She is not alone.
The burgeoning sense of relief that comes with this knowledge makes Himawari want to weep, but she will not allow a stranger, of all others, to see her cry. And so she grits her teeth and swallows back against the lump in her throat, breath stuttering as she inhales in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat. She feels as if she may jump right out of her skin as her eyes meet his, a peculiar mix of anxiety and trepidation bubbling within her soul. Her skin tingles under his swart gaze, the sensation creeping down her spine. There's a minuscule part of her that wants to step further into the coppice of young trees, suddenly feeling unprepared for company. But he's here, and he's talking to her, and - oh, he's talking to her.
"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you look like I felt when I first arrived here. I'm Asterion - this is Novus." The stranger - Asterion - offers her a half-smile, and it is out of mere habit more than anything else that she smiles back, acknowledging his introduction with a simple bow of her head. "Yes," she rasps, her throat suddenly feeling like the driest place on earth. Coughing, she speaks again, clearer this time: "Yes, I seem to have gotten myself a little turned around." It's an uncharacteristic confession, one that might normally make her flinch. But she is far too fatigued to care about her pride right now.
"It's nice to meet you, Asterion. My name is Himawari. Thank you for stopping to help me." The words carry a grateful tone, falling from her lips as she bows her head further in gratitude. It seems an unnecessary gesture, but she knows no other way to express just how relieved she truly is, lest she turn herself into a stammering fool.
"I'm sorry if I seem on edge. This is my first time away from home, and... well, you've already figured out how that's going." The laugh that follows is nearly as dry as the leaves beneath her hooves; the same ones that produce a satisfying crunch when she shifts her body into a more casual stance.
Aspen eyes meet his, and she wants to ask so many questions, but the words turn to a jumbled mess of syllables on her tongue. So instead, she sighs and settles for something simple, something she knows her clumsy tongue can handle. "Are you from here? Novus, I mean." It's an awkward attempt at small talk, her uncertainty discernible in the tone of her voice.
@Asterion
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