She should be running in the opposite direction, not leaning into his touch. Not smiling like a silly girl, as if she has no common sense to speak of. It is his luck that her powers lie dormant, because Bethanie and Sorenson would have advised her to run fast and far, and the Cassady that had grown up with two ghost-guides from the afterlife probably would have heeded their advice. It is his luck that he will have time to earn her trust and affection – however misplaced – before she can earn back her ghost shifting, and have once again two relatives watching her every move. His luck that she probably will tell them they’re the ones being ridiculous, when the inevitably voice their disapproval.
Or perhaps it is her luck. She seeks excitement and adventure, and she is way more likely to find it under his tutelage than theirs.
He’s moved around to her other side, stepping close, and she turns her head towards the feeling, jumping less this time than last when he nibbles behind her ear, down part of her neck. Her name falls from his lips softly, drawn out, and she grins in his general direction, delight lighting up her brown eyes. When he pulls away, she reaches out in return, finding his neck by sheer luck and then returning the grooming gesture, working her way down towards his withers, at the base of his wings. Her sister always said it itched there, just where the feathers met pelt, and when Cassie had been in a sisterly mood it had always been the place Carwyn most liked to be touched and groomed.
It isn’t that she doesn’t, perhaps, want more than friendly – but she doesn’t know anything about that. She doesn’t know how to flirt and touch in that way. This is the best she knows. “What’s your name?” she asks aloud, hoping that will be offered as well.
cassady