Word Count → 3+
She could sense the male watching her, reading her. The desire to still her natural movements and inclinations so as to hide herself mentally from him surfaced, and passed. She simply felt no need. The woman had allowed him into one of her most private of places, and already she wished to show him the other, the sacred place where Elvira and Elijah had been born. It was strange how quickly she had warmed to him - Almost like the chemical connection she had felt with his father. The world had taught her to mistrust all men and all strangers, but Ezekiel and Gabriel were Different, in the same way that her children were Wrong. There was a purpose in fate having brought him to her, and the pagan witch felt a sense of duty. Ezekiel would need the skills she could teach him, some day.
She stillled as he began to speak, respectfully levelling him with a cool emerald gaze. The story spun out of the hybrid male like scripture, and she watched him intently, capturing snippets of emotion as they flickered through the handsome lines of his face. This woman, this Fatin, she went deeper in his blood than a mentor. Clearly, she had meant a lot to him, and to Gabriel also. A troubled frown shadowed the colliewoman's eyes, but she did not speak yet, waiting for him to finish the tale.
It was interesting, how quickly he attempted to lighten the subject, especially with a charming wink. Undistracted but bemused by the young man, her frown was replaced with an endeared smile. She leaned against the bench and regarded him a moment in thoughtful silence, claws drumming on the worn wooden surface. The coyote-blooded man approached her vaguely, and her emerald eyes didn't leave his face as he inspected the leather-bound book with interest. When he gestured to it with a nod, she finally rose and moved to his side.
Ivory fingers caressed the intricate cover, the small indents where gold inlay had once lain untarnished. Her palm smoothed lovingly over the surface of the book. "It was my mother's," Memories bubbled beneath an inky brew in her mind, revealing stained pictures of a humble, brown-furred woman with sharp emerald eyes. A faint smile curled about Alaine's maw, but the pain was dull and empty. That was a scar that had been inflicted a lifetime ago. "An obsession only in foolish sentiments, perhaps. It has no use to me - I cannot read." The words were simple enough, and offered with little emotion. She could sound out some of the letters, produce simple words, but nothing more.
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