Flora
The instant his worries turn to wet wood, Flora’s thoughts slip straight into the gutter. It is far too easy, really, and the brows she raises at him are already halfway to skeptical by the time he finishes outlining the dangers of smoke and poor fire-starting conditions. Her smile unfurls slowly, all bright innocence in the shape of something that very plainly isn’t. "That’s funny. The wood I normally work with does end up getting quite wet, but it still works just fine for me."
The look she sends him is coquettish enough to be almost sweet, lashes lowered and mouth tilted just so, while the pulse she lets unfurl through their bond is anything but. It is a deliberate, low heat that has no interest in pretending she is talking about firewood anymore. At his proposed solution of simply holding each other for warmth, Flora rolls her eyes with all the adoring exasperation of someone who finds his answer ridiculous solely because it is difficult not to love. "Mmmm," she says, as though weighing it seriously, "that sounds like a fairly compelling reason to get cold, to me."
"Height?" The word comes out with a small pinch between her brows as she glances toward the tangled dark ahead. "Er...I mean, maybe if you’re worried about flooding?" Her gaze returns to him, one brow arched. "But not whether it’s dry? Or if there are obvious signs of predators around? Or how close we are to fresh water?" It isn’t that she expects him to have every answer; quite the opposite, really. Testing him is more fun when he has enough confidence to answer first.
When he admits he's hoping the singing will save them from the need for steel, Flora turns just enough for her jacket to sway aside and the daggers at her thigh to flash in the damp, strange light. "Aww," she says, grinning at her husband. "But I like using my daggers." Then she starts after him without waiting to be convinced otherwise, boots finding their way over the roots and uneven ground.
"Blaaack socks," she sings after him, putting such solemn emphasis into the first line that her voice is already trembling with laughter before she reaches the part about them never getting dirty. She keeps going anyway, obediently dragging out the words about the socks getting blacker and blacker, until the final not yet, not yet, not yet dissolves into bright laughter that follows them down the narrow path. "Babe, that’s ridiculous," Flora says when she can breathe again, though it is not just the song she means. "Did they teach that in Stormbreak Boy Scouts, or did you learn it in the Dragoons?" Her head shakes as she snorts under her breath, then lengthens her stride so she can wedge herself alongside him despite the roots’ apparent determination to keep the trail too narrow for it. "Because that is absolutely going to make predators come toward us, especially since you sound like something dying. It’s like you’re serenading them before their meal."
Flora has to angle a shoulder past a low-slung root, her boots picking carefully through the wet dark beneath them, before glancing at Kai over her shoulder with her mouth still curled around the remnants of a laugh. "And I’m no expert," she adds dryly, "I just grew up in a magical and dangerous forest. But usually the best way to avoid predators is to be quiet and avoid their dens and hunting areas."
The look she sends him is coquettish enough to be almost sweet, lashes lowered and mouth tilted just so, while the pulse she lets unfurl through their bond is anything but. It is a deliberate, low heat that has no interest in pretending she is talking about firewood anymore. At his proposed solution of simply holding each other for warmth, Flora rolls her eyes with all the adoring exasperation of someone who finds his answer ridiculous solely because it is difficult not to love. "Mmmm," she says, as though weighing it seriously, "that sounds like a fairly compelling reason to get cold, to me."
"Height?" The word comes out with a small pinch between her brows as she glances toward the tangled dark ahead. "Er...I mean, maybe if you’re worried about flooding?" Her gaze returns to him, one brow arched. "But not whether it’s dry? Or if there are obvious signs of predators around? Or how close we are to fresh water?" It isn’t that she expects him to have every answer; quite the opposite, really. Testing him is more fun when he has enough confidence to answer first.
When he admits he's hoping the singing will save them from the need for steel, Flora turns just enough for her jacket to sway aside and the daggers at her thigh to flash in the damp, strange light. "Aww," she says, grinning at her husband. "But I like using my daggers." Then she starts after him without waiting to be convinced otherwise, boots finding their way over the roots and uneven ground.
"Blaaack socks," she sings after him, putting such solemn emphasis into the first line that her voice is already trembling with laughter before she reaches the part about them never getting dirty. She keeps going anyway, obediently dragging out the words about the socks getting blacker and blacker, until the final not yet, not yet, not yet dissolves into bright laughter that follows them down the narrow path. "Babe, that’s ridiculous," Flora says when she can breathe again, though it is not just the song she means. "Did they teach that in Stormbreak Boy Scouts, or did you learn it in the Dragoons?" Her head shakes as she snorts under her breath, then lengthens her stride so she can wedge herself alongside him despite the roots’ apparent determination to keep the trail too narrow for it. "Because that is absolutely going to make predators come toward us, especially since you sound like something dying. It’s like you’re serenading them before their meal."
Flora has to angle a shoulder past a low-slung root, her boots picking carefully through the wet dark beneath them, before glancing at Kai over her shoulder with her mouth still curled around the remnants of a laugh. "And I’m no expert," she adds dryly, "I just grew up in a magical and dangerous forest. But usually the best way to avoid predators is to be quiet and avoid their dens and hunting areas."
Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Code stolen from Queen Sky
