i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Rune has long been his compass, though one he does not consult as often as he should. The large eagle is as stodgy as Reave is impetuous. Even now he sweeps overhead, whispering his admonishment for the heedless sprint that had brought Reave here. As usual, the bone-armored stallion ignores his companion.
His gaze drops to the mare’s delicate features as she offers her pretty apology, wry skepticism written across his shrouded features. Just as she cannot hide her laughter, neither can he hide his cynical amusement. It seems this morning had been perfectly ripe for the cutting banter they now share.
Reave is perfectly content to leave this as yet nameless stranger the mystery she cloaks herself with. It tantalizes one to peel it away, but there is too much fun to be had in plucking the frayed edges first. It is the journey that appeals to him far more than any destination ever had. And that is perhaps why he always remains so fickle and inconstant.
His eyes gleam as she sidles a few steps closer, roaming so openly that one could almost believe he has nothing to hide. Her question causes him to tilt his head slightly, blinking slowly as a smile begins creeping across his lips. After a silence brimming with anticipation, he finally replies, “Distracting myself.” Shifting, he steps closer just as she had, until only bare breaths of space separate them. “And is that what you want? To be a distraction?”
@rosemary