She glows. Her heavy strands of black hair slide /
Like serpents over somber, blood-red plush.
☼
The glare of the too-bright sun began to fade as her eyes adjusted, their white sheen never diverting as she watched him, a dark silhouette taking the more distinctive shape of a man. He was kind enough to see through her façade with courtesy, and Hälla marked the dip of his chin with a scored tally of triumph. The pale lashes of her eyes twitched, fringing the eggshell glower of her countenance in a look of distrust. His chivalry was placed within the recesses of her mind, an armorless knight who stood, perhaps unfittingly, among the desert.
She wondered, indeed, where it was he came from.
Her eyes flashed in answer to his words, the corner of her lips spasming with something betraying wry humor. “By all means,” she agreed coolly. “Forget about it.” Hälla spoke as if, somehow, echoing his offer would be a command of her own making. Her leonine tail flicked as her chin remained at its incline, beholding him with a drawn brow.
Even as her knees knocked, she stood proud. Even as the desert that was meant to be her home slipped beneath her feet, her hooves hungry for traction, she didn’t dare to break the steady hold of their shared eye contact, whether to intimidate him or to gauge his intention, she couldn’t be sure.
More likely, it was to watch how he watched her—to see how he mirrored her step forward, to assess the concerned slope of his aged countenance. Beside the lightness of his words, it was almost enough to thaw her bitterness. Almost.
The venom remained, but she tucked the fangs away.
She wet her parched lips as he made his introductions, committing the delicacies of his words to memory.
(She remembered being perceptive, being intuitive—she remembered her hunger to know the deeper intricacies of a person, and to unravel what made their gears turn. For him, she would wager it to be concern and comfort; to be warmth and stability. The vacancy of her mind left ample room for the details to occupy, and so she drank each one in with fervor.)
“Avallac’h from elsewhere, then,” she echoed. He didn’t ask for her name, and she didn’t yet offer it, focusing instead on righting her hooves beneath her. Her gaze only dropped to turn towards the horizon, another aimless (purposeful) step taken forward.
She’d just woken. How could it be, then, that her first encounter could be with someone so… kind?
Her dreams (memories?) had taught her to expect otherwise.
He reiterated his concern for her, and she drew in a breath, dragging her eyes back to where he stood. “I’ve rested for long enough,” how long, exactly, she couldn’t say—neither could she say where her hooves intended to take her. Once she gathered the strength, the stability, she knew her legs would devour the ground—and take her some place far, far from the tombs.
Her mouth twitched again as his mind unclasped the cloak that tangled around his throat, drawing the red cloth from the dun of his skin. Her body angled towards him, a brow quirked as the flutes of her ears perked. Dry amusement shone in her eyes, though her expression remained otherwise unchanging.
“Are you asking me to rest, Avallac’h?” She shook her head, daring another step forward. His intention was innocent, she could glean that much without effort, but the dark of the tomb had been wretchedly empty of laughter. "Don't be so quick to undress for my benefit," was her reply to his courtesy, but the apprehension within her voice had ebbed just a hair.
A bit of sand gave way beneath her foot, but she stubbornly righted herself and walked forward, angling an inch passed him. She had no intention of lingering over her would-be grave.
“Put your cloak on and come with me,” she instructed, her tail flicking as she bypassed him. “Do you always look for damsels in the desert?”
