[AW] little ghost, so forgotten and small

[Isra]

Perhaps it's the way his eyes darken to storm clouds and explosions with no warning at all that makes her tremble. Perhaps it's the way this his breath feels like dragon fire against the winter cold of her skin. Perhaps it's nothing more than being too close too soon to something other than dust and cobwebs and darkness. But tremble she does, her skin feels like paper thin leaves over the bark of her bones. She wavers in the night wind that caresses him so. It's not kind to her this night and it whistles through the hollows of her with a bitter, broken sound. Isra is more terrified of the way he is too close than anything else. All she would have to do is sway a little and they would be cheek to cheek, sunlight to gauntness. It remembers, that chest of her memories, the feel of a hot breath on her skin and the touch of lips too close to her ears. Blurry images flash across her gaze and Acton shifts into something else, someone larger. She's nauseous at the vertigo of the flickering image, but the moon shines brighter as a cloud blows away and she forgets why she feels so very sick. Part of her likes the way he smells, smoke and fire and starlight. She wonders, which sensation contributes more to the rolling waves of her stomach, the fear or the anticipation of him. She's spent too long in the confines of her mind again, forgetting that others make words with their lips to share their though. She has forgotten there is a language other than her own and she watches him walk away belatedly. “That is no answer at all.” He's too far away to hear but she bleats the words into the darkness anyway, needing some release from that shiver of her flesh and the thrill of danger that screams. Run, run, run. Her mind tell her to run even now and the chain on her leg jingles like wind-chimes with the fine trembling of her muscles. She's leaning into the shadows at her back, hunger forgotten and eager to flee, when he returns. All she can hear when he smiles are her is the faint echo of how his voice sounded over the word, blood, how easy to was for him to speak of vengeance. The world tilts, and she presses her eyelids tight and tucks her nose to her chest. The gesture points her horn in that wide space between his eyes but she's too lost to the way she can see flashes of blood running down her body to know that she silently threatens him. It's the smell of mash and honey that brings her from the reverie and her eyes are wet and wide with terror and appreciation for the kindness he offers. She's still slow to step towards him, to leave the embrace of those shadows and their silence. “Thank you.” Carefully she reaches out her nose to him, offering a touch not too unlike a wild beast trapped in a snare who knows it is not a hunter who has found them. But her soul is slower to trust. Her soul, broken and shrouded in darkness, knows that kindness is a trick and that it might not survive another fall. * * * * * it's like the sun came out @Acton