gleam
i will rearrange the stars
pull them down to where you are
She is surprised when he is not curious, when he does not ask why a child would be so reluctant to reunite with her own mother. Some of this surprise slips like a quiet mask across her face, furrowing the soft tawny of her brow beneath her forelock and carving long, hollow lines of uncertainty across such delicate cheeks. Her eyes flash up at his, just as shy and reluctant to hold his gaze as she is to be nestled so close to the water rippling silently nearby, but she settles there anyway, flinches once, and then looks away again. Maybe he had taken note of the ugly pink scars across her belly, soft skin forever frozen in a ripple of melted flesh. Maybe it was the soft protrusion of bones beneath the pale tawny fur, a faint ridge to mark her shoulder, a round point to mark her hip.
Or maybe he just did not care, and that thought deepened the furrow above her eyes, etched new shadow into the worried curve of her frown.
There’s a good girl. He says, breaking the silence and drawing those furtive rust eyes back to the angles of his dark, beautiful face. Doesn’t feel so good to lie, does it? That’s alright, I’ll never lie to you either. She can hear the promise in his words, in the croon of his murmurous voice, but it comes so easily - too easily - and so she does not believe it. It came too instantly, too reflexively for her to ever believe he meant it. The furrow in her brow becomes a permanent wrinkle, an almost scowl except it lacks something crucial against the soft of such a delicate, glowing face. “I don’t believe you.” She tells him finally, so softly, lifting her chin to him in a way that betrayed the quiet innocence of her youth, the reflex to speak freely and honestly. “What if I ask the wrong question?” Something he does not want to share, she means, something better kept safe and guarded. Everyone had secrets, even she did. Just because he could likely see her fears etched in tension across her face did not mean that she wanted him to know their origins.
Not once did it occur to her that he might simply tell her no.
Hello Gleam. I’m Stillwater. He says, shifting, and she realizes abruptly that this is the first time she has ever heard her name on voice that is not her mothers. She sucks in a quiet breath, feeling the cool night air slip over her lips and past her teeth to settle against her tongue. I know it can’t be easy to trust a stranger, hm? Well I never break my promises. He says it so firmly that she almost nods along like she knows this, yes of course he would never break a promise. But she catches herself on the first small bob of her head and stills suddenly, the furrow reappearing on that small, glowing forehead. His eyes find hers, claiming them in the same way deep night claims the swirling galaxies, swallowing them and holding them until looking away is not a thing she remembers how to do. I will never lie to you. Maybe it is the repetition, a promise repeated, but it makes her realize he had avoided her questions. She tenses and blinks at him slowly, prying her eyes from his to trace the lines of a face she instinctively, innately wanted to trust. “It is not easy to trust anyone, I think.” She says finally, soft and silver like the cosmic cloak draped across her skin.
His eyes drift to her stars, real stars, ancient dust pulled from ancient galaxies to kiss her shoulders and paint her silver. They swirled faster under his gaze, thickening at the flicker of her increased pulse, and then slowing again when his attention returned to her face. Are you tired, or cold? We can go to my home if you like. It's quieter there, just a soft trickle of water. It's a cave though, so I hope you're not afraid of the dark. But it's not quite out in the open.
She flinches visibly, recoiling as if struck when he mentions the cave.“No,” she says quickly, a note of worry in that whispery voice, "no cave.” She offers him no explanation at her sudden resistance, does not say why she will not go in the cave just yet, another stone prison with no sky and stale air. Let him think she was afraid of the dark, afraid of the night and all the things that go bump. It was better than telling him the truth, she was certain. “I do not mind the open.” She did mind the water though, and her eyes betrayed her when they flashed from his face to the lake and then back again, a small shiver climbing up her spine.
I bet you’re hungry. He says, and her stomach rumbles its answer at him even as her eyes drop timidly from his face. “A little.” She admits, embarrassed while she imagines his eyes finding all the hollow places and sharp bones in the shadows of her watery gold skin. You can stay the night with me. I'll keep you safe tonight, and if you decide you like it well enough there, you can live there with me. And I could take care of you. What do you say? His voice is like fingers tucked beneath her chin, tilting her face up so those impossible rust eyes are visible again through the strands of forelock like tangled silk. Or we can stay here for the night if that's more comfortable for you, but I'll need to stay too to make sure you stay safe. She blinks to break their connection, but when her eyes open again he is still there, soft and patient and waiting for her with a look of concern.
Had anyone ever looked at her that way before?
She did not think so.
She wants so suddenly to be tucked against him, wants his gentle nuzzles to chase away the shivers of shock and cold that ripple across the pale of her tawny skin. But logic holds her back from him, worry keeps her at bay, reminds her that he is just a stranger, that no one has ever been kind to her. Not even mama who only seemed to love her stars and the pale, watered down buckskin color of her skin. Still, as if pulled by a magnet, she lurches to her feet again, sways tiredly, and watches him. “Stillwater?” She asks, whisper-soft and uncertain, tries his name for the first time since he had given it to her. “Is there anywhere else we can go,” a pause as she considers him, worries over the confession perched at the ledge of her lips, “away from your cave, away from the water.” She takes a hesitant step toward him, reaches for his face with the soft of those glowing lips and then pauses again uncertainly, dropping her nose to her chest. “Maybe somewhere we can still see the stars?”
