10-11-2021, 06:21 PM
how can i put it down into words,
when it's almost too much for my soul alone
She is certain when he speaks that this is someone new, someone she does not know. The voice is wholly unfamiliar, and though she thinks she might like the shade of amusement that colors his tone, she isn’t sure what would be amusing about families fleeing their homes. It makes her feel unsure, the first shy prickles of doubt that don’t yet bloom into full wariness as she steps close enough to touch him.when it's almost too much for my soul alone
“Why?” She wonders aloud, soft and unsure, suddenly worried about her own family and where they might be, how she will ever find them if they are gone from this place. “Did something happen here?” She has already forgotten that a moment ago she wasn’t sure if she should trust him. That the subtle amusement was a poor match to his words.
But when he leans closer and she can smell the stink of blood on him again, wariness blooms in full within the cage of her delicate ribs. “No,” she says, and the words feels out of place, like a shield she doesn’t realize she is trying to raise between them, “I can smell the blood. I know you’re hurt.” She is speaking so softly, whispering because the hairs prickling along her spine are trying to tell her that something is not quite right.
But she is stubborn or she is stupid, and when she reaches blindly for him again it is with a determination to find his wounds and have her suspicions verified. She touches his mane first, some of it feels dry and crunchy, other parts still damp and sticky. All of it smells like iron though, like something that makes her want to gag and pull away from him.
Her brain is trying to tell her that it is too much blood to be his, too much stink for him to be moving quietly and speaking coherently. But her heart is so loud and it tells her brain not to worry so much, this place is safe because it is home, she’s just scared because she’s a little turned around, a little lost.
“I could help you wash this off.” She says after a moment, quiet and unsure and still reluctantly unwilling to acknowledge that in all her quiet exploration of his neck and his chest and shoulder, she had found no injury. “I’m headed home, but it can wait a bit.” She lifts her face to his, orienting herself by the sound of his quiet breaths before reaching up to touch her nose to the sound of it, the sound of him. “My name is Splendora.” A smile, still unsure but gentle, like silver starlight in a midnight sky. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
@Gale