i feel hope deep in my bones; tomorrow will be beautiful
It is unnerving to be blind in this precarious moment, sightless in the face of those he has already managed to intrude upon. He does not know whose eyes he had borrowed, though he can tell by the way those eyes had looked down at his companion that the creature must be large. He can also tell, though it is more of a guess drawn from logical conclusions and less from any kind of sturdy certainty, that there is a bond between them. It is in the way the girl had looked at Lumos (not Lumos, of course not Lumos) with such gentle worry, such easy affection.
That, more than anything, makes him feel out of place among the pair of strangers in this forest.
He is quiet for so long, holding his breath and the beats of his heart, holding his thoughts as close to his chest as he knows how. He doesn’t know what happens next, isn’t sure if he should stay or go or if these strangers have already gone. They are so quiet, until they aren’t. Until a few footsteps, not equine, break the silence, and a girl’s voice follows them like an echo.
It’s just me.
Her voice is like a melody, soft and sweet and in a song he’s certain he’s never heard before. It is delicate and fragile, but not weak, and the burning curiosity to see her face again hits him with a ferocity that is almost disabling. He’s already lost the details of her in his sudden fear, can’t recall the color of her eyes or the shape of her face beneath her forelock, isn’t even sure if he remembers the shade of her hair - though it might have been dark like his.
Just Olena.
He decides in an instant that her name is as beautiful as the sound of her voice, and the way he imagines he can hear the hint of a smile in the shape of her lips makes him smile too. His is subtle, almost wary, but it curves across his mouth like shy midnight. “I’m Lumos.” He tells her, and he does not mention that he thinks she sounds like more than a ‘just’.
There is a sound nearby, the sound of movement and vegetation crushed beneath hooves, and for a moment his face jerks blindly in that direction. But the sound disappears and after one long, distrustful moment he shrugs it away. She asks if he is looking for someone and he shakes his dark head, turning back towards the sound of her voice. “I don’t know anyone.” He says, and his words are as gentle as the quiet of his body language. “I think I may have upset your friend.” He admits after a moment, and the words taste full of bitter sorry on his tongue. And then, “Are you looking for someone?”
Lumos
