Elchanan caught by guile, cut down by lust It would be foolish of Elchanan not to look him over, this golden stallion so obviously a stranger from a strange land.
So he looks him over. Watches. Keeps watching, slyly, coolly, gaze arced gracefully sideways through a swath of pale lashes that do not flinch against the incoming sun. Carefully he keeps his head close to his chest. Around them the port-shop is quiet; the smell of salt, of old wood and new boats, filters in through the just-cracked windows. Elchanan’s wings are tucked against his ribs, his staff left propped in a closet at home. For now he does not look dangerous. He looks like nothing but a pretty boy who could be a fool but isn’t quite.
The stranger goes to sit, and Elchanan takes his time picking over the wares. Glass jars of loose-leaf tea in many shades, smelling of many different fruits and flowers. Sweet, soft buns flaked with butter. Soda bread stuffed with dried fruits. Hard, shiny red pomegranates, piles of brown-skinned almonds that smell faintly toasted, braided loaves of pillowy dough. Minutes pass, then more; he has always been particular. Picky, some had said.
Eventually he wanders up to the counter, bearing a cup of cider and a slice of soft, fruit-studded bread nearer to a cake than anything else: when the shopmaster informs him that the wares have already been paid before, Elchanan only blinks once in surprise before his brain connects the dots, and his pale lips twist into a wry smile. He smooths down a ruffled layer of eggshell-blue feathers, works a knot from his neck without disrupting the row of neat, pale braids wound into his mane, and then without further distraction he turns to the stranger’s table.
He takes a seat, without asking.
And he smiles, to match the stranger’s: brilliant, dangerous, and threaded with just the finest suggestion of his charm-magics, thin and pretty as a veil of gold.
“That was kind of you,” says Elchanan, though he knows very well it was not meant to be kind. From deep in his throat his voice is almost a purr, only accentuated by the way he meets the stranger’s gaze with his gaze half-darkened. He shifts forward in his seat, just a little.
@ |
