some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
Oh Leonidas. He does not know how she interprets the way he watches her. He does not think that she might be offended by the way he gazes in a golden mixture of curiosity and wariness upon her beautifully woven mane. He thinks her a strange and enchanting enigma. She will only become more so in his mind. Leonidas has been a solitary lonely boy for most of his life and this girl is a puzzle he has no experience in deciphering.
Maybe he is too much his mother’s son.
Maybe his thoughts are too clearly etched upon his beautiful elven face, gleaming out as clear and bright as the sun. Does she see them as clearly as she sees the gold of his body?
The wildwood boy is taken aback at her bold confession. He looks to the butterfly wings and knows how they flutter when alive. Leonidas has done terrible things to remain alive within his dangerous woods, he does not think for a moment to judge her. Yet his stomach does twist for the lives lost at this girl’s delicate hands. He would count the wings (if he knew how) and note each life lost - even if he does not know their significance, how they represent each piece of a lost soul. Fourteen. The girl says and he does not react except to repeat the word, softly, rough as new bark, as he gazes at her hair and wonders what that word might mean.
Poor Leonidas cannot stop watching her. Her every reaction is an unsettling surprise. She is brave in a moment and then in the beat of a dismembered wing she shivers like a fearful fawn. She backs away as he too flees her, chastised. Her bottom is against a tree and as he glances warily to her from the corner of his eye, he sees how her own eyes gleam in the dark hollows of the mask.
He is indeed thinking of leaving, at least putting more distance between them when she commands him to stay. Only surprised, the girl says pressed up against her tree. The orphan boy is unconvinced, yet turns to gaze at her more fully again. He watches the way her slender limb paws at the frozen ground. She seems restless, she makes him ever more uneasy, unsure. He thinks she is the strangest thing the wood has ever yielded. Beautiful, but odd. Not once does Leonidas think that he is the strange one, the boy without any social skills, fumbling his way through each and every encounter. This is his strange and lonely life, he does not think it could be any other way.
Leonidas would grow daisies for her, if he could hear how she laments their winter death. He would raise flowers for her if it might stop her peeling the wings off butterflies.
Don't you know what your stare would do to a girl other than me? Still the boy stands, caught in an uneasy mix between a brave stag and a wary rabbit. His antlers, gold and bright as a crown, dip with the submissive, wary lowering of his head. “No.” The boy breathes, his thick, dark lashes lowering with confusion over his brow.
Should he know what his stare would do to another girl? Suddenly he realises how he has still been staring at her, attempting to fathom what she means and how to act around her. He blinks, looking away, out into the wood. It is easier there, he thinks, in the wood where no one can find him. The temptation to flee rises, his limbs itch. The girl steps out from under the bough like a fairy, and her skull gleams bewitchingly. Should he look at her? The feral boy wonders and sighs with bemused confused and frustration. Still he does not dare look at her, but gazes intently at a blade of grass as if it might expose for him the answer to this girl’s enigmatic manner. Instead his magic blooms beneath his intent and a flower buds, blossoming and unfurling out into the cold.
@Maybird
