though not as much as there should be.
“Very pretty.” She agrees, but her tone is sharper now, those dark brown eyes unwavering from Leilan’s face. “Why don’t you come here to me, baby, it isn’t nice to touch strangers.” Tendrils of shadow wind up Leilan’s legs, not painful or restrictive, just soft. A warning though. Do not touch my boy. Another wraps around Merry’s little chest, tugging him so gently back to that spot he loves so much, nestled safely between her forelegs. “My name is Luster, who are you?” It’s not quite her usual soft greeting, gentle eyes and gentle smile, but it is the best she can offer until her little guy has stepped safely back from the imposing dragon-horse.
@[Leilan]