He is the quiet of fog drifting in to nearly touch her, but she moves and, much like fog, he swirls away with a whispered breath. She is not sure where he came from or how he managed to come so quietly and unseen, but now he is the only thing she can look at. He is white and armored, with splashes of red and quiet eyes that match. She finds she likes the armor if only because it makes him odd like her, solid where he should be soft and warm. But his tail is strange in a way that might’ve made the hairs stand along her spine if she still had any left.
So she focuses on his face again, on the way those red eyes examine her just like she had been examining him. She wonders what he must think, if he also finds comfort in the strangeness of her body, or if perhaps he feels politely horrified. But then his eyes flicker and she all but falls into the soft smile that changes the shape of that quiet mouth. Her eyes lift to his again, pink as springe petals, and there is a soft kind of sunshine waiting for him if he looks up too.
But instead he backs up, making soft snorts and quiet whickers that thaw some of the ice in her chest because this boy seems so gentle, so full of a kind of quiet she’s only ever glimpsed. She wants to follow his retreat, wants to make sure he doesn’t slip away like the fog he so reminds her of, but she thinks any step she takes forward will push him back three more. So after a moment of thinking, with a brow that might’ve wrinkled in concentration if it could, she shakes her head until the apples drop around her feet with a soft thump thump thump. Then so carefully, with that shy pink tourmaline gaze wandering over every curve and hollow of his downcast face, she reaches down and rolls a shining red apple into the shadow of his hooves and waits.
linnea
these wildfires grow and grow until a brand new world takes shape
@[scorpio]