some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
You’re Leonidas?
The way she watches him makes him uneasy. The gold of her eyes settles upon him, sinks deep. But it is not how penetrating her gaze is, it is the gleam in her sun-bright eyes. It is the way she speaks. There is mischief there, something that sets him on edge, that makes him want to laugh or be worried. There is something painful about it, as if she mocks him, yet her eyes are too wide, too soft for that. The boy shifts awkwardly. His equally gold eyes flitting from her to the crowds and then back out to the wild peaks of the mountains and the snow capped trees. They call to him and whisper along his skin. That is where he belongs. There, nestled within the woods, or out amidst the howling winds he might have grinned at the way she says his name. He might have laughed boyish and wild at the way she looks at him, playfully.
But he is not. Oh, poor Leonidas is so far from his comfort zone he feels lost, confused. Yet his eyes trickle over hers again, back from his beloved wilds and into the strangeness of hers. She is the only strange and wild thing here. He clings to her, even as she looks at him in that strange and alluring way. “I am.” He says warily, softly. His voice cracking, dropping suddenly upon the last syllable. It sounded strange, his nose crinkles and he coughs, confused, embarrassed.
The wild-wood boy does not take his eyes from her. Elven and strange within this setting, he studies her though he feels how people watch him, look over every inch of his skin. His body is dirty, the woodland leaving its mark over every inch of his skin. His knees are scuffed, scratches across his back and shoulders. Vines and leaves hang like woodland jewels from the brace of his antlers. He does not look a suitable date for the girls who walk past, perfectly combed. Some watch him curious, others snicker and laugh. But looking at the girl beside him, he thinks she looks more like a partner for him. He had seen the way she ran through the woods, the way she danced beneath the lightning.
He goes to speak slowly, carefully, quietly lest the strange thing with his voice happens again.
“Are you Nicnevin?” Leonidas asks hopefully, his thick lashes lowering shyly over his eyes. He might have made it, had his voice not started to low and suddenly cracked again, his normal higher voice shattering the final syllable of the girl’s name.
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