05-12-2018, 09:20 AM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
She tries to explain away the rashness, but the fear is still there - the uncertainty, the sorrow; it still lies beneath the softness of her pale face, clawing at her from the inside. She moves closer and he is even more confused, afraid even. He did not want her to voice to quiver in fear at his presence, to be startled and flinch away at his touch. His brow creases together, sadness widening them with their pleading gaze. He’s gone now, she murmurs, more to reassure herself than to him. Svedka snorts softly, ears flicking back slightly with indecision. He?
Ilma closes the gap, bringing herself to him with a rattling sigh and with red eyes, and Svedka allows it. He does not push her away, but opens his chest and shoulder for her. He shivers at the feeling of her skin on him - warm and inviting, despite the scene that had just unfolded. Svedka’s strong neck curves around her hesitantly, afraid to scare her again, treating her delicately as he realizes how fragile she is in this moment. “Ilma,” he replies tenderly, the breath from her lips warm against the tangles of his blue and ivory mane, flecked with speckles of white snow.
“Ilma, are you okay?” His voice is a whisper, a shuddering of breath against her, hesitant to actually place his mouth against the curve of her neck, into the softness and warmth of her downy feathers. Something tears at her soul - he can feel it in the way she trembles beside him, stifling her tears and her reaction to his presence - he only hopes she will tell him, and allow him to understand the inner workings of her beautiful mind.
Svedka does not move away from her, and if she decides to pull away he would not follow. He is not the forward and confident stallion that he normally is, but he is whoever he needs to be for her. There is a seriousness in their conversation that is too heavy for him to try to be his light-hearted self, apparent in the way his cerulean eyes glimmer with empathy.
Ilma closes the gap, bringing herself to him with a rattling sigh and with red eyes, and Svedka allows it. He does not push her away, but opens his chest and shoulder for her. He shivers at the feeling of her skin on him - warm and inviting, despite the scene that had just unfolded. Svedka’s strong neck curves around her hesitantly, afraid to scare her again, treating her delicately as he realizes how fragile she is in this moment. “Ilma,” he replies tenderly, the breath from her lips warm against the tangles of his blue and ivory mane, flecked with speckles of white snow.
“Ilma, are you okay?” His voice is a whisper, a shuddering of breath against her, hesitant to actually place his mouth against the curve of her neck, into the softness and warmth of her downy feathers. Something tears at her soul - he can feel it in the way she trembles beside him, stifling her tears and her reaction to his presence - he only hopes she will tell him, and allow him to understand the inner workings of her beautiful mind.
Svedka does not move away from her, and if she decides to pull away he would not follow. He is not the forward and confident stallion that he normally is, but he is whoever he needs to be for her. There is a seriousness in their conversation that is too heavy for him to try to be his light-hearted self, apparent in the way his cerulean eyes glimmer with empathy.
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Ilma]