05-13-2023, 01:48 AM
The pulse of anger thumping her heart slowed, although she was hesitant to release her anger. She was aware that the proportion of her reaction was unfairly volatile, but the tightness of her jaw and purse of her lips did not soon release. If only because she wanted him to suffer through her ire a little while longer. Even if the story that flowed forth swept aside some of the emotion that caused it in the first place. She wished Sören had but shared the fullness of the truth last night, but now she could sample the drips of such awareness amid the fantastical words pouring from his mouth. When he described the sacrifice of his friend, her face suddenly tilted up, settling on the paleness of his eyes. The colors were matched perfectly, she thought, and only upon deeply peering into their watery depths could she discern something different about the cloned organ compared to its mate. He was willing to subject himself for a cause, but the sharpness of his jaw and curl of his posture told her that he grieved what was taken instead. Had he put this friend in danger as he had her? No matter intentions, accidents happened. Did the friend walk willingly into the maw of death? Or did he only realize it once the trap was snared? It sounded like an agonizing death. She was near to reaching out to those tightly clasped fists when he moved instead.
The sudden tug of the sweater flared her eyes to moons. For all the fire within, it did little to keep her actually warm. To take off her clothes in that moment would freeze her to ice yet he did as much without hesitation. She could see the arcs and ridges of his body clung to his undershirt. It was almost obscenely damp. For a woman raised on the sea, where clothes were annoying tolerances when all they wanted to live in was swimwear and walk bare foot, she did not understand the flush of her reaction. Yet doggedly, she would not look aside. Her attention followed where he led like a fish on the line to the shapes and writing dotting his forearm.
She’d never heard anyone speak of such things out loud. Even the King Nāgarāja was silent on such matters but what Kemala needed for herself, specifically. She was fascinated by his tale as much as she was drawn in by his exotic voice the night before, but mostly she concerned that he would catch a cold. She was frowning at the soggy sweater after that, wondering if she could risk using the power of tenaga dalam to pull the water from the fibers, when the shawl began to slip from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t holding it so snug until that very moment. It was as if she was laying in the soft folds of sand warmed by the sun, warm water lapping her toes. The sensation lulled her eyes low to savor the strange transportation home. After a moment to gather her bearings, she looked around herself, and finally studied the shawl now fallen to the crook of her elbow as if it was one of those magical objects he found in the tomb.
When she found no logical explanation, her attention settled on his face. He was watching her so closely that it stole the breath from her lungs. Her lips parted as if to speak words of awe, but they wriggled free of his hook and she imparted her high judgement instead.
“You mean to tell me you could have warmed me up this entire time?” She tsk’d a sniff to hide the smile that threatened to break her smooth expression, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She realized that there were perhaps better choice of words than ways to share warmth, so she shook it off and quickly followed with another. “I will think of how you may repay me ‘in kind’, Sören North Man.”
She sat straighter as she crossed her arms. She assumed he would steer the boat back to shore now, but she had a feeling this was not their final excursion on the water today. Sören still had not captured the trinket that lured him to Baikal.
The sudden tug of the sweater flared her eyes to moons. For all the fire within, it did little to keep her actually warm. To take off her clothes in that moment would freeze her to ice yet he did as much without hesitation. She could see the arcs and ridges of his body clung to his undershirt. It was almost obscenely damp. For a woman raised on the sea, where clothes were annoying tolerances when all they wanted to live in was swimwear and walk bare foot, she did not understand the flush of her reaction. Yet doggedly, she would not look aside. Her attention followed where he led like a fish on the line to the shapes and writing dotting his forearm.
She’d never heard anyone speak of such things out loud. Even the King Nāgarāja was silent on such matters but what Kemala needed for herself, specifically. She was fascinated by his tale as much as she was drawn in by his exotic voice the night before, but mostly she concerned that he would catch a cold. She was frowning at the soggy sweater after that, wondering if she could risk using the power of tenaga dalam to pull the water from the fibers, when the shawl began to slip from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t holding it so snug until that very moment. It was as if she was laying in the soft folds of sand warmed by the sun, warm water lapping her toes. The sensation lulled her eyes low to savor the strange transportation home. After a moment to gather her bearings, she looked around herself, and finally studied the shawl now fallen to the crook of her elbow as if it was one of those magical objects he found in the tomb.
When she found no logical explanation, her attention settled on his face. He was watching her so closely that it stole the breath from her lungs. Her lips parted as if to speak words of awe, but they wriggled free of his hook and she imparted her high judgement instead.
“You mean to tell me you could have warmed me up this entire time?” She tsk’d a sniff to hide the smile that threatened to break her smooth expression, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She realized that there were perhaps better choice of words than ways to share warmth, so she shook it off and quickly followed with another. “I will think of how you may repay me ‘in kind’, Sören North Man.”
She sat straighter as she crossed her arms. She assumed he would steer the boat back to shore now, but she had a feeling this was not their final excursion on the water today. Sören still had not captured the trinket that lured him to Baikal.