With every broken bone, I swear I lived
Her scent was one of cleanliness, for all that her clothes were worn and threadbare. Lavender soap and ink and the kind of freshness that the Leafchange wind had imparted on her way to this forgotten place. Ordinary and plain and entirely her own.
The look in her eyes as she met Harper's gaze was anything but plain, however. Still with her teeth clamped around his shoulder, it conveyed some of the tumultuous emotions she struggled to contain. Trust and dare and a feline sort of playfulness that was as much teeth and claws as soft paws. An unspoken desire to pull him close and let her nails sink in, and hold on tighter the more he struggled.
His willingness to humor her was more confusing, truth be told. Heat rose in her cheeks, painting them brightly pink. She let go. Brushed her lips against the faintly damp patch of shirt, not sure what to do with the storm of butterflies that started up within.
"I don't know what I want," she murmured. "Just... I'm glad you're here. Glad you're you, and that I get to be your friend." Brazenly allowing her to be anything, short of callous murderer. It made her want to push every single button and see how much he meant it.
Instead she gently freed her hand and held her arms out in a silent request for a hug, mutely challenging her racing pulse and her own limits. He wanted to show her? Then she would let him. Had to let him; anything less would be letting them both down.
The look in her eyes as she met Harper's gaze was anything but plain, however. Still with her teeth clamped around his shoulder, it conveyed some of the tumultuous emotions she struggled to contain. Trust and dare and a feline sort of playfulness that was as much teeth and claws as soft paws. An unspoken desire to pull him close and let her nails sink in, and hold on tighter the more he struggled.
His willingness to humor her was more confusing, truth be told. Heat rose in her cheeks, painting them brightly pink. She let go. Brushed her lips against the faintly damp patch of shirt, not sure what to do with the storm of butterflies that started up within.
"I don't know what I want," she murmured. "Just... I'm glad you're here. Glad you're you, and that I get to be your friend." Brazenly allowing her to be anything, short of callous murderer. It made her want to push every single button and see how much he meant it.
Instead she gently freed her hand and held her arms out in a silent request for a hug, mutely challenging her racing pulse and her own limits. He wanted to show her? Then she would let him. Had to let him; anything less would be letting them both down.
maea
