tristan
So out of it as he was, it had been easy to overlook the young woman who had exited the cottage to investigate his sudden arrival. Tristan turned his head at the sound of her voice, wincing a little and blinking past the sun in his eyes. Once, instinct would have told him to use caution; she could be a threat, but he lacked the energy and the strength to currently care.
As the woman knelt down before him so that they were a more similar height, Tristan blinked slowly, letting his eyes wander across her youthful face. Cherubic, almost, a head with fiery red hair and pale skin with a face full of freckles that gave away the time she must have spent in the sun. Oh. Was this her garden?
“Sorry,” he croaked without thinking, his voice rough as gravel as though he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. The brunette paused, a particularly baffled expression crossing his face at the sound of his own voice, then tried to speak once more but only after clearing his throat. “About your plants. Um.” Keeping a hand pressed against his injured side, Tristan looked around himself. He had indeed landed in a bushel of something, but he very much doubted that the plant did much to break his fall. Still, the woman’s sentiments were appreciated, especially when his whole body felt as though he had taken a large fall.
Upon her further pressing as to his wellbeing, the man took a moment to really get stock of himself before attempting to answer. He moved his legs, then his arms, and straightened his back a little, hearing a little pop! from somewhere in his spine. Nothing seemed to be broken, luckily. Blue eyes focused back upon the woman’s freckled face, and he nodded, attempting to at least form some kind of cordial smile even though he was certain it would look more like a grimace.
“I’m alright. Confused, more than anything. Erm…” Looking down once more, Tristan pulled his hand away from his side with a true pained grimace. His palm came away bloody. Pulling his shirt up, it was easy to spot the cause of the blood; upon his left side was a precise slice, as though from a blade. A quick glance around and he spotted his own swore laying a ways off, but the blade was clean. Letting his shirt fall back down, he turned his head to regard the redheaded woman once more. “You, ah, possibly wouldn’t have any bandages on you, by chance?”
As the woman knelt down before him so that they were a more similar height, Tristan blinked slowly, letting his eyes wander across her youthful face. Cherubic, almost, a head with fiery red hair and pale skin with a face full of freckles that gave away the time she must have spent in the sun. Oh. Was this her garden?
“Sorry,” he croaked without thinking, his voice rough as gravel as though he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. The brunette paused, a particularly baffled expression crossing his face at the sound of his own voice, then tried to speak once more but only after clearing his throat. “About your plants. Um.” Keeping a hand pressed against his injured side, Tristan looked around himself. He had indeed landed in a bushel of something, but he very much doubted that the plant did much to break his fall. Still, the woman’s sentiments were appreciated, especially when his whole body felt as though he had taken a large fall.
Upon her further pressing as to his wellbeing, the man took a moment to really get stock of himself before attempting to answer. He moved his legs, then his arms, and straightened his back a little, hearing a little pop! from somewhere in his spine. Nothing seemed to be broken, luckily. Blue eyes focused back upon the woman’s freckled face, and he nodded, attempting to at least form some kind of cordial smile even though he was certain it would look more like a grimace.
“I’m alright. Confused, more than anything. Erm…” Looking down once more, Tristan pulled his hand away from his side with a true pained grimace. His palm came away bloody. Pulling his shirt up, it was easy to spot the cause of the blood; upon his left side was a precise slice, as though from a blade. A quick glance around and he spotted his own swore laying a ways off, but the blade was clean. Letting his shirt fall back down, he turned his head to regard the redheaded woman once more. “You, ah, possibly wouldn’t have any bandages on you, by chance?”
