and the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor
Sparrow seemed more surprised by the talking bird than her sister’s daydreaming over a woman, but her lack of surprise did not surprise Vesper. Her lips tugged sideways for a moment, and she allowed herself to stare at the raven’s dark back for a while before glancing quickly at her sibling again. Her ear fell back momentarily as the other tried to find an answer for the question, and she took the agreement as approval.
She was reminiscing about how warm and sweet Myri’s breath had been for that one moment when she perked curiously at the word “read.” She latched onto the potential for a topic change immediately, her tail swishing behind her as she asked, “And how is that going?” Her tone did not betray her dislike of human things—she was learning how to shoot a bow same as Sparr, after all—but she managed to look somewhat skeptical.
She cleared her throat after an acceptable pause and looked back to the bird, who’d turned from the deer flap and was watching her with intelligent dark eyes. “I forgot to introduce Stark properly,” she muttered, although she knew he had assisted briefly with the archery stands. “He’s kind of adopted me.” She mentioned this playfully, although the truth ran deeper than that. It was strange to consider a bird her father, but she knew that she played the part of his dead son well enough, and she cared about Stark more than she had her own parents. At least, she felt like she could turn to him when she could turn to no others.
Her brows met momentarily as she looked at her sister, at the suggestion of scars underneath her plush mottled fur. There were questions she wanted to ask, but she did not dare, and instead rested her muzzle on her skinny forelegs again. Thoughts of Marcel never led to a pleasant conclusion.
mehh three-fourths of this post is introspection
table by raze; pattern by dinpattern
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