She does not shrink away from his touch, yet she doesn't lean into his warmth, either.
So the serpent's pride will not let her lose, yet she finds no joy in the imitation of her skill set - and intriguing, markedly possessive quality that is not lost on Camdis. Still his grin does not waver, watching her with no trace of heat in his gaze, picking apart her every well-timed breath and perfectly punctuated flutter of lashes. She is skilled, she is vicious, she is all things lovely and cruel. His tail snags on a rock or a twig or some other miscellaneous trap for locks like his and the stallion winces as a few dozen strands are ripped from his flesh, but he cannot be bothered to worry much for the lost hair lengths, more shall take their place in time.
Her snort, a mixture of mockery and laughter, draws his attention away from the sting that has begun at the base of his tail, a surprisingly welcome reprieve from the small hurt. His eyes follow the line of her brows as they lift, searching his face for something that she wouldn't find. It was a more genuine expression than he had seen from the lass, and his curiosity piqued - beneath the veil of lullaby laughter and deadly intent, what else lurked beneath Bexley's skin? Did she even know, or was the selt assurance that dripped from her gilded skin a farce as well?
Yet, her sugar sweet siren's song giggles in his ear, a Sweetheart playing off of her tongue and it is an effort not to purposefully misstep, to drive his shoulder toward hers and find out just how graceful a mare Bexley was if she was caught off guard. But her answer is far more entertaining than any stumble or sailor's curse that could fall from those perfect lips.
"Ah," Comes his reply, a brow tweaking heavenward as he stares at her sidelong, smile still toying with the curve of his mouth, "Born a wretch; it seems we have more in common than I had thought." A pause where he takes a contented inhale, adoring the scent of freshness brought along on the coattails of Spring, "And if I have nothing to offer you?"
So the serpent's pride will not let her lose, yet she finds no joy in the imitation of her skill set - and intriguing, markedly possessive quality that is not lost on Camdis. Still his grin does not waver, watching her with no trace of heat in his gaze, picking apart her every well-timed breath and perfectly punctuated flutter of lashes. She is skilled, she is vicious, she is all things lovely and cruel. His tail snags on a rock or a twig or some other miscellaneous trap for locks like his and the stallion winces as a few dozen strands are ripped from his flesh, but he cannot be bothered to worry much for the lost hair lengths, more shall take their place in time.
Her snort, a mixture of mockery and laughter, draws his attention away from the sting that has begun at the base of his tail, a surprisingly welcome reprieve from the small hurt. His eyes follow the line of her brows as they lift, searching his face for something that she wouldn't find. It was a more genuine expression than he had seen from the lass, and his curiosity piqued - beneath the veil of lullaby laughter and deadly intent, what else lurked beneath Bexley's skin? Did she even know, or was the selt assurance that dripped from her gilded skin a farce as well?
Yet, her sugar sweet siren's song giggles in his ear, a Sweetheart playing off of her tongue and it is an effort not to purposefully misstep, to drive his shoulder toward hers and find out just how graceful a mare Bexley was if she was caught off guard. But her answer is far more entertaining than any stumble or sailor's curse that could fall from those perfect lips.
"Ah," Comes his reply, a brow tweaking heavenward as he stares at her sidelong, smile still toying with the curve of his mouth, "Born a wretch; it seems we have more in common than I had thought." A pause where he takes a contented inhale, adoring the scent of freshness brought along on the coattails of Spring, "And if I have nothing to offer you?"
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