Young hearts are prone to wander
#8
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WC:: 353 - He's such a dork at times. Hover for translations :3


Her laughter eased him somewhat, the young lad taking it as an indication that he was doing okay with the whole small talk thing... or making that much of a fool of himself that she was laughing at him. Small things, like her embarrassment, boisterous laughter and the way her eyes flicked to the ground every now and then confused him, the Nishant lad so unused to female company and gestures of the other sex that he'd grown practically ignorant in regards to flirting and understanding a girl and so he couldn't help but over think the girls gestures, comparing them to his own in an attempt to read her. Talk of his name and it's origin distracted him from his thinking and observations, his mind flicking back to memories regarding the question at had seeking an answer for the girl. “Cherokee I believe. A lot of the tribe members speak it.. I can somewhat, but haven't spoken it in ages” he paused, staring into nothing as he contemplated what to say, wanting to show of his language skills a little. “Osiyo, dohitsu?” he said, tripping slightly on the pronunciation, not that she would notice... he hoped.

When she elaborated upon his logic of her name being unique, he laughed, flashing the girl a genuinely wide smile. “Yeah, it's a good thing” he responded, unable to stop himself smiling still. Tilting his head a fraction he waited for her to say something else, taking her staring as if she was trying to choose her words more carefully like he did at times and when the girl did all he could do was responded with, “Huh, sure” green eyes blinking a few times, smile faltering for a second before spreading and widening impossibly. “Have a few here and there already, but go wild?” flicking his eyes over the landscape he looked for somewhere to seat himself, not seeing anywhere he stepped away from pack to an area that looked fairly dry and seated himself cross legged, green eyes looking up to the girl filled with indulgent humour. “Come on then, Kira. Braid me up”.



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