i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
He can almost taste her amusement in the air between them, made all the more heady for the rarity of the memories strung through it. It has always been one of his favorite things, eliciting the unexpected from others. The motive that keeps him moving forward. It hardly matters whether it is humor or rage, so long as it is not what they are used to.
An addict always seeking his latest fix.
The grin widens across his mobile mouth, delight gleaming in the infinite blue of his gaze. She imagines him bursting with light, but it is only partially true. It is not a kind light. Instead it is the way the sun burns ones retinas if one stares up too long when it has reached its zenith. It is as harsh and sharp and damaging as he is in his worst moods. But she, clever creature that she is, seems to know better than to stare.
“Would you feel sorry for me if it did?” he asks softly as she shifts closer, inspecting the ragged edges of his bone-split flesh. He cannot quite keep the humor from his lips, leaving a question that might have elicited pity feeling like a dare instead. Of course, he doesn’t need her sorrow, sweet as it may be.
As she withdraws, distaste rolling off her tongue, Reave can’t seem to stop the laugh that breaks past his throat. He had long ago forgotten the scent of his own blood, common as it is on his skin. He can imagine it though. The tangy copper mixed with the salt of the northern sea. A barbaric scent, if ever there was one, fitting for a creature like him.
He says nothing however, though his amusement makes it clear he takes no offense. And when she turns towards the ocean, Reave is left with a nagging curiosity that drives his steps forward. It’s a novel experience, to trail in another’s wake. He is so often the one in the lead.
As he follows her however, he finds he can’t complain about the view.
What does it feel like to be inside out, she asks, and Reave nearly trips over his own surprise. He laughs again, a full and hearty sound. She continues to surprise him, and Reave has always been a fan of surprises. It could so easily be a taunt, given bite to make him feel somehow less. But from her lips, it feels genuine. Like the curiosity he is so familiar with rather than a tormenting question meant to make him squirm.
But there is no good way to describe it so she might understand. He is silent as they near the waves. She is not moving swiftly, so he draws easily alongside her. His gaze is focused on her rather than the impressive view of the rolling surf. But then, he is used to impressive views. She is something new altogether.
“Like rage,” he finally replies, subtle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “that makes your skin tight and prickly.” He pauses thoughtfully. “And like fear that slices ribbons across your insides.” His eyes are sharp on her. “And unforgiving. Inevitable.” His smile grows. “Is that what you imagined?”
reave
@revelrie