I will be your lighthouse
Goose, the useless mongrel that he was, did not indicate Melita's approach. Although accustomed to being out in the wilderness with Iskra and meeting strangers in town, the dog had a sense, and a mood, for when he felt like alerting to danger or uncertainty, and when he trusted the encounter to be something that would leave them unscathed. It seemed the mood Goose was in today was shitty, because Iskra was about to be extremely scathed.
Her voice nearly struck him like an arrow. Such was the physical response to those honeyed tones sliding over to him, except this particular flavor seemed imbued with peppers and garlic, a spice too intense to handle alone. Iskra instantly stilled, his breath hitched in his chest as if something heavy had just slammed on top of him and his ribs no longer had the space to expand and inhale. What was she doing here? Gods above, why did it have to be her? Why now, when his skull felt like it'd cleave in two just from blinking?
Like a scary monster under your bed, Iskra wondered for the tiniest moment if she'd vanish if he didn't look at her. Maybe, he was still asleep, and this was just another night terror?
He took a risk and glanced up at her. It sealed his fate.
"Mel?" Her name left his lips like a prayer, but his plea was for mercy, not salvation. Despite the whip of terror coursing through him, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. She was one of the few good things left in his world. Although, she wasn't really in his world, was she? He had made sure of that, time and time again. "I... yeah. Recently, I guess you could say." His hands felt sweaty and he nervously pressed them against his pants, grateful that he at least had those on.
He glanced around, still hoping he might find his shirt and salvage some dignity this morning in front of her. The action felt good; felt better than standing there and simmering in unease. "I was just going to make breakfast," he said with a forced smile. "Please, stay, I'll make you whatever... well as long as it's eggs." Even if he had done nothing but disappoint her, even if he didn’t deserve a second of her time, he’d do whatever it took to hold onto this. He'd not make the same mistake twice thrice.
Her voice nearly struck him like an arrow. Such was the physical response to those honeyed tones sliding over to him, except this particular flavor seemed imbued with peppers and garlic, a spice too intense to handle alone. Iskra instantly stilled, his breath hitched in his chest as if something heavy had just slammed on top of him and his ribs no longer had the space to expand and inhale. What was she doing here? Gods above, why did it have to be her? Why now, when his skull felt like it'd cleave in two just from blinking?
Like a scary monster under your bed, Iskra wondered for the tiniest moment if she'd vanish if he didn't look at her. Maybe, he was still asleep, and this was just another night terror?
He took a risk and glanced up at her. It sealed his fate.
"Mel?" Her name left his lips like a prayer, but his plea was for mercy, not salvation. Despite the whip of terror coursing through him, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. She was one of the few good things left in his world. Although, she wasn't really in his world, was she? He had made sure of that, time and time again. "I... yeah. Recently, I guess you could say." His hands felt sweaty and he nervously pressed them against his pants, grateful that he at least had those on.
He glanced around, still hoping he might find his shirt and salvage some dignity this morning in front of her. The action felt good; felt better than standing there and simmering in unease. "I was just going to make breakfast," he said with a forced smile. "Please, stay, I'll make you whatever... well as long as it's eggs." Even if he had done nothing but disappoint her, even if he didn’t deserve a second of her time, he’d do whatever it took to hold onto this. He'd not make the same mistake twice thrice.
Iskra
