when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
The deep coffee of her dark eyes continue to study him ever so intently, curious in the way her irises click over the dappled grey of his skin (ever the learner, soaking in each detail of the sharp planes of his face with interest, each soft exhale bringing her one step closer to him). He does not fidget beneath her steely gaze, nearly comfortable with the minutes of silence that come between each word they speak. It makes her bolder, braver, and the wolf-woman quickly finds herself poised directly before him, a slight tilt to her head so that her bright, inquisitive eyes could still easily absorb his expressions and body language. There is a soft snort that expels from her golden-blue nostrils as her eyes match to his.
Just a man.
His voice even reminds her of a storm - brewing and festering, bold and fierce. Her mouth pressed into a hard, thin line and her ears turn backward slightly. “Just a man,” she repeats slowly, as if wisened beyond her four years in this world, “there is no such thing as just a mere man.” She’s nearly chiding him, but her voice is suddenly so gentle that the soft sound of amusement flutters through the air. Even the soft corners of her pallid gold mouth upturn ever so slightly, causing the corners of her eyes to glint mischievously. She has never been good at hiding the wolfish-smile that finds her face so naturally in either form.
Again they fall silent, two strangers standing in the midst of winter’s dying breath, where the sweet scent of spring could be sampled on the luscious breeze that filters through them. Alabaster tendrils of forelock and mane scrape gently against the bright, crisp gold of her neck and face; the sunlight sending a flash of electric blue where it struck her.
“I’m Dayé.” She finally offers him her name in the midst of another breath of elongated silence, suddenly remembering the normalcy of trading names. There is no embarrassment or bashfulness in the lateness of introducing herself; just a blank, expectant stare with the slight raising of her brows upwards.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Hurricane]