"...Ah..." Slay cringed before her, awkward and embarrassed. His heart was racing in his chest -- his mind had gone blank at the sight of her, and now he had nothing to say. Her navy-blue eyes were questioning, tentative, hesitant -- there were no traces of anger left, and for that, he heaved a sigh of relief. She was taller than him, standing willowy on two legs, her soft white fur blending in with the ever-present snow... In her haste to meet him, Cercelee hadn't bothered to shift down. He had always been very conscious of the fact that she shifted around others, but made it a point to stay on his level when she could. He appreciated it. Now, though, it seemed strangely appropriate for her to be looking down on him... He didn't want to be big and tall right now.
Slay, what are you doing here?
He could ask himself the same question. He had been so rude to her on the beach, the place she used to love and probably wouldn't anymore. She had clearly been alone since that time -- there were no traces of any scent except for dusty church. Remorse flooded his system, and he averted his pale eyes, seeming to fold in on himself. "I... I didn't mean... That is, Cercelee, I..." his husky voice trailed off as the words failed him a second time. If he couldn't say anything, would she get angry again? Would she just sigh and walk away, giving up on him for good? She looked so very fragile, the icy winds dusting her eyelashes with snowflakes. If he pushed her, she might break...
"Cercelee, if you don't want to see me again, just let me know. I only came here to apologize, b-because, I didn't mean what I said... Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, if, if that's what happened... so... I..." There, at least he had gotten some of it out. He swallowed the lump in his throat, snow-capped ears back at a shy angle, ebony tail hanging limply behind him. He was still nursing his own bruised pride - it took two to argue - but if she knew he was remorseful, she couldn't abandon him for good... right?
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
