Come, lay with me, if you do not fear what hides in the dark
Beauty is not an apt descriptor for the Goddess, cloaked in as fine a garment as any mortal man can acquire. There is something like smoke curling in his chest, purring away in his chest to see her wearing something of his. Harper turns his face to her light, any and all reservations about infringing on her time evaporating in the wake of her presence.
Like a siren song her laughter pulls him close, hand already moving to take hers before Harper is consciously aware of it. A calloused thumb strokes gently over her preternaturally smooth skin, folding gracefully onto the steps next to her as his other hand comes to rest overtop the fine bones of her knuckles, holding her hand in gentle entrapment. “I’ve still prayed, you’re not so easily forgotten even in the rush of life.” Recalling the song he’d made for her, the various prayers for guidance late at night in the Halenani. His crooked smile aimed her way is endeared, grateful for her easy forgiveness of his absence.
Her offer of an ear doesn’t seem so daunting now that she is by his side. Fingertips still stroking meaningless shapes on her hand, Harper hums thoughtfully. “I spoke to Sunjata here, what seems forever ago. He convinced me that I should feel more comfortable coming to you, even if asking you for even your time feels presumptuous.” Safrin is so much more than he could have expected or wanted. Selfishness is not in his nature, but faith? Devotion? That he has in spades. “When we first met, you told me I could be yours if I merely asked. I know you meant that in a more physical sense,” he chuckles, eyes crinkling as he recalls her playful musing over the nature of what his animal reflection would look like, “but I want more than that. Seeing how close Phoebe and Frey are...I have so much faith in you already just as she does, all I’m missing is purpose.” Purpose in a general sense. Doing nothing more than trailing after Phoebe, her protector and defender. Willing to go wherever he is needed, wherever Frey sends the midwife. But what of his own path? For all he respects Frey, they are not his chosen patron.
“Phoebe is no fighter. I understand that about her, and Frey does not ask it of her. But the Ascended threat, the Order, the Fae...it’s a complicated tangle. One that has been on my mind, keeping me awake, and it has yet to even reach my front door.” Yet. Harper has no doubts it will happen, which does nothing to soothe his vigilant nature. “But standing by and waiting is not in my nature.” No, his hands are already bloody. Though he does not take lives lightly, Harper’s sweet nature does not preclude violence and physical ability. Turning his contemplative sapphire gaze to Safrin, his guileless expression is open and malleable, ready for her shaping hands. “Choosing a side was never a question. But I want to be more helpful. How can I do that?”
Like a siren song her laughter pulls him close, hand already moving to take hers before Harper is consciously aware of it. A calloused thumb strokes gently over her preternaturally smooth skin, folding gracefully onto the steps next to her as his other hand comes to rest overtop the fine bones of her knuckles, holding her hand in gentle entrapment. “I’ve still prayed, you’re not so easily forgotten even in the rush of life.” Recalling the song he’d made for her, the various prayers for guidance late at night in the Halenani. His crooked smile aimed her way is endeared, grateful for her easy forgiveness of his absence.
Her offer of an ear doesn’t seem so daunting now that she is by his side. Fingertips still stroking meaningless shapes on her hand, Harper hums thoughtfully. “I spoke to Sunjata here, what seems forever ago. He convinced me that I should feel more comfortable coming to you, even if asking you for even your time feels presumptuous.” Safrin is so much more than he could have expected or wanted. Selfishness is not in his nature, but faith? Devotion? That he has in spades. “When we first met, you told me I could be yours if I merely asked. I know you meant that in a more physical sense,” he chuckles, eyes crinkling as he recalls her playful musing over the nature of what his animal reflection would look like, “but I want more than that. Seeing how close Phoebe and Frey are...I have so much faith in you already just as she does, all I’m missing is purpose.” Purpose in a general sense. Doing nothing more than trailing after Phoebe, her protector and defender. Willing to go wherever he is needed, wherever Frey sends the midwife. But what of his own path? For all he respects Frey, they are not his chosen patron.
“Phoebe is no fighter. I understand that about her, and Frey does not ask it of her. But the Ascended threat, the Order, the Fae...it’s a complicated tangle. One that has been on my mind, keeping me awake, and it has yet to even reach my front door.” Yet. Harper has no doubts it will happen, which does nothing to soothe his vigilant nature. “But standing by and waiting is not in my nature.” No, his hands are already bloody. Though he does not take lives lightly, Harper’s sweet nature does not preclude violence and physical ability. Turning his contemplative sapphire gaze to Safrin, his guileless expression is open and malleable, ready for her shaping hands. “Choosing a side was never a question. But I want to be more helpful. How can I do that?”
