Forget what we’re told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that’s bursting into life.
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that’s bursting into life.
This was not the first time that she had waltzed through the stage of the Night Markets with lyrics on her lips and a song on her tongue, her elegant steps guiding her with the poise and fluidity of a dancer. She sang as though the world was not there to listen, as though none could hear the sweet, melodic vocals which she used to defer and douse her own inner anxieties and demons. It was a strange tactic; avoiding curious stares and the fear of catching attention by simply singing, doing the very thing of catching attention but becoming so focused on the words of her song and the pitch of her voice to let those insecurities melt away like the ice caps on the Arma.
That was what she was doing now; dancing, twisting about through the crowds, flitting from market stall to market stall and humming, singing twisting melodies and gentle love songs like caresses from her pale lips. Occasionally her words of love and adventure would halt to exchange a few words with a particularly kind vendor, to which she would curtsy cutely before continuing on her path. Runaveig had no goal tonight. There was nothing in which she was searching for, no shiny trinket or item. She simply wanted to get to know this land that, while born and raised, she knew so very little about.
Growing quiet as she once more stopped at another vendor, admiring the flowers and various beautiful, shiny trinkets he had on display, Runaveig had not expected to be approached so brazenly. A dark figure stepped and shifted up next to her, and unconsciously the dusk maiden altered herself and shuffled a little to the right so as to give him more room. Golden eyes lifted and glanced his way, just a furtive thing, to find his eyes rooted upon her. Just as soon as she caught his eye, his soft, pensive ’hi’ echoed in her ears. She blinked.
The man was not one she had seen before, but then again, most natives of Denocte fell into that peculiar category. He was as dark as the very night their court was named after, but it took a moment for Runa to realize that he was not covered in dark hairs as much as he was covered in black scales, almost like Umbra’s very own if not for the lack of an opalescent sheen. Waves of golden hair fell about his neck, other ticks of golden accents quick to be noticed by her inquisitive eyes. Curiosity bubbled like a rude little goblin beneath her breast, urging her to question him and his origins. He appeared a horse, but he had scales that moved and rippled like flesh. How very curious!
In response to his sheepish greeting, Runaveig smiled balefully, averting her golden eyes for the briefest of moments before lifting her head to catch his stare once more. She nearly flushed from the intensity of his scrutiny, but seemed to not mind it. “Hello.” Her response was soft and sweet, just as melodic and beautiful as the vocals that had previously left her lips. When it became obvious that he was more interested in her than the wares upon the table, Runa shifted a little more, not wishing to be in the way of anyone who were genuinely interested in the trinkets that the vendor was trying to sell.
The ebony-scaled man questioned her once more, but this time bringing up the song that she had previously been singing. The dusk-woman’s lips parted in a soft ‘oh’, brows lifting in surprise, but then she smiled, bright, beautiful, and stunning.
“You’re a singer as well?” She asked, intrigue and curiosity coloring her sweet words. “Nonsense, I bet you’re a lovely vocalist. It, um… It was a song about a long-lost love, a song I learned from the gypsies that I grew up with. I could teach it to you, if you’d like?” After all, there was never any harm in two entertainers meeting to practice together. That was the beauty of what they did.
’I’m Only. I just got here.’ Runaveig’s pretty face lit up just a little bit brighter and she nodded.
“Hello, Only. I’m Runaveig. You can call me ‘Runa’, though, if you would like to.” She paused, blinked, and then smiled bashfully, turning her muzzle away as though shy. “I don’t mind.”
From the very shadows around them, a lithe figure seemed to appear out of the very shadows themselves. The petite dragon shifted and twirled through the air, appearing with yellow-green eyes to peer out at the scaled equine dubbed ‘Only’ to land and settle upon Runaveig’s croup. The black, opalescent pygmy dragon crawled up Runaveig’s back to rest comfortably upon her shoulders, seeming to stare and judge the man engaging his bond-mate in conversation.
Runaveig giggled fondly, the feel of Umbra’s claws tickling her spine, then twisted her head around to press a loving kiss upon the dragon’s smoothe forehead. “I’m so sorry. And this is Umbra, my precious best friend.”
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