stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails It’s invigorating – so exciting – to know that her secrets remain untouched far beyond prying fingers. They are hers and hers alone, but she of course divulges in some. She can’t tell them everything, but she tells them just enough to satisfy their thirst. Stillwater is no different, but she simultaneously wants to tell him everything. His scent drowns her, intoxicates her, and she almost reaches forward to touch him. They are close – so very near – and his body heat is tangling with her own. She reaches until her whiskers gingerly touch his coat, her heart pattering. Then she stops. Before they can touch, Nayl retracts. Her mouth opens to utter a feeble excuse, but nothing can mask the truth. She has never touched a man and the curiosity is nipping at her heels and eating away at her. It would seem natural to curl herself into the side of a man and yet it’s a frightening concept that would involve her losing dominance over something – someone. Her influence would wither, her independence recede (or so her mind screams when she draws in another lungful of his scent). A storm brews in her mind, but her eyes are steely and unyielding. A brittle grin returns his neutral expression and probing question. The waves play as a momentary distraction as she slips forward to nearly block their oceanic view. It’s a lulling sound that eases her mind despite the gravity of the situation weighing down her shoulders. ”Surprisingly, I’m not entirely heartless,” there has been rumors that she was intending to quash, that being one of them, but their conversation is beyond shattering first impressions and lies. There is a close intimacy tethered to them and cementing them to this patch of beach with the sun looming closer to the horizon. The wind briefly strengthens and caresses her slender body, her forelock and mane whipping across her face as she looks at him. ”Stillwater,” again she says his name like it’s a drug, ”I want you to make an oath to me. I want to know I can trust you and that I can depend on you.” To say this and to admit to the potential of trusting someone almost weakens her. She doesn’t move and her breath catches in her throat as though incapacitated by fear of rejection. Of course, she wants him to oblige. She wants him all to herself. Nayl covet and myrina's creation