In the stark desert Eik is just another odd creature. Among the cholla and agave and yucca, he stands giant but decidedly dull. No knives or spines on this one-- although one doesn't collect as many scars as he without knowing how to leave them in return... But we're starting to dance on the edge of the blade, and he stands before her to offer the hilt. So here you have him- simple, gentle, tripping over his many thoughts. The desert is not natural to him but it has grown on him, or he on it. He smells now of Solterra, all hot sand and sweat and dates and sage. He is simple, unimposing. Nothing like her golden decadence, her wings a thing of grace even when waterlogged and hanging like discarded gloves.
(Oh, how he'd love to fly. To float above the world. Maybe he thinks if he could fly high enough his troubles could not follow.)
"You are in Solterra." His voice is smooth, but hints at something tumultuous deep beneath the surface. "Why are you here? Where are you from?" He asks quickly, but with curiosity and not aggression. It is not in his nature to be afraid, especially not of women spun of gold.
He pities her, although he tries not to. Pity never did anyone good. But he's never had much control over his thoughts, let alone his feelings. They run rampant, all he can do is let them be or shove them aside for another day. But he is careful to not let his feelings bleed into his face, where she can see them. Some people are open books, it just takes a glance to know what they're feeling and how severely. He is not some people.
"I'm Eik. Who are you." The tilt of his head, it means he is thinking something about her. Her screaming comes to mind and he plays her words over again. The questions bubble up, faster than they can be popped. "Who do you hate? Who is we?"
