She sees him long before he is close enough to speak, yellow and black and white. Her skin shivers as an unusually chilling breeze slithers across her back, and she wonders, for a moment, if winter comes back early in this place. How could it?
”Last time I was here there was a hell of a party going on.” She smiles softly, but catches his roots in his voice and thinks it would be a shame for him to love her, when he can offer so little. ”I suppose this is closer to the usual excitement level in Delumine. Shame.” Yes, shame. She tilts her head slightly, the silken hair of her tail whispering across the grass as it sways back and forth slowly, thoughtfully. She says, ”Do you think so? Whenever we visit, we make a party.” If he is not permitted to love her, she supposes she will show her roots, too. It is hardly the way of most places to celebrate from morning to morning every day, but a day with her people is always a celebration.
@Acton
@Acton
"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."
![[Image: 26y3cfu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/26y3cfu.png)
plotter
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