03-24-2020, 10:40 PM
He studied the pattern on her hand, and she let him do so without complaint despite that it threatened to bring less pleasant memories to the fore. It blazed a warning, that mark; reminded her to try once more to leave a message for her Other, to run run run. But since the stranger did not comment beyond a cool glance, the consideration drifted for later consumption. Nim was too curious of the moment, and more than content to follow where he led. At least for the moment.
She leaned into his words. The proclamation shivered through her visibly, but her eyes never wavered from attention. “A refuge?” she whispered. “I see only the ending.”
He retreated, hands returned to the depths of his pockets. Nim was left blinking and remembering the green shoot burst from barren ground. Remembering the Grey Lady and her wind-tossed words.
Though it felt like progress, the thought never circled to full conclusion. She half smiled at the gift offered in its wake, amusement twinkling her gaze for the strange sort of serendipity. It grew to pleasant laughter. “So was I,” she said. “Before. I’ve been many, but a long time nothing in between.” Her words tailed a little, anticipating the confusion most displayed for her riddles. It usually didn’t matter so much what others thought, but he seemed kind and his eyes saw. Tristan’s promises and betrayal soaked her mind with uncertainty. She forgave the wolf brother, of course, but it still stung how quickly he had abandoned her in the halls of the asylum.
A girl in a tower with no key.
Where did this stranger wake?
She bit her lip and made an unusual effort to focus. She could ask him for help on Mara’s behalf, or even her own (the scar, don’t forget the scar) but she wanted to do this first. “Nimeda was a gift to me from a friend,” she explained. “Could I offer the same? A gift?”
She leaned into his words. The proclamation shivered through her visibly, but her eyes never wavered from attention. “A refuge?” she whispered. “I see only the ending.”
He retreated, hands returned to the depths of his pockets. Nim was left blinking and remembering the green shoot burst from barren ground. Remembering the Grey Lady and her wind-tossed words.
Though it felt like progress, the thought never circled to full conclusion. She half smiled at the gift offered in its wake, amusement twinkling her gaze for the strange sort of serendipity. It grew to pleasant laughter. “So was I,” she said. “Before. I’ve been many, but a long time nothing in between.” Her words tailed a little, anticipating the confusion most displayed for her riddles. It usually didn’t matter so much what others thought, but he seemed kind and his eyes saw. Tristan’s promises and betrayal soaked her mind with uncertainty. She forgave the wolf brother, of course, but it still stung how quickly he had abandoned her in the halls of the asylum.
A girl in a tower with no key.
Where did this stranger wake?
She bit her lip and made an unusual effort to focus. She could ask him for help on Mara’s behalf, or even her own (the scar, don’t forget the scar) but she wanted to do this first. “Nimeda was a gift to me from a friend,” she explained. “Could I offer the same? A gift?”