There was an acknowledged emptiness in her chest, a pain with which she was unfamiliar, as she was unfamiliar with so many things that she was experiencing. A hollow where there was not one before, a crater carved against the space behind her ribs, the place her heart rested and beat steadily within her snowy breast. Heartache, if it was something she knew, in some other life she did not recall, she did not hold the memory of it- it was crushing her in this moment; it overwhelmed her senses. It all happened so fast, so quickly, snatched away from what she knew, forced into a new life before the first had even taken root and thrived. There was no soil to grow in, a seed that had no sustenance to sprout, to make life.
A breath rattles in her lungs as she takes it, slow, steady, long; with that intake of air she wants to cleanse herself from the darkness that was trying to push its way in. One thing that was always trying to get a grip on her, to noose itself around her neck, shadow over her silver.
“You could say I’ve had many lives too…”
His words ring like the tolling of a bell, waking her from the sullen pity she was finding herself in, the self lenity that was not becoming on someone like she. It inspires hope, enough to allow that settling intake of breath to calm her nerves, the tense pieces of her silhouette to unravel from knots.
“You have?’ She asks before thinking, a thing she sometimes did, overwhelmed with her curiosity, drunk on the pleasure of Faith. It is the first time she has carried or displayed any semblance of her old self, her true self, since waking against the giving earth of the river side. Since smelling and seeing everything she did not know, but would know, perhaps, given enough time. Though that was starting to be something she did not have a lot of, a thing that did not work in her favor, things slipping away before she could really complete a single task of her existence.
“I would like that Rouge,” she nods, titling her pearly head towards her chest, chin downward to chest. “I might need your help more than I am prepared to admit,” a small but graceful smile paints her lips, spreading to reveal the warmth she could exude if given the chance. “My name is Reckitt, do you make a habit of protecting?” The forward tone is not to be missed, she was intrigued by his readiness, his willingness to help her, he had no reason to; she had not given him one.
“I am no horse,” she confides, slowly, hushed, as though the water insects might tell her secrets, the nearby trees might keep them, and whisper them among their kin. Before long, too many might know but something inside her could not keep him in the dark, it was not her nature to draw curtains and settle in shadows.
To be alone, it serves no wolf.
<3 @Rouge
