03-08-2009, 12:39 AM
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500+
A scheming smile tugged at her lips. “Perhaps,” the alto melody insinuated, and she wondered at the truth of the words. She wondered. She knew already that she was comfortable in his presence—more so than with any other male. But was there something there for him, something which she could give him? Or was there only the teeth of brevity? And so she was silent as she contemplated his words as well as what was unsaid lingering between them. The white eyes watched her woad marked toes as she shifted slightly against him, welcoming the warmth of his body so near to hers. She could not deny, however, the implication of their proximity, but her body was still—perhaps too still.
When DaVinci questioned her certainty. And perhaps he was right to question; her use of absolutes had been too free, perhaps. It was the beginnings of arrogance, and whether rightly placed or not, arrogance was not a thing welcomed in a warrior’s soul. “Perhaps you are right,” she admitted aloud, but there was no grudging nature to her words. “But a good warrior must learn to conquer all enemies, and so I have thus far. Should I fail, may Death take me, lest I should rise again to challenge my conqueror.” Her voice was strangely quiet, belying the tone of her words. But it was a matter of survival, more so than for glory and honor, for, while these qualities were bestowed upon the warriors of tales past, the female did not care for such things. She cared for survival. And for freedom. Life was a gift to be cherished, and she fought for freedom. “In times of peace, remember war.” Perhaps now she was thinking aloud.
And again the silence surrounded them, and it was a tempting thing of which the silence spoke. When the male pulled away to look at her, the female turned as well, her white eyes seeking the face of the hybrid, and she smiled almost sadly up at him. The smile faltered when he spoke, and she was unsure of how to accept his words. Fire. The female, who lived in that world read of symbols, knew fire to be many things. Power, pugnacity, pliancy, purity, passion. And so, the female was unsure. Her eyes clearly shone with her uncertainty and question, but he turned away from her. Her gaze was inclined to follow, as if he had pulled her by a string, but instead, she returned her gaze to her feet and the floor.
“No.” Yet there was no remorse in her voice. Slowly, her head turned, his fur moving against her as she disturbed it. “It seems this fire is too low to inspire,” the alto melody replied, applying his ambiguous metaphor with a mild amusement. “I’m left with only a longing and a desire.” The silver tones were a murmur, almost inaudible even in the silence. Men liked to think that they were the only ones who experienced the need to sate their carnal hungers. But the woad warrior was keenly made aware of her own appetite since her Long Nights, and she felt the fires of her lust particularly after a fight. But the female was not like a male, who would and could sate his desires upon another. The female could wait. She was a patient creature.
“And you, DaVinci?”
A scheming smile tugged at her lips. “Perhaps,” the alto melody insinuated, and she wondered at the truth of the words. She wondered. She knew already that she was comfortable in his presence—more so than with any other male. But was there something there for him, something which she could give him? Or was there only the teeth of brevity? And so she was silent as she contemplated his words as well as what was unsaid lingering between them. The white eyes watched her woad marked toes as she shifted slightly against him, welcoming the warmth of his body so near to hers. She could not deny, however, the implication of their proximity, but her body was still—perhaps too still.
When DaVinci questioned her certainty. And perhaps he was right to question; her use of absolutes had been too free, perhaps. It was the beginnings of arrogance, and whether rightly placed or not, arrogance was not a thing welcomed in a warrior’s soul. “Perhaps you are right,” she admitted aloud, but there was no grudging nature to her words. “But a good warrior must learn to conquer all enemies, and so I have thus far. Should I fail, may Death take me, lest I should rise again to challenge my conqueror.” Her voice was strangely quiet, belying the tone of her words. But it was a matter of survival, more so than for glory and honor, for, while these qualities were bestowed upon the warriors of tales past, the female did not care for such things. She cared for survival. And for freedom. Life was a gift to be cherished, and she fought for freedom. “In times of peace, remember war.” Perhaps now she was thinking aloud.
And again the silence surrounded them, and it was a tempting thing of which the silence spoke. When the male pulled away to look at her, the female turned as well, her white eyes seeking the face of the hybrid, and she smiled almost sadly up at him. The smile faltered when he spoke, and she was unsure of how to accept his words. Fire. The female, who lived in that world read of symbols, knew fire to be many things. Power, pugnacity, pliancy, purity, passion. And so, the female was unsure. Her eyes clearly shone with her uncertainty and question, but he turned away from her. Her gaze was inclined to follow, as if he had pulled her by a string, but instead, she returned her gaze to her feet and the floor.
“No.” Yet there was no remorse in her voice. Slowly, her head turned, his fur moving against her as she disturbed it. “It seems this fire is too low to inspire,” the alto melody replied, applying his ambiguous metaphor with a mild amusement. “I’m left with only a longing and a desire.” The silver tones were a murmur, almost inaudible even in the silence. Men liked to think that they were the only ones who experienced the need to sate their carnal hungers. But the woad warrior was keenly made aware of her own appetite since her Long Nights, and she felt the fires of her lust particularly after a fight. But the female was not like a male, who would and could sate his desires upon another. The female could wait. She was a patient creature.
“And you, DaVinci?”