Raum once thought of them as a comet and a planet set upon a collision course. The longer she near him now, however, the faster the Crow is coming to realize that they were planets. Always together, never apart, bound and tethered by a bond that pulls them close, keeping them there but never pulling closer.
Watching her slip into the water, he cannot help but marvel when the water does not hiss, does not steam about her skin. Rhoswen is the deadliest kind of fire, worse than the sun that sinks into his skin, threatening to melt it from his bones. This girl works deeper, her fire would burn a soul and his is already blistering.
“I had.” He murmurs, something akin to resignation whispering in his words, as he drops her buckets into the water for her. Words play upon his tongue, desperate to be asked, filled with the sharpness of a knife for all his resentment. But, instead of loosing them, his eyes flit to the surroundings. He wishes for no more attention upon him, upon her. Safety here is for him to be perceived as uninteresting in every way. He was more exposed than he ever had been and the girl of fire was a renegade in his plans. One he had hoped to avoid.
Fool.
Haughtily she pushes past him, the flick of her tail catching across his chest. It is not often he was caught out. It is not often someone else moves faster than he. The sun was making him slow, dulling his senses.
Lifting his head swiftly to avoid her dismissive tail, his own ears fall to his skull like tumbling towers. The crow, silver to her crimson, is aware of her standing close, firestone within the fleeing waters. Rhoswen’s stormy eyes contrast the blue, blue liquid of the river. Every nerve strains to ignore the creature beside him and smooth his skin of dispassionate silver, as sleek and uncontainable as the water that flows by.
Her threat demands his attention, pulling it from where he worked to fill his buckets. They flit to her for a moment, but it was a moment too short for a retort for her own final, retort comes like smoke after a blaze.
Her sideways glance is enough to miss the water snagging within her bucket, pulling the sling and opposing pail downstream. He lunges closer to her, catching the runaway bucket with a hoof, lingering close, too close. They are light to dark, water to fire. He stays just long enough to murmur, “So you say, Rhoswen. Best to keep your eye on your buckets if you wish to stop a Crow interfering.” Then like moonlight he is gone. The space yawns open between them once again, as if they were never there, so close; little more than fire and ice.
@Rhoswen ha! I think he might have just flirted, in his own backhanded kinda way.
Watching her slip into the water, he cannot help but marvel when the water does not hiss, does not steam about her skin. Rhoswen is the deadliest kind of fire, worse than the sun that sinks into his skin, threatening to melt it from his bones. This girl works deeper, her fire would burn a soul and his is already blistering.
“I had.” He murmurs, something akin to resignation whispering in his words, as he drops her buckets into the water for her. Words play upon his tongue, desperate to be asked, filled with the sharpness of a knife for all his resentment. But, instead of loosing them, his eyes flit to the surroundings. He wishes for no more attention upon him, upon her. Safety here is for him to be perceived as uninteresting in every way. He was more exposed than he ever had been and the girl of fire was a renegade in his plans. One he had hoped to avoid.
Fool.
Haughtily she pushes past him, the flick of her tail catching across his chest. It is not often he was caught out. It is not often someone else moves faster than he. The sun was making him slow, dulling his senses.
Lifting his head swiftly to avoid her dismissive tail, his own ears fall to his skull like tumbling towers. The crow, silver to her crimson, is aware of her standing close, firestone within the fleeing waters. Rhoswen’s stormy eyes contrast the blue, blue liquid of the river. Every nerve strains to ignore the creature beside him and smooth his skin of dispassionate silver, as sleek and uncontainable as the water that flows by.
Her threat demands his attention, pulling it from where he worked to fill his buckets. They flit to her for a moment, but it was a moment too short for a retort for her own final, retort comes like smoke after a blaze.
Her sideways glance is enough to miss the water snagging within her bucket, pulling the sling and opposing pail downstream. He lunges closer to her, catching the runaway bucket with a hoof, lingering close, too close. They are light to dark, water to fire. He stays just long enough to murmur, “So you say, Rhoswen. Best to keep your eye on your buckets if you wish to stop a Crow interfering.” Then like moonlight he is gone. The space yawns open between them once again, as if they were never there, so close; little more than fire and ice.
@Rhoswen ha! I think he might have just flirted, in his own backhanded kinda way.
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
