Beqanna time is not the time of other worlds, its non-linear aspects split and muddle, shift and slow. Sometimes it speeds past you in a blinding whirlwind and other times winter months can be winter years. It’s a moody thing that no one pays much mind too. She watches tantalized by the expanding of his chest. Is he… is he scenting her? eyelids widen while nerves twist around in her stomach. Thoughts whizzing through her mind. Does she stink that badly? Her tail clamps down hoping to prevent the wind from carrying any scent his way. Even as she knows it wont help, it makes her feel better. Almost like a self-hug, if horses could do that sort of thing.
His lips harden and she thinks its in anger, her breath hitches. She doesn’t like it when others are angry at her, which is a riot considering how angry she gets at others. She is in some ways a walking contradiction. All hard edges and cold piercing words. Yet she likes warmth, and happy people around her, or at least quietly broody people. She wants the desire of most mares, but often finds herself preferable to her own company. A walking contradiction. Instead of being happy with who she is, was, she strives and hungers for more. Almost like she wants to always be unhappy. But is that true? She doesn’t want to be that way, she wants to find peace and love and all that. And right now she thinks maybe she is at the closest to achieving and accepting it. She’s teetering on an edge she doesn’t understand, rolling back and forth almost falling from edge before finding herself at the opposite end once again.
She flicks her tail flipping her ears back to her skull. Stubbornly she flashes daggers with her eyes. She doesn’t answer him. Can’t bring herself to answer him. Not at first. But looking into his lavender gaze, she takes a breath, a small one, y-yes, I no longer fear anyone. This time it’s a bit quieter, not so edgy or biting in her candor. She watches him look around the land and finds no abhorrence or distaste present when flicking from one thing to another. She licks her lips, itching to explore those scars, and the little nuances of his… skin.
In gazing at him something inside her shifts and she finds herself more aware of her body, more present in her own skin than she has felt in years. This body, this form has always had a sort of distant feel to it. Never has she let herself be grounded or brought fully into this world. She is not familiar with it or herself. It’s a strange and somewhat uncomfortable feeling she experiences. Like in her spirits absence here has grown to be so that there is no room for it when she comes back. Or that she has drifted so far from knowing herself that every little thing is as the world is to a new born babe, Hestia can’t tell which is the more accurate statement. The thoughts are just too much. Something about it is pleasant and makes her want to stay. Another all too familiar piece begs to be let back out, to separate herself from this grounding, and be set free as she can’t handle it, overwhelming to the point of pain. This reaction is so familiar, so strong she doesn’t know how to grasp and hold on to the pleasantness instead latching to the familiar tug to separate and distance herself from her own skin so that she may breath and find her control once more.
His gentle thrum begins once more, soothing and taking the pain from her, gently bringing her back into herself before she can run completely away and begin severing the sensations she experiences with him completely. Her ears warble and she shifts, she can’t find any words to snap at him. She’s a little to pleased at the way he say her name. and the way he demonstrates his respect for her, even without knowing who she truly is, touches her even deeper. She doesn’t fight this time, slowing her steps purposefully to make his eating away the distance quicker. Secretly settling into their side by side rhythm of stepping they’d picked up on their travels to Nerine. Her flames spark at his demand, her eyes flick to the side glinting with challenge at his choice of words, but then he practically whispers her name and she finds she can’t truly stay angry at him. Besides his tone is so gentle she doesn’t think that he could possibly have intended to insult her and make a true demand of her… and when she sees his face its confirmed.
No possible way could he have been attempting to be disrespectful. Especially not after what she showed him she could do to him should he try. She doesn’t quite realize the lust, even as she feels it wrap around her in a soft warmth making her desire to slip in close to him a surfacing itch that is harder and harder to ease. To naïve herself in the ways of lust and love to even realize the flirtiness that could have been read into from her words. To preoccupied by her nerves and general pride to pay any mind to the darker, more male look he gives her. And in her naivety, she continues their conversation still finding herself unaware of all his intentions. Where did you live before deciding on here Murc? Genuinely curious, her attention is divided between picking her way down the path, listening to his voice, and every so often brushing against him as if to make sure he wasn’t the voice in her head taking shape and fooling her. I mean heck she even let the past get in the way of a fling with Castile, AND Walter. How is it that she doesn’t do so now? He’s here now, and stubbornly not letting her slip from him. A small part of her leaps for joy at this.
HESTIA
The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm
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