TORIELLE
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams
The brute’s own unease put her on edge- what did he have to be nervous of? The tension between the two of them was palpable, not unlike school children unsure of how to act when confronted with a strange romantic situation. That’s what this was, after all- a strange romance. Dictated by gods, apparently. None that Torielle knew, but gods all the same. Unless Jarek was delusional and these gods that spoke to him and directed his motives were but voices in his head. The mare hadn’t considered that dangerous alternative.
She shifted nervously under his gaze, as he appraised her like cattle bought at auction. Was that her own mind playing tricks on her? Was his intent really so hungry as she made it out to be, or was it her own lack of understanding that placed a deviousness in him that was not there? The woman dipped her crown, averting her gaze so that she would not accidentally meet his cold vision. The fact this stallion was a shadow of her father was unsettling, and she wasn’t sure if that was something she would ever be able to rectify within herself.
The tumultuous spin of homesickness coloured with dread sank deep into her gut as the silence stretched between them. The festival seemed so very far away now, a distant hum in the background of their encounter. She wanted nothing more than to flee back to it, to the safety of the crowds, of her friend. The doe stood her ground, however. She would not be able to move past these feelings if she did not move through them. Jarek had proven if he wanted to pursue her, and clearly he did, that he would do just that- pursue.
Torielle sucked in a tense breath as he spoke, proffering a delicate package. Her sense of curiosity overtook her caution and her audits pricked forward. A gift? She took the parcel very carefully, examining it in the dying light of the sun, the glow of the bonfire behind his hulking figure dancing across the intricate beadwork.
The veil itself was of exceptional make, near artisanal quality. The fabric was light as a feather, an iridescent shimmer to the pure colour, decorated with remnants of some colour-shifting insect. There did not seem to be any particular pattern in the way it was stitched, but the varying hues reminded the mare of a desert oasis, a mirage shimmering in the distance. As she inspected it further there was a realization that it held only one scent- his.
She had spent the better part of the day trying on several different silks and jewels with Veil Nebula, and all of them held some marking of the people who had come before them. They smelled of the crafter, of the travel they had made, of every other person in attendance who had wrapped them around their shoulders or experimentally wove them through their hair. This veil held no complex notes of several beings, but rather only the distinct tone of the stallion that loomed before her.
The silk wrap was not the only item he had given her. The tome was weighty, filled with pages that sang of fresh woodland air and covered in a leather that begged to be stroked. The skin was white as snow, embroidered with images of the night sky carefully recreated on both front and back. The inside held blank pages, clearly crafted to be used however the scholar saw fit. This, too, only carried the scent of the stallion, matched by the perfume of the book itself.
Torielle finally lifted her gaze to Jarek in awe, her stance relaxing for the first time since their initial meeting. “You made these?” She asked, her voice airy. “I’ve hardly seen such beautiful craftsmanship outside my own tribes, or highly skilled artisans.”
Though the mare still held some reservations, and the situation surrounding the stallion was still far too odd for her to reconcile it over a handful of meetings, this show of tenderness had been unexpected. The discipline it took to harvest materials and shape them in such a way as to create the beautiful items before her… It was hard to grasp. The time he would have needed to spend stitching, binding… He would have needed to begin his work shortly after their first encounter.
Part of that set of alarm bells in her mind. What kind of stallion would devote himself to such intensive work over a woman he had just met? The gods. The answer was simple. He truly believed that she was a gift from the divine, and he would show his appreciation and woo her by whatever means were necessary. The maiden was unsure what to make of that conclusion, instead holding the items very carefully, considering them before draping the veil across her shoulders, tucking it under her hair so that it would not float away as she moved about the festival.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure what else to say.”
art by the-day-of-shadow character by scapeh table by sunny
