[AW] little ghost, so forgotten and small

[Acton]

Acton whatever you feed me I'll feed you right back   “Lucky you,” he said, and the smile he wore was hooked like a scimitar for a brief moment there in the moonlight. For a moment he gloried in it, that he was her world here; there was a space of heartbeats where he wondered how long he could keep it that way. A jealous part of him wanted to keep her secret, keep her in the shadows – selfish, selfish. He was still just a boy, no matter how grown. The thought was shaken from him by her next question. It was not something he had ever been asked; for a rare moment he was caught without a retort ready on his tongue. He stared into those ocean eyes like he might find an answer there, but they only reminded him of the place he had been born, and he would not return there for a king’s ransom. He had shaken the ash and dust from his feet when he left that city, the theatre burning like a pyre behind him. Eventually he remembered the bustle of bodies around them, and eventually his smile found its way back to his mouth. “Here,” he said, and even his heartbeat believed it was true. After all, what else would an orphan boy want but a home? Acton had never had anything of his own; even his dreams were shared. He knew, then, where he would take her. To his family, to the Crows, to one of their several gathering-places in the city that would never sleep. “Come, Isra,” he said, and reached out to touch his muzzle to her dark cheek, the smell of saltwater like tears. The gesture was casual and kindly-intended, but that did nothing to change that it was possessive, too. “I’ll show you why this is my home.” Acton had so few secrets of his own (only one, only one); he has forgotten how to keep them, despite the piece of him that wants to. Once more he turned away from her, to lead the way down paths dappled in moonlight and torchlight and deep living shadow, and it was some strange mixture of arrogance and belief that kept him from looking back.   @Isra