Thranduil
Whispers, doubts, and disturbances try to needle their way into his thoughts as he stopped ever so close to her. It lingered like the icey cold in his blood, blanched from his actions all manner of forwardness. More so, it weighed upon him. Perhaps he’d held, and her notice was blind to his internal struggle (it was his hope), but he had not been. He had not been blind to how her action stole from him control, stole from him the meaning and course of their conversation and situation. And now he could not be blind to the consequences and the strange humming intimacy which vibrated between them.
But oh the sun was rising. Slowly and in its own time it brushed the few wild hairs of her mane, and the sharp angle of her jaw in yellowed orange, and on his hips he felt the sun’s warm breath. He was, remember, the moon’s follower, but his coat was made of gold for a reason.
You came. It questioned. It asked. Bidding a confirmation of his existence. She gained only an exhale and tilt of the head. The question tossed back to her. Earth eyes ever try to pierce into hers, to wade through the fog and water and find the threads of something solid. Saddness. Guilt. Insanity. Anything really, but she was lost to him. Yet she wasn’t the sea water below, or the sand slipping under him. She could not slip from him so easily. And it was her shifting shapeless nature that pulled his curiosity ever closer, regardless of the moment in the water. What were her shackles made from? What burden held her in the water? Yes he had come, for she had yet to give him what was promised in her calling. A reason. Her question of his response, was not satisfactory.
Something from you. Crowned head tilts back the other way, ever still tossing back her question tone, her wondering looks. But he was patient, he could wait. And he could read between the lines of her unknowns. Had they taken something from her? The ice of the water had been sharp, but he was certain it was colder up here on the sand.
Crowned head turns back to look at the waves, at last giving her some answer. “The waves can not take what you will not give, or what you leave on shore.” It has returned to the prior lows, a muttering of knowing and lacing of empathy. He turns back, inhaling to speak again, but finds her back away. Harks fold back, a tension shudders through his shoulders, but who could call it concern or frustration?
Yet it pulls from him, stronger than even her call could, a strength and power. She was yielding, if in some small way. And he now felt a grin, rise to his lips, and the gold follows her.
Lengthened strides carry him quickly to her, and at her, if she’d remained on course. “And if it does steal away from me, I’m ever so quick to catch it.” Now it was his turn to promise, his to demand. Deeper than before it was built on the strength she’d just lended. The night was gone, and now the sun was rising, and his coat glittered gold lies and sparkled in dazzling manipulations.
OOC :: <3
"Speech"
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
Down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
@Isra
