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| [+526] |
Had Bellad had asked if she was absolutely positive in her decision, more than likely she would've backed out, or at the very least put off such an excursion for a more appropriate time. But there were no second chances to reconsider; he accepted it as it was, not with any perceivable excitement or relief or anxieties of his own, but he accepted it all the same.
Thankfully they did not linger at her doorstep for much longer, because it was beginning to become blatantly obvious to the woman that Bellad Songthorn, in fact, did not wear clothes, and in a circumstance such as this, that was very, very problematic indeed.
He walked ahead of her, shielding from her view any indication that her 'situation' had affected him any sort of way; if she had bore witness to such a thing, it was very possible she would have simply turned on her heel and trekked back home. Prudish as she was, Fennore was painfully naive about anything of the sort — and to speak it was of course the gravest sin of all. She'd probably die on the spot of humiliation, and that was an ailment even an established healer such as the Starseeker couldn't dare to cure.
Dead silence stagnated between them, as it had every right to do. She would not have it any other way. Bellad seemed to judge the situation well enough not to overstep anything; the walk in and of itself was already a huge undertaking. Seeking to fill this void would be too much to bear. She could only handle so much in this heightened state of awareness. Or was it debilitated? Who was she to know? She was a slave to her own thoughts, and not at all a willing one.
When they crept upon the foreign blossoms, however — strangely, the suffocation of her cycle seemed to lessen.
Her own vexing aroma was dampened, subtly replaced by something more sweet; sweet in another sense, rather. They were tall, splashed with all manner of colors and so unmistakably alien to her. Her ears pricked forward, brows quirking as they approached, and a particular cornflower blue bloom caught her eye.
She had never seen anything so odd before, and the frustrations painted across her face began to lessen.
A white hand reached out to meet it, gracing the green stalk with a ghosting touch; it was almost as tall as her, maybe even taller when it reached its full height, and the candied scent tickled her nose. She blinked once, then twice, before impulse bade her to bring the flower forth to her muzzle, to take in the perfume fully.
The worries of her heat seemed to drift away, carried off by the sea breeze. It was so queer, how easily they fell from her, but at the same time, it felt exceedingly natural. There was only the pleasant aura these flowers gifted her, and Fennore hadn't the insight to even so much as question it.
All manner of colors, both known and unknown, burst behind her hooded eyes, and she looked to Bellad with a saccharine smile.
