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Halifax, Backdated to January 25 or 26?
Oh, and the big wounds are on her right shoulder and hip, which are torn and a long scar thingy that goes down her back. She also is starting to feel some hyperthermia... ^=^;;
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There was darkness. It surrounded her, enveloped her, smothered her. Where darkness had given her cover and protection, now it was a heavy weight upon her chest. The darkness choked her, and she struggled against it—but in vain. The tendrils of shadow wrapped about her limbs, found her eyes and ears and mouth. They made her blind and deaf and incapable of speech. She felt violated and helpless, and then she felt the cold grip of Death wrap about her heart. She shuddered at its touch, but not with fear. It was the shudder of all things near Death. But the warrior lived with Death at her heals, so when she felt its bite, she relaxed, resolved to meet her end. But that moment in which she lay with Death drew out, as if time and stopped, and she wondered faintly if death were normally so long. And even as she thought, her mind slipped into the darkness and she was fallen in Limbo and in a deep unconsciousness.
And suddenly, she knew that she had not died. Vaguely, she was aware that she was being carried, the arms sure and strong. But she had not the strength to lift her gaze or even to speak, and as she scented that familiar scent, she had slipped back into the darkness. And, while the darkness did not smother her any longer, she felt pain. It was all over her, as if up taking the task that the darkness had been occupied with. But she did not cry out as she lay in the darkness, slipping in and out of consciousness but recognizing nothing. Her Dreams were shadowed by the wings of Ravens, their feathers sharp as blades as they flickered about her like the wings of bats. And she could not lift her arms to move them away or to resist, but all at once it was as if the did not cut her. She thought perhaps they cut her soul, but she felt nothing—nothing but that constant pain raging through her like a wild fire. And then—darkness.
Cwmfen breathed softly, a sigh, as if expelling those shadows that had found their way into her soul. But the blackness still surrounded her. Yet, she thought that she could hear now, and she could smell. But there was nothing that was immediately recognizable. Gradually, the wounded warrior was able to lift her eyelids, and her white orbs looked up at the darkness, for a moment seeing nothing. But as her eyes adjusted, she could see now where she was. It was some strange place, someplace vaguely familiar. Her mind was too tired, exhausted to the point of slipping back into the darkness, and she closed her eyes, as if she had returned to that limbo. But she resisted its pull, find renewed strength as the scent of another reached her. And then it all came back to her in a flash—the red eyes, the crazed smile, and her defeat. The warrior was alert now and she tried to rise, only to be greeted by a sharp pain that shot through her. She tensed up against it, a small grunt sounding by her efforts, and she fell back, shutting her eyes against the pain. “Wh... Who are you....?” The alto melody was marred by her weakness, but she had found enough strength to ask who, not where.
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[html]  cake the 25th should work? i don't know what time of day hybrid attacked her XD also this is crazily long, for me.
cakeSurrounded by winter's skeletal trees, the small house sat on an old plot of land, long since overgrown with undesirable flora. In front of the house, perhaps twenty steps down the driveway from the garage, was a long and empty stretch of road that connected together two bigger roads, both of which wound like snakes through more populated areas of Halifax's suburban paradise. It wasn't horribly secluded. It was a good way from the main city, but deserted enough that at night, from the back porch, all he saw was trees, and the city's core in the distance, rising like concrete monoliths, mirrored against the distant ocean in their perpetual silence.
cakeInside, it was clean. Bane had spent much of the winter making the home liveable once again. Even should he build the cabin he had planned for last fall, he would keep this as a second house, for emergencies or when excessive distances kept him from his first home. One of the features that had drawn him to it originally was its high ceilings; this allowed him to comfortably stand at his full impressive height. Another was the architecture. It was unique, not a cookie-cutter home like so many of the others, with high arches and hardwood floors that gave it a specific rustic scent, even now. It had only two floors, not including the basement, but it was enough. Bane was comfortable there. Since moving in after his leg had healed in October, he had been the only sentient creature to cross its threshold, until the moment came that day when he had arrived home with the unconscious blackbird in his arms.
cakeIn his haste to attend to her wounds, Bane had left her on a dining table in the room adjacent to the kitchen while he went to fetch the supplies he would need. He followed the scent of blood (thick and metallic, it quickly flooded the house, clinging to the walls) back to her and set to work. The dark wolf was calm as he went about treating her, stemming the blood flow from her wounds, bandaging them, and warming her as he dried her fur. Her heartbeat was regular, despite the hypothermia he knew had set in. This was a good sign, one that, despite himself, he felt glad for.
cakeWhen she finally began to move, he reacted as any trained doctor would, and no particular emotion entered his mind because he knew better than to allow himself to become distracted. Disorientation was to be expected for someone in her condition. By this time, he was sitting at her side in a chair he had dragged over from the fire. As she stirred, he paused and stood and leaned over her to listen, close enough to see each separate strand of fur in her coat. And as she spoke he smiled at her words, but the smile was peculiar, void of emotion in the rest of his face. His eyes were blank and piercing and full of a strange intensity.
cake"I'm here for your safety and protection, little blackbird," he told her quietly, voice deep and even, as he rested one hand on her shoulder to gently urge her to lay back down. His words rang true in his head, even as he spoke them, and he understood with an odd sort of clarity that this had been intended. This, her, the coyote -- it was all for a reason. Where and why were the questions, but Bane knew better than to expect answers; they would all learn in time. "You needn't worry about anything." Then he stood back up, intending to fetch the lady some water, perhaps something to eat should she feel ready at any time to stomach something, but instead he simply stood and looked at her. This was a curious situation, indeed.
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The 25th then, ^=^ He attacked her sometime in midday. And I loved your post, n___n
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For a moment, it was as if her body were foreign to her; the warmth that now flickered in her core, strengthened by every beat of her heart, had replaced the hand of Death, which existed only as a distant memory and an inevitable fate. But her mind was still swimming as she resurfaced from that deathly slumber, the memories of the attack that she had left behind, having fell into that unconsciousness, replayed before her, the sounds echoing in her ears. It was as if her mind struggled to fill the empty blackness between her defeat and the moment in which she now resided. So, for a moment, her body tensed instinctively and her breathing quickened with both the effort of the movement and the preparation for the next attack. And when the woad bound ears heard a movement at her flank, when the white orbs finally began to focus and see the reality of the situation, she turned suddenly to face he who approached, a snarl silently tugging at her woad bound maw.
It was the sound of his voice that quieted the chaos of her soul. In an instant her mind was quiet and the memories fell away. And although she had heard that voice only once before, although she should not have trusted him so easily, she believed him. The black fae did not recoil or shudder at his touch, but welcomed it, silently obeying the urging press of his hand. Quite suddenly, as if invoked by the memory of that touch, she remembered the winter night she had first encountered him, when she had first lain with him, intertwined in that strange but ancient ritual. But that memory too faded as she lay upon that hard surface. The white orbs looked up to find those blue orbs that so reminded her of the sea, and she wondered why these things had happened and what hand of Fate had brought him to her when she had so required the aid of another. Beneath the strange emptiness and intensity of that gaze, she was silent, almost uncertain, hesitant for once in her life. Saftety and protection, he had said.... And somehow, she felt it were so.
You don’t need to worry about anything. The words seemed to bring the full force of her own weakness upon her. She gave a soft sigh, a shuddering sound that was quite unfamiliar to her. Closing her eyes for a moment, the warrior merely nodded. But she could find no words for the male. She had never felt so vulnerable as she did now. And though she had discerned that what he said was true, though he had taken her into his refuge, she could not help but feel that she was subject to any and all of his wishes and intents, whatever they may be. As she breathed, she scented no fresh blood, and her eyes opened as her left hand went immediately to her back, the woad bound fingers tentatively searching the wound there. She knew that it had been that wound that had been most deeply cut by the attacker’s claws, but now the wound was closed, dry but tender. And she did not recognize the pattern of her skin or how it had been closed. She only knew that the wound was closed, and that would be enough for now.
She tried to speak then, but for a moment, the dryness in her throat held her vocal cords still. She swallowed carefully and patiently before she tried again. "How...did you find me?" The alto melody was quiet and almost hoarse as she spoke quietly. The white orbs sought the blue eyes before the crossed over the rest of his features. She remembered seeing those eyes before the darkness had taken her, and she wondered suddenly how he taken her from there, how he had made her attacker relinquish the prize of his victory. She thought she could see cuts upon the other, but she was not sure if they were fresh. For a moment, she shut her eyes again against the effort saying, "You have not been wounded...?" Then, sensing that he lingered there and almost fearing that he would leave her, her hand shot out to grab his wrist, her grip weak and unbinding. The wounded warrior was silent, as if unsure of what to do next. The woad marked fae relaxed, letting her hand slip as she stared off into the depths of the house. "Where are we?"
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cake Thanks! 
cakeThe dark male watched her through his glasses as she rediscovered herself and her surroundings. He was silent, and patient, understanding where she was and what she ws going through; once, Bane had come too close to dying, but had been lucky enough to pull through the worst of it. It was that incident that had changed him, changed his life, and even now he was living out the consequences of his actions. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He stood still, ready to assist her should she show any sign of pain or discomfort. How had he found her? This was a question the philosopher inside of him could have dwelled on for the rest of his life. Instead, he simply smiled again. He had found her because he had been meant to. "Everything," he replied, and he paused then as if in thought before continuing, "everything I have lived through, everything I've experienced in my life, blackbird, led me to you." This, he understood.
cakeShe closed her eyes, those unique eyes he had never seen on anyone else, and spoke again. Her speech caught him slightly off guard and he glanced down at himself, at his chest, and found nothing excessive. There were likely a few wounds scattered here and there; nothing he would concern himself with. Carrying her from the site of the attack had been more physically tiring than anything else. "No," he replied in his calm baritone, returning his gaze to her. If he had been wounded, it didn't matter. This wasn't selflessness on his part. It didn't matter because it wasn't meant to matter. He decided then to fetch her some water, perhaps a blanket, but before he could move or speak, she had him by the wrist.
cakeIt was a gentle grip; she was weak from exertion, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks, enough to draw his full attention. It didn't last long before she relaxed. Nonetheless, Bane remained absolutely motionless, as if in his immobility he would find an answer. There was nothing, until she asked her question. Moving those few millimeters back to her side, Bane leaned over her slightly and replied, "I live here. This is my home." She would need to drink something. She would need to warm up more. Carefully he pressed a finger into the inside of her wrist, feeling her heartbeat against his skin while he continued. "It's your home as well, until you see fit to leave. You are welcome to whenever. Are you cold? Thirsty? Would you like to move to a bed, or perhaps something more comfortable?"
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At his response, a smile could not help but pull at the corners of her lips. Was he speaking now of that force which determined all things? Even in this land so distant from Caledonia, it seemed as if the gods had not abandoned her. And it was strange, now that her mind had crossed this path, that the one who had come to her side, who had found her in the darkness, was this singular male, this one man who had intrigued her that single night. But his reply seemed to explain even this. Yet, she wondered for what purpose. Something, a thought, perhaps, or a feeling, flickered deep within her so faintly that she could not recognize it. For a moment, her gaze lingered upon his face, searching deeply and openly, just as she had that night long ago. There was something, almost like a hesitation, upon the woman’s features as she searched those welkin eyes. But she could not find enough as she was forced to shut her eyes against her efforts.
There was something near to relief within her as he confirmed his wellbeing, and she breathed quietly, easily. The black fae did not know why she was so concerned for the male. Perhaps it was the gratitude for what he had already done for her. Perhaps it was simply the concern one could feel for the life of another. Or perhaps it was something else, something deeper in a realm of her being that she had not yet touched before.
It seemed as if he was about to leave when she had reached for him. But he remained, rendered immobile by her touch. But as she spoke he returned, and while the distance had been close to insignificant, to the female it was as if he had crossed a sea. Her eyes opened to find him standing over her, and her face was relaxed, without the smile or even the ease that had usually graced her features. For a moment, it was as if she were elsewhere, as if her mind had left her body for reasons unknown. But once again, his deep, calm voice drew her back. His home? Something similar to discomfort flitted across those white eyes. It was not due to fear but to unfamiliarity. The female had never been within the abode of another, and his statement that they now resided within his home worried her. The warrior wondered if she had somehow entered uninvited.
As he pressed his fingers upon her wrist, her gaze was momentarily averted as she watched, wondering what it was that he did. But she looked back up as he spoke again, putting her mind at ease. She was almost embarrassed, flustered by his kindness. The warrior was silent before she replied with a quiet, "Thank you," that soft melody holding as much of her gratitude as it could. And she fell silent, forced to look away from him, a sudden sadness crossing her face. "All of those things sound nice," she said, but she felt as if she were burdening him.
Then her mind was suddenly moving again, perhaps irrationally. It was almost as if time and space did not exist, and she felt moved suddenly, excited and anxious by thoughts that perhaps were of no concern at the moment. She struggled to rise then, her movements quick and with a purpose. She murmured something then that sounded like, "I have so much to do—the pack—" as she tried to push herself up and off the table, but her torn hip and bruised and worn body were not prepared for the shock of the floor, and her knees buckled beneath her. And the full force of the reality was shot through her as the pain cut into her being like a white-hot knife. A soft, quiet cry escaped her as she felt herself fall. But for a moment her vision was impaired, and she knew not where she had fallen.
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cake A bit of powerplay here, sorry!
cakeHer heartbeat was regular and this pleased the blue-eyed male. He released her wrist, and kept his gaze secure on her face. She thanked him and he found it a useless gesture; this was written. This was outside his realm of control. This was not something that free will would have produced -- but then, free will didn't produce anything at all. All the dark wolf had now was to wonder what he was intended to learn from this, and what she was as well. Though she may not have been looking, he shook his head very slightly, and then became attentive once more when she spoke again.
cakeIf they sounded nice, then they would be hers. Bane was a unique man, particularly when it came to women; he was aggressive, dominant, violent, but only in matters primal and generally sexual. He got what he wanted, regardless of their wants, and in return they would get what they wanted as well, in any other matters he had control over. He had spent much time in a society that placed heavy emphasis on tradition and he knew to treat a woman as she should be treated. Therefore, if it were in his power, it would be hers. He stood up again, back straight, once more entirely prepared to leave her for a moment when some stray thought unexpectedly took her. She tried to stand, and he reacted with pure instinct.
cakeBefore the lady hit the ground, the dark wolf caught her in his arms, as gently as he possibly could. Against his arms he felt the stitches in her back scraping against his skin beneath his fur. Delicately, he lifted her, his face near hers as he spoke to her, quietly as he had before. "The pack can wait," he said to her as he guided her to her feet. "Now you need to rest. You have lost a lot of blood. You have many wounds, and many stitches. In the meantime, relax, and anything you need I will get for you. Your pack can wait." Instead of assisting her back onto the table, the dark wolf led her to a nearby couch, urging her to sit. Once she was sitting, her brushed her bangs away from her face so as to look at her eyes, such intriguing eyes, white yet still sighted. "Is there anything else that concerns you?"
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Instinctively, her arms wanted to come up as her body prepared to catch herself, but there was a tightness in her shoulder and a pain from that place, and the warrior was stopped. In that quick moment when her mind filled with chaos finally realized that her body was useless, she attempted to turn, to catch herself with the side of her body, the only place that seemed to be free of any major wounds. But she never hit the ground. The arms caught her, coming out to calm the chaos that had threatened upon her. They were gentle and strong as they held and supported her, his fur against her invoking those memories once more. She gave a soft sigh as the breath escaped her, quivering as she held back any sound that may have indicated the extent of the pain which throbbed now throughout her body with the unbound power of a river. The bruises and cuts and the deeper wound seemed individually to come alive and yet merge as one aver her entire body, aggravated even by the man’s gentle touch. Only her eyes were shut against that pain.
The eyes opened slightly at the sound of that voice, and it chased away the loud silence of that pain. The word ‘stitches’ caught her ear, and she wondered if that was what she had felt when she had touched the wound upon her back. But the warrior’s ignorance of human things was chased away as he spoke. She believed his words of rest and blood and wounds more keenly than her own thoughts at the moment, and she realized the full extent of what had happened. A frustration grew within the female, a feeling of uselessness and she felt her defeat within every wound. Yes, the female had learned that from defeat she must rise stronger, and this male had given her that chance, that chance against Death, to try again once more. But at the moment, feeling so close to the defeat, she could not help but feel herself withdraw within herself. And yet, it would be with this silent withdrawal into the self that she would be able to begin the learning process. Her hands were held limply against her breasts as he carried her away from the table. And the place in which he placed her was lower than the table, but it was softer too, as if it were meant for another to be held there.
Her eyes were held low when he brushed her hair aside, looking into her eyes. She hesitated for a moment before she lifted her gaze to meet his, and there was almost a sadness in her eyes. The warrior, for once in her life, felt that she had no control, and she struggled with this feeling. It was as if she were naked and alone, and yet, in being alone she was still here with this male. Perhaps he wouldn’t understand, or perhaps he would. But for a warrior, movement and reliance upon the body was everything, and without it she was nothing.... Against the pain, the quiet voice managed to gather her voice to offer the male a quiet, "No." And then she was forced to look away again, unable to meet the savory darkness of the male’s gaze. She fell back into the strange couch, forcing the tension from her body and allowing him to leave her side.
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cakeAnd leave he did. Bane knew vaguely what she felt. He knew hopelessless and weakness, but had long ago abandoned these things to time. They were vague memories. The day he would die would be an exciting one, and with the fervor of a martyr he looked forward to it. There was no hopelessness because he now knew that there was no such thing as hope. There was no weakness because he knew now that life was one great lesson. One day he would learn everything he had always been meant to know, because he knew -- knew -- he was meant for so much more than the world could offer. Trial, failure, came before mastery, and inside his head he heard the roar, the whisper.
cakeIn the kitchen, he gathered a bottle of water and some of the fresher meat he had caught earlier in the day; he kept most of it frozen in the shed in the backyard, but this was better quality and she, the lady, deserved nothing less. He knew she might not eat, might not want to yet, but this was irrelevant. The needs of the body came before the needs of the mind, and he would attend to both (in whatever way she wished him to.) Bane carried these things, along with a blanket, back to the blackbird, and sat next to her on the cushioned seats. He rested the blanket atop her legs and the water and meat on the floor by her feet. Then he touched her face once more, much as he had the night they had met. There was a bit more meaning to the unspoken gesture, but it was still strong, intense, unforgiving, again, just as it had been that first night; Bane would never be anything less then these things.
cake"Tell me." He said this simple, implying with his deep voice, which was still quiet but equally strong as his touch. "Tell me why you're hiding from me. Life will coax us and force us to strange places, blackbird, peculiar places no one else has ever seen. Tell me what you see in your world." It was her thoughts he thirsted for; this was his curiosity demanding the stage, making itself the more important of the things on his mind. It, of course, didn't escape him that she was weak, that she could not offer much of a fight. Bane respected women in the simplest of senses; why take what he wanted when she so willingly gave it to him? Carefully, slowly, he lowered his fingers to her neck, feeling her skin beneath her fur. She was warm now.
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When he left her side, she felt an emptiness, heard and felt the air moving to fill the space in which he once stood. She was left in her own darkness as she shut her eyes, only vaguely aware of the distant sounds as the male moved through the house. Within herself, she began to collect her thoughts and calm her mind, to recollect the shattered fragments of her being. For a moment, the female’s mind was emptied. Even in her dreams, cluttered by the fluttering thunder of the raven wings, she had not been in that tranquil state that had often characterized her. But now.... there was nothing. She breathed deeply, moving to lean into the corner of the couch to allow for the support of her form on two sides. And the woman lay there unmoving, sifting through the scents that moved through this house as if it were important for her to become familiar with it. Only her tail moved, moving slowly across the cushions to lay alongside her thigh. For a moment, the pain was pushed aside as she was able to rise above it, but the waves of that hurt, that ebbed and flowed against her will, gradually pulled her mind back into her body.
The white orbs opened as the blanket was placed upon her knees. Her hands went to touch the fabric, the feel so unfamiliar in her fingers. And yet, she felt her warmth of her legs contained within the fibers of the blanket and understood why so many utilized it. Her gaze flickered across the food and water that he brought, grateful that he had been willing to share such things with her (his reassuring words of providing what she needed still had not dawned upon her) and she looked up at the male. And then he found her again, his hand against her face. She took an intake of breath sharper than the rest, as if she had not been expecting that touch. And there was so much held within that simple thing, and the beauty of that strange darkness within the male made the black fae almost breathless. Her own hand almost reached to touch the male’s fur, to feel the untainted strength beneath his skin. But his voice captivated her.
For a moment, she was silent. "I am a warrior," the soft melody replied, speech made easier now through the use of her voice. "The world is a battlefield, each aspect of life a challenge I must overcome and defeat...." Her words trailed off as his touch wandered to her neck. It was a soft touch, careful yet unafraid as if they knew.... The warrior’s breathing deepened slightly as she looked into those eyes, as if wondering. DaVinci had thought her view to be brutal, and yet her life did not seem to the warrior to be that way, even as she lay in the house of a stranger who tended the wounds that had tempted Death. Love was a kind of warfare, she had told him. But perhaps the man would understand why it was she hid, for, being as she was, the woman could not win any way, regardless of the field upon which it was fought. And yet, she did not protest that touch, as if curious now where he was going. She was very still beneath that touch, as a wounded animal knowing it cannot protest and yet challenging him with those quiet, searching eyes.
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cakeA battlefield; this was a comparison Bane had heard many times before. From others he had once known who preferred to refrain from overusing words, he could see in their eyes, and in their actions, that they would have agreed with the lady on that count. It wasn't necessarily a bad way to view the world. It was perhaps a lonely life, but most led lonely lives. Everyone walked a path that existed only for them, and occasionally their paths would cross, if they were meant to, if they would learn from it. There was so much more than this, so much more than her defeat.
cake"Is it possible," the dark wolf asked her, his words slower than they would have been normally, vaguely distracted as he was with her scent filling the room, "then, that everything that you've lived through, and everything you've experienced in your life, as well, has led you to me?" He was smiling then. There was nothing he was suggesting, nothing he was implying to her; Bane would never be so presumptuous as to assume he knew what Fate held in store for the world. He did know that there were reasons they, as mortal and fallible as they were, could never really quite comprehend. There were reasons here neither he nor her would know until they were meant to -- if ever they were meant to.
cake"I believe that we live out God's plan. We follow a script, we exist to learn more of the universe, perhaps ourselves, before moving on into blissful oblivion, for greater things, greater purposes. All the world's a stage." A pause. He hadn't yet moved his hand, or any part of his body, for that matter, minus his mouth so as to speak. "We were meant to meet. You were meant to find me, even if in such a violent manner. Perhaps this doesn't comfort you, but in time I believe all things will be revealed. There is a reason for this." His faith was unshakable, so much was obvious from the calmness and serenity in his voice.
cakeWhen finished speaking, he moved away from her finally, lowering his arm. The doctor believed in his willpower, in his self-control. He did things that others would condemn, but never did he do these things because he didn't want to. He did them because they were what he was meant to do. She was weak in body, not in spirit or mind; she was beautiful in a way he couldn't quite define, and he wanted her just as he had that night. But he understood now was neither the time nor the place. And so he simply looked at her, silent as he watched the quiet struggle within her, understanding that perhaps the inner peace he had wasn't so easily available to others.
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He was still, unmoving even as he spoke, his lingering touch a suave pleasure amidst her sea of pain. She might have reached up to touch his hand, to feel that which she was unfamiliar and yet known, had she not feared that the touch would be chased away. For the warrior, that single touch was enough as she listened to the sound of his voice, to the patterns that it made within the still air of his abode. And in the stillness his words were heard with a new clarity, the woad bound ears permitted to relax as was the rest of her body. It was a strange and domestic place, but a place that housed that quiet but wild soul. And she had known a wilder part of that soul for a single night. Now, his soul was quiet as he spoke quietly of Fate—their Fates—and of the purpose of the gods. Could there be such profundity in their meeting? She had never believed in coincidence, but she, as all mortals, had never been privy to the whims of deities.
But he was a follower of a male god—or, more precisely, of that single God that held no name. This made the Caledonian-Korean slightly uncomfortable, for there was great history with the people of that God and with the people of her gods. "I am a follower of Nemain," the alto melody replied slowly, the white orbs delving deeply into that of the male as she spoke the name of her goddess, "But Fate is the same for all.... We have known the domain of such a thing. I was Fated to be defeated, and with that defeat, I have been brought to you." The soft melody of those alto tones paused before saying, "And if my defeat has been necessitated for this union, then so shall I be eased in mind." And somehow, having voiced it, the female felt that it was so. But his faith which was held openly and clearly upon his voice was adamant, and she wondered now if he, who came from a religion that waged wars and killed women for the mere label of heathen, would become a threat knowing that she followed the goddess Nemain.
As he increased the distance between them, revoking his touch as he did so, the warrior wondered. Leaning down, she took a sip of the water, quenching her thirst, and eating only a bite of the meat. For now, that was all that her body would allow. Leaning back into the corner of the couch, a soft sigh escaped her, wavering with her silence. The pain—she wondered how long it would last, and she knew that it would be longer than she desired. She knew that she would not be able to fight. "What do the fated do," the alto melody continued, soft and almost inaudible. Or did she keep him from some other business. Being a simple creature of the physical and mental, she did not know what one did in a house—or perhaps it was not different from living as she lived.
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cakeShe accepted his words with the readiness of a person who had already been taught the ways of the world. Bane found he appreciated this, it being so rare to find a like soul in this place that bred heathens and criminals, with the godless among them thriving at every turn. When she confessed to him the deity she followed, he found he heard something different in her voice, briefly; this passed and he let it leave them, but he kept it there in the back of his mind for the time being. Bane spoke of what he believed in in such terms simply because it was what most understood, in his experience. What mattered to him wasn't the origins of the God itself, the scriptures or traditions that gave them meaning, or the manner in which one worshipped. The belief, the faith that gave a man reason, that was what mattered. She believed: one way or another, it was enough.
cakeShe had been brought to him, and so it was worth it. Bane believed this as well, and it pleased him to hear her say this. It was an odd emotion, and something he wasn't entirely used to. He had learned (like any good boy) to hide himself behind a mask of serenity. He had learned (like a competant soldier) that weakness was a disease that corrupted, festered like an infected wound from the inside out. It was like fear, thick and heavy and tantalising to those who would seek to hurt you. After so long it had become like breathing to him, so that he rarely even had to focus to rid himself of the unwanted excess of it, of the baggage it brought along. Despite this, he found it nothing but unusual: there was no threat here, after all. These walls closing them in offered a safe haven and he let himself feel content for the moment. Rather than replying, he simply smiled, though his eyes remained calculating. Why, he wasn't entirely sure.
cakeSilence ensued, a comfortable silence, and Bane leaned against the soft back of the sofa. The doctor in him was pleased that she ate, knowing an appetite was a sure sign of eventual recovery. Still, he couldn't help but feel she was eating and drinking merely to appease him. He would take what he could get. "Whatever is written," he replied, a ghost of a smile appearing briefly on his face. Then, after a pause that somehow felt poignant to him, he continued: "I don't know your name." It was a question, hidden, and strangely it didn't feel impolite. Given how they had met that night, that intimacy they had shared in the dark, he felt that any attempt at traditional courteousness would be lost on both of them. He had shown her more of himself than most were permitted to see, and the facade suddenly felt too draining to keep up.
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The tension that existed in her subconscious was expelled when he did not react, at least negatively, to her declared faith. A soft wave of relief was felt by the dark woman, though she tried not to show this. Yet, the woad marked fae was not sure how much her emotions would be worn openly within her eyes, for she was not sure how much the walls of control, however natural they were, had shuddered and fallen. Whatever the case may have been with her self (and how she so disliked such weakness within herself), the woman was relieved for the man’s open soul, for his reason that so many others had seemed to lack. And yet, for that she could not yet see him fully now, for there were many things within the way of seeing that soul; the woman did not pry, but the white orbs did seek the depths of those oceanic orbs with a quiet, curious gaze and a gentle push. But it was dark in there, and she had not yet found what it was that would become alight and enlighten her.
And then he leaned back, offering her a reply. It was simple, and a soft smile tugged at her lips as she turned her gaze to her hands. Of course it would be so. And her gaze remained so until he spoke again. The woad bound ears pushed forward as her faint smile grew a bit stronger. "Cwmfen nic Graine," the soft voice almost whispered. While the woman had wondered at the male’s name, the issue had not been overly pressing. She had known who he was, perhaps more intimately than any other creature. A name would not have changed that, and the wolf did not require one. But it would matter, she decided now.... It was strange, as if names did matter. The warrior wondered how, but she felt that it were so. The white orbs lingered now upon the man’s face and was comforted. The alto melody did not ask his name in return, as if suddenly she did not know how to keep a name.
The woman shifted, her left hand reaching out to touch softly, tentatively, the blanket upon her lap. The clear gaze considered it for a moment as her hand felt the warm fabric. She had seen others using it—like a second pelt, she decided. But now that it was before her, she was not sure how to use it. The woman struggled with the concept for a moment even as she felt the coldness of the air (which may not have been cold at all) push into her fur and stroke her skin with the intimacy that reminded her of cold Death. And when the fingers gripped the fabric, bringing it closer to her chest, it unfolded. Suddenly understanding, the female brought it over her body before falling back against the couch again. Looking up, the male suddenly seemed so far. "This world is so foreign to me...." The soft melody spoke abruptly, almost randomly, as if she thought that her voice might draw him nearer. But the mind liked to play such games, especially when weariness and pain tugged at the edges of reality.
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