asterion*
Asterion considers her remark about stories, a counter to his own - and after a moment he nods, his lips a small hook of a smile, conceding her point above his own. If a moral counted as reason, then he couldn’t help but agree — though he isn’t sure all of Isra’s stories contained those, either, or if they were worse off without them.
His smile only grows at her next statement, and though he wants to laugh at it he puts on an expression of mock-seriousness instead. “Then it is no secret at all,” he says, “for I am sure it is as striking as the rest of you.” In truth, as curious as he is, he had not felt the urge to take the corner of her mask and tug - mystery was a rich part of the night, and all secrets could wait til tomorrow for discovering. But still he regards her, boldly, the rich red arc of her horns and glint of her eyes and the flowers she wears, petal tucked in petal, layered away into some dark and secret center.
He wonders whether a creature like her could hide at all, even if she wanted. Some tigers wore their stripes too boldly to be taken for anything other than what they are.
Never look hope in the eye, she says, and there are no games in the tone of her voice then. Again he agrees with her, and again he answers nothing - but thinks of how hope is like a bird, wild and wary and gone as soon as you twitched your fingers to catch it.
The bay is well aware of her gaze on him, can feel the heat of it more certain than the summer’s. Even so he is surprised by what she says next, and quickly his eyes meet hers. (Perhaps he is used to girls like hope or birds, who never look him in the eye, who are not bold in ways like this). Asterion can feel his heart in his chest now but though it is a quick tattoo against his ribs it is not a bird but more like a soft-mallet drum, something asking him to move.
“Then let us go,” he answers, and his words are neither promise nor dare but only a hand extended to dance, “and see if we can find what we are looking for. The abyss can keep itself company for one night.”
As he turns to go he ghosts his muzzle along her shoulder, never touching but so near - and his steps along the wood-and-gold with the water caught suspended at his back do not sound solemn at all when he glances back to see if she follows.
@Vendetta I am not sure what this post is but they make a fun pair! thanks for the thread <3
