stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Yes, this Isla was definitely different: it was like she had settled into her body in a new way, without really looking any different. It was in the little things, her posture, her demeanor.. her face still so refined and well-sculpted, but in the dark she looked fierce. He knew a couple of crude people who would make crude observations based on this change, and how she seemed more confident within her own flesh, but he was neither that crude nor knew her well enough to joke about such things. In fact, she looked like she could eat him for it, if he did.
"That's a good idea," he agreed, stepping after her and deeper into the forest—probably one of the few times following a relative stranger in the dark was a good idea, he thought with an amused little snort. "If you want to bring more firewood than your sled can hold, I don't mind driving the pony into town."
And it felt like years to Rory too: years in which he had been dragged through the dirt, forced onto his knees, every inch of him scrutinized. No one had done such things, of course, but.. it was all there, in every question the Outlanders asked, in every judgment they laid on his land and his traditions. It didn't help that it happened at the same time as problems close to home.
"Mmh," he hummed in agreement from behind her. "A season or so. The time seems to have done you good, if I may say so. And I'm alright, a little tired, truth to be told. It's a busy time preparing the homestead for Long Night." He turned some branches away from his face, listening to them snap back in the dark as he let them go again. "And you, how are you doing?"
"That's a good idea," he agreed, stepping after her and deeper into the forest—probably one of the few times following a relative stranger in the dark was a good idea, he thought with an amused little snort. "If you want to bring more firewood than your sled can hold, I don't mind driving the pony into town."
And it felt like years to Rory too: years in which he had been dragged through the dirt, forced onto his knees, every inch of him scrutinized. No one had done such things, of course, but.. it was all there, in every question the Outlanders asked, in every judgment they laid on his land and his traditions. It didn't help that it happened at the same time as problems close to home.
"Mmh," he hummed in agreement from behind her. "A season or so. The time seems to have done you good, if I may say so. And I'm alright, a little tired, truth to be told. It's a busy time preparing the homestead for Long Night." He turned some branches away from his face, listening to them snap back in the dark as he let them go again. "And you, how are you doing?"
