01-28-2009, 12:50 AM
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500+
The black male seemed to be watching her as carefully as she was watching him. The warrior approved of that trait, for, while knowledge could not alone be gained through mere observation (simply because perception was an unreliable way of knowing), there was still much that could be learned through such scrutiny. The inflection of a movement, the hint of a gesture. At times, she found that it was the things that went unnoticed that proved to be the most significant. And often, such things did go unnoticed, and she felt that she offered such things in vain. Yet, with this male who was strangely attentive, she did not feel that such things were wasted. It was a refreshing notion. Perhaps this, too, made her linger there with him.
As he spoke, repeating the name of the lands from which she hailed, the female’s curiosity heightened. In the way he said it—and perhaps within the silence left after the winds had taken the quiet tones—there was something curiously dark. It made her want to lean in, to peer into the well of his thought and listen to the waters of his memories and contemplations, to have a taste of that strange darkness that lingered briefly upon his surface. The black fae knew, more in the back of her mind than openly, of the danger of her present desire, and yet she disregarded it, unconcerned with her own safety for once. And she did not doubt that instinct and muscle memory would serve her well. But now, she was thirsty.
When the male spoke again, it was to speak the name of his origin. She heard the lilt of his dirge change, and wondered at it. The name of the region was not familiar to her, but, from her experience gained with her travels, she guessed it was from a place within a similar northern region as her own country. The sounds of the languages tended to gain a rough, yet musical quality in those regions, quite different from those of Africa or even of the lands far to the south of the AniWaya. The female thought that she rather liked the strange variation of this accent’s chords, but when that song started again, it was gone.
Discretely, suspicion rose in her as a dry riverbed fills once more with the waters of the wet season. And yet, the female remained placid as she stood before him unmoving. There was a strange pride that drifted along those waters of suspicion, as if she were a woman of consequence. And yet, it seemed almost as if she held herself in that way naturally, and in such a way that contradicted her tentative demeanor and was dismissed. Her stillness was not of hesitation or fear—its quality was different, as if it merely bid him wait, allowing him to know that when she did come—and she would—that it was of her own accord, and that his words did not bind her to any unsaid promise. A light smile carved gracefully into her maw, and it held almost the qualities of a sneer. But her face was not unkind, and slowly, her woad-banded feet slid forward.
As she closed the distance with painfully slow and fluid progression, his curiosity became more apparent, and she sensed within him a conflict. She received a strange satisfaction—or perhaps satisfaction was a poor descriptor—as she experienced his struggle. And then the warrior’s progress stopped, her adroitness ceased. And when she spoke, her voice was strangely calm, assuaging and forthcoming. "What do you see here that was not clear before?" And the challenge rang clearly in the cold air.
500+
The black male seemed to be watching her as carefully as she was watching him. The warrior approved of that trait, for, while knowledge could not alone be gained through mere observation (simply because perception was an unreliable way of knowing), there was still much that could be learned through such scrutiny. The inflection of a movement, the hint of a gesture. At times, she found that it was the things that went unnoticed that proved to be the most significant. And often, such things did go unnoticed, and she felt that she offered such things in vain. Yet, with this male who was strangely attentive, she did not feel that such things were wasted. It was a refreshing notion. Perhaps this, too, made her linger there with him.
As he spoke, repeating the name of the lands from which she hailed, the female’s curiosity heightened. In the way he said it—and perhaps within the silence left after the winds had taken the quiet tones—there was something curiously dark. It made her want to lean in, to peer into the well of his thought and listen to the waters of his memories and contemplations, to have a taste of that strange darkness that lingered briefly upon his surface. The black fae knew, more in the back of her mind than openly, of the danger of her present desire, and yet she disregarded it, unconcerned with her own safety for once. And she did not doubt that instinct and muscle memory would serve her well. But now, she was thirsty.
When the male spoke again, it was to speak the name of his origin. She heard the lilt of his dirge change, and wondered at it. The name of the region was not familiar to her, but, from her experience gained with her travels, she guessed it was from a place within a similar northern region as her own country. The sounds of the languages tended to gain a rough, yet musical quality in those regions, quite different from those of Africa or even of the lands far to the south of the AniWaya. The female thought that she rather liked the strange variation of this accent’s chords, but when that song started again, it was gone.
Discretely, suspicion rose in her as a dry riverbed fills once more with the waters of the wet season. And yet, the female remained placid as she stood before him unmoving. There was a strange pride that drifted along those waters of suspicion, as if she were a woman of consequence. And yet, it seemed almost as if she held herself in that way naturally, and in such a way that contradicted her tentative demeanor and was dismissed. Her stillness was not of hesitation or fear—its quality was different, as if it merely bid him wait, allowing him to know that when she did come—and she would—that it was of her own accord, and that his words did not bind her to any unsaid promise. A light smile carved gracefully into her maw, and it held almost the qualities of a sneer. But her face was not unkind, and slowly, her woad-banded feet slid forward.
As she closed the distance with painfully slow and fluid progression, his curiosity became more apparent, and she sensed within him a conflict. She received a strange satisfaction—or perhaps satisfaction was a poor descriptor—as she experienced his struggle. And then the warrior’s progress stopped, her adroitness ceased. And when she spoke, her voice was strangely calm, assuaging and forthcoming. "What do you see here that was not clear before?" And the challenge rang clearly in the cold air.