03-11-2017, 12:31 PM
Lior stands there like a dark stone. Quiet, observant, useless. He does not reach to her nor would she allow it, he assumes.
The tears that flooded her eyes are slowly stifled but he still sees the cracks underlying her efforts. She is a fragile creature beneath the hard mask. She is vulnerable despite her strength. A small frown accompanied by a furrowed brow distorts his features as he listens to the small words that trip off her lips. She talks of remembrance (he has longed to forget his early years), she talks of magic...of loneliness. It makes the frown deepen as he breaths shallowly with a slightly dip skull, looking for her eyes beneath the curtain of dark hair.
When she raises her head, he does so as well, noting the last single droplet on the side of her cheek. He seems much of himself in her. Broken and rebuilt many times. Perhaps that is why she sought him in the depths of the cold winter woods. "Don't be sorry...it's fine." Weighted words split his dark lips as he watches her. He is a stupid man and is not well acquainted with crying mares so he stands there, silent and watching. With a bit of effort, he attempts to avert the conversation, the only way he really knows to heal, is to ignore it. "Magic? What kind?" The words grind together, rusted and gritty, as he asks. Beqanna held so many different facets. He wonder what kind she spoke of.
The tears that flooded her eyes are slowly stifled but he still sees the cracks underlying her efforts. She is a fragile creature beneath the hard mask. She is vulnerable despite her strength. A small frown accompanied by a furrowed brow distorts his features as he listens to the small words that trip off her lips. She talks of remembrance (he has longed to forget his early years), she talks of magic...of loneliness. It makes the frown deepen as he breaths shallowly with a slightly dip skull, looking for her eyes beneath the curtain of dark hair.
When she raises her head, he does so as well, noting the last single droplet on the side of her cheek. He seems much of himself in her. Broken and rebuilt many times. Perhaps that is why she sought him in the depths of the cold winter woods. "Don't be sorry...it's fine." Weighted words split his dark lips as he watches her. He is a stupid man and is not well acquainted with crying mares so he stands there, silent and watching. With a bit of effort, he attempts to avert the conversation, the only way he really knows to heal, is to ignore it. "Magic? What kind?" The words grind together, rusted and gritty, as he asks. Beqanna held so many different facets. He wonder what kind she spoke of.
I want you to remember