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.
Leonidas?!
Even exclaimed his name still sounds nice upon her tongue. He is pleased that she remembered it and said it. He is used to being forgotten, he wants to be forgotten.
But not by Aspara.
Though the way she says his name sends a shiver of delight through him, the boy’s eyes are focussed upon the other boy. Apsara steps back as he steps close. An ear switches to follow her path and the wild-wood boy doubts himself as he crowds into the small space where she and the other boy are stood. Though she draws away from him and settles his anxiety by the way she says his name, none of them are enough to dissuade him from the look he levels upon the other boy.
Leonidas not dare to move any closer to Aspara, not since she moved away from him. But he does make himself taller, broader, more fearsome. He has seen the way the spring stags level against each other, their displays of power, their height, their agility. They use everything to win themselves a female and see off their rival. The forest boy does not dwell on why he wants Aspara to choose him but stands tall against the other boy. Until… until Aspara’s chin tips up and the air prickles with the static of her anger. Already his show was not going to plan.
The vines in his antlers sway as he glances toward her. The boy does too and Leonidas’ ears fall back with displeasure. He does not like the way he looks at her or makes her laugh. She did not sound like that with Leonidas in the wood, that strange and terrible night they shared. Her voice did not ring with delight then, nor sound like the chorus of bells he once heard from the Dusk citadel. That strange, uncomfortable feeling returns with those thoughts. It twists his skin, making him feel upset, angry, desperate. He huffs softly and blinks to Aspara.
Her ivory skin, dappled with silver moonlight, gleams in the sunlight, drawing his eyes. Everything is loud, too loud here. His heart is stuttering in his chest racing with more than the stress of the markets. His eyes find Aspara’s tangling in the blue of her gaze grounding himself in them. She smells of the strange scents here. The woodland is his home, but this is hers.
A flash of delight sears through his body as she dismisses the other boy. Leonidas’ gaze immediately flits to him, his chin tilting in, his nape arching. Vain pride and victory slithers, serpentine through his veins. His mother, if she were still here, might chasten her son for his pride. But she is not and he has had only the wild animals to teach him anything of life.
Aubin leaves with a laugh. The sound does not delight Leonidas as Aspara’s had. It sends a shudder of displeasure coursing through him. The page boy was strange, exhibiting a confidence that unsettled Leonidas. Alone, with Aspara at last, Leo turns to the Denocte girl, watching intently as she fastens the necklace about her slender neck. The jewel blinks bright and beautiful, the silver glittering. Leonidas likes the way it looks upon her, yet the sliver of regret grows that it is not a necklace of wildflowers. She would look more beautiful then and he does not know why but he likes that thought.
Her thank you is small, nearly a whisper against the loud noises of the busy market. He leans in, to catch it, noticing the way her legs disappear. The boy waits, with a strangled breath in case it spreads, in case she turns to nothingness before his eyes. But the rest of her stays corporeal, warm and real. She smiles, despite how her limbs disappear. He too has grown used to how a part of his body will blink gently into non-existence and back, silent and strange.
Leonidas gazes too long at her smile, but he does not know that he does. A frown pulls across his brow, even as her lips fascinate him. She does not smile like she did that night they met in the ghost wood or when she was with the page boy. Does she not like Leonidas as much as Aubin or does not wish to see him today or maybe she does not like the gift? Confused, he draws his chin in towards his chest and wonders what he could say or do to make her smile wider, brighter, more like it had been with Audin, Aubin, whatever.
He had hoped not to speak, his voice acting so strange as it was lately. But she asks him question after question, looking to him for an answer. Carefully, taking a breath he opened his mouth to speak. It comes across normal at first, deeper than she might remember as he murmurs carefully, appearing almost sullen in his attempt to keep his voice level, “I followed you.” Emboldened by his steady voice he continues and that is where it all goes wrong, “I wanted to check you were still real.” His voice breaks, rising an octave before dropping and rising again. A blush blooms across his cheeks and swiftly he looks away, a dark, brooding shadow settling across the gold of his eyes.
Sullenly he shakes his head when she asks if he would like a drink or something to eat and grunts as she shoves past him. He staggers back surprised. Was it his voice? Was she displeased? She laughs again and still it is not like she laughed with Aubin. This time is it small, short, stifled. Frustration blooms in his chest and he surges after her, wondering how to please her. Nimble and light the wild-wood boy moves beside the city girl, his wing brushing against her side. Curious, his gaze tips down, watching her, gauging her reaction as he moves beside her, their bodies gold and silver touching now and again.
Aspara leads him to a quieter corner, filled with the scent of spiced carrots and sweet teas. Though he is used to simpler foods (those that grow upon bushes and trees and from the forest floor) he thinks the smell is sweet and delectable. The queue for the stall extends out into the cobbled street and they stand in it. Warily the feral boy watches as Denocte spills out in light and colour and noise, all around them. He sees the way she rests here, confident and at ease. But above all he sees the way eyes flit to her occasionally, as if recognising her, respecting her. Another part of her fades and he reaches out, running his muzzle down her spine, as if to check she was still hard and soft and warm. “Princess?” He asks her, pausing at her mid-back, his voice low and unbreaking.
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