The moment his crimson eyes turn upon her like hot coals, Nekane loses her words and within the confines of her throat, her breath hitches. The echoes of a mild summer wash over the budding girl, offering a reminder of the season that has come to pass and gifting her with the sensation of security ─ it is a reminder of Ischia, albeit a less humid one, and security here outside of her safe island home, she knows, is not promised. I did, the boy is concise and confident in his answer, leaving Neka to feel intimidated by his presence.
Her own turquoise gaze averts as she finds difficulty in matching the intensity with which he gazes upon her, and it's the flame that crackles low and threatening down his dorsal that her eyes decide to linger. The tiger inside her aches to be set loose, to offer young Nekane a predatory exterior to hide the way her heart palpitates beneath the stranger's vigilant scrutiny.
She denies it.
Her second question is breathier than the first, pushed through her soft maw with force. The temporary nerve she feels does its best to linger as the boy's expression turns pensive and his ruby eyes glance away from her, affording the blue and gold-tressed girl a fleeting opportunity to examine the charring across his face and down his structured neck.
She finds it curious that the fire upon his back and the cracks that sluice his skin bring the boy no pain, though perhaps what is is ─ whatever it is he may be ─ functions just the same as her own abilities. The thought makes her feel small again and when the nameless stranger turns her own question back to her, Neka fumbles with her answer.
“N-not usually,” she tells him after a quiet moment, finding it in her to raise her blue gaze to his red, though her words still waver when met with the lava in his eyes. "But I am not made of fire." It dawns upon her that she could very well mimic him, if only for a short time ─ but there is something about him that feels untouchable. Dangerous, even. And where she usually finds the courage to use her replication freely, today she is at a loss.
Another wave of heat emanates from him, causing her to clear her throat. Suddenly feeling quite parched, the girl turns her gaze to their surroundings in search of a pond or a creek only to realize she has yet to introduce herself to the Boy on Fire, a lapse in etiquette that her father would certainly scold her for, had he been here.
“My name is Neka,” she tells him as her gaze grows bolder and returns to him only to be met with flame and brimstone, “Who are you?”
“”
I will raise hell.