stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails How is it that she is drawn to his company? It is not love, not even infatuation. Her heart doesn’t beat for the opposite sex, but for her own success and achievements. There has been nothing more that she has craved in life except to exceed her mother in the sisterhood and to make her Amazon ancestors proud. Her bloodline is thick with passionate woman, but how many she isn’t sure. It’s the Jungle that pulses through her veins, not love or motherhood or company; it’s power. Stillwater cannot offer her more than what she has currently and yet she pursues his scent as it permeates the air around her. It’s still on her coat and hovering in the tissue of her nostrils, burdening her at all hours. A quiver runs the length of her spine as she alters her route to find him, but she is in no immediate rush. With a lackadaisical gait she finds him as the sun begins its gradual descent toward the horizon. ”Stillwater,” his name slips from her tongue nonchalantly as though this is just another day, another meeting with no ulterior motive. There is no generous smile because the gesture isn’t quite so common as it would be for others. Alternatively, Nayl prefers to appear stoic although her eyes will blaze with her inner emotions – anger, passion, curiosity – and give some insight as to what is churning in her mind. It’s why she prefers her forelock to conceal her pretty face. Her mind is always protected (it’s rejuvenating to know her mental barrier has been restored) but that doesn’t shield her eyes that are gateways into a scrap of what she knows and wants. While one may guess as to what her fiery eyes are saying, they can only skim the surface of her inner workings, leaving them wanting more. Her footsteps are mere whispers across the sand as she takes her place near him to bathe in his musky odor. Their eyes find one another easily enough but then she looks away as a breeze tousles her locks. ”Are you frightened of my plans, Stillwater?” For a long moment she avoids his gaze, but then she cannot resist any longer. A feeble grin fights its way across her velvet lips as she peers up at him as though taking pleasure in the memory she has of him bristling under her stare at their meeting before he quietly dismissed himself. ”I saw the way you looked at me,” not only did she see, but she also felt his hesitation, tasted his questioning thoughts. Nayl covet and myrina's creation