She seems irate, and he can only imagine what thoughts course through the brain behind those long lashes. He feels sheepish, yet it seems too late to leave- the peace is broken, shattered, and only time will repair it.
"Good." He says simply, a dry breeze picking at his mane as the water sidles over her curves and drip-drops off her like molten gold. (away he goes, off in his mind, thoughts jumping to dark wings in moonlight-- and just how many grains of sand are there in the desert anyway) He thinks briefly of the many ways of being feminine, and how easily she seems to fill every definition of the classic beauty.
"I'm Eik."
And then he thinks of the other beautiful women he's met here- the desert rose (set on fire), the black-winged night the woman of stone. Each alluring and confusing and unique. Captivating. He feels frustrated, the way it feels to keep saying something, over and over again, and never be heard- except nothing but silence lies between them. Perhaps it is all the things he wants to say, all the possibilities hanging ripe for the picking, then falling rotten to the ground.
God damn your lofty indecision.
He steps forward, finally, wading up to his knees in the oasis. The waters are cold, as forewarned, and he thinks absently that in the next few months the desert itself may come to be far colder than he had expected. In the early morning the temperatures drop enough that he's even considered venturing to the court for warmth-- and it is still fall, though that too is changing quickly. But doesn't it always? Soon enough it will be summer again, and he will be drowning in his own sweat and cursing our beloved Solis.
She seems so at place here in the desert. Sun-kissed and vibrant, the opposite of himself. He assumes she was born here, raised here, which is unlike him; he does not like to assume things. Perhaps the confidence she exudes is rubbing off on him. "What is winter like here?" He asks, glancing at her briefly from time to time but never maintaining eye contact. He does not want to stare.
- - -
There is no better way to know us
E I K
than as two wolves, come separately to a wood
@
Bexley no worries at all! <3
Time makes fools of us all
