As it was, the girl (for she was still so young in his mind) was correct in her assumption. The moment she realized where he was he too found her, though she stepped into his field of vision only seconds later. It seemed time had indeed past, for the girl was no longer a child. She stood taller, and not simply because she had grown. Pleased by this, he dismounted and approached, the horse trailing behind as he kept one hand on untied leather that formed his reigns. “Nayru,” he replied, orange eyes gleaming. It seemed now that time had changed them both.
When he had last met her, she had been afraid to kill. Now blood painted her face in a shade darker and less vibrant than her eyes, which were fascinating to him. Larkspur had always been drawn to the color red, particularly when it came to fur. “S’been a while. Y’still holdin’ up with Dahlia?” Of course she was—he could smell that on her. He wondered if Conor had explained why the former Jager had left and a cruel smile played across his white-brushed face.
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