His cautious gaze watched as her lips parted to release a sigh. The singular breath held what he took as uncertainty. Unconsciously he set his elbows on the table, leaning in to the wooden platform, body angled at her, sights on her. She looked at him too, but not into his eyes like he wanted, simply at him but not through him like he did her at times. Her lips parted again, letting free words that further cemented his own uncertainty. She said she knew of death, said that it was a part of who she was as a Benshira. Her speech on her knowledge of death turned into one about how it should not be feared, informing him that she was not afraid, that her new battleground for survival had changed from the deserts to the castle city of Syliras, once a foreign world to her, but now her home.
In her face resolve took hold. Her voice no longer held the whisper of unsureness, instead replaced by a steadfastness he recognized. Still, her statement on not fearing, on not ‘holding back,’ didn’t exactly put him at ease. What it did, though, was answer his question; she would not give up their bond to spare herself the potential consequences that tarried along with him and his lifestyle. Then she said she felt their bond was a gift, ‘not something to so quickly toss aside because it’s easy. Sometimes the hard road is the best one taken.’ He had never heard the saying before, yet he nodded. However, the murkiness of his indecision haunted him despite her hopeful words. She would stay bonded with him. Why did he feel so conflicted? The reason was far too convoluted for him to grasp at the moment.
At her mention of his name, his attention refocused on her, thoughts pushed aside momentarily. She said she would need his help. That alone was enough to acquire his attention. He perked a brow at her, wanted to ask what she meant, but the bite of her lip and quickening of fear in her person kept him from doing so. Her next question surprised him entirely, she asked him if he wanted the bond severed, stating that she did not want to be selfish. “How do you feel about the bond?” she asked.
“I don’t want it severed,” he answered with what he thought was honesty. “If you would like to keep the bond, then do so, I have no complaints. If I did not want the bond then it would not have happened. My father’s relationship to his bondmate was much like our own before they bonded. At first they were strangers, he a beast of the forest, and his bondmate a weary lumberjack. In the beginning they were too distrustful of one another for a relationship to grow, yet my father would visit his bondmate in his workspace every chance he got, watching from afar, the life of humans too complex a thing for him to understand. But he was young, like me,” he motioned to himself, “and wanted to understand you all better. So he kept visiting until, eventually, the lumberjack gave my father his leftovers from the supper before. That day on whenever my father came to visit him, he gave my father his leftovers and they got closer and closer, the distrust fading from their heart until the day they bonded.
“The lumberjack’s wife had been fighting illness since the day my father stumbled upon the man working the forest. One of the days after they started to trust one another the lumberjack’s wife died to her illness, but he came to work the forests anyway. He didn’t have any leftovers because he had not eaten. When my father came to the place he was working the man cried and cried to my father, distrust completely fading from his heart. They bonded then until the man’s death.” He took a breath. “What am I saying is, we had to have been open with one another in order for us to bond in the first place. You needed me then, in the room, and so here I am and here this is. I am happy that it happened and glad to have the chance to protect you from whatever I can.”
His mouth opened again, words on the edge of his teeth, but in the end he swallowed them, barring them exit to the open world. ‘Because I love you,’ he thought. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked instead, fingers edging towards his plate.
In her face resolve took hold. Her voice no longer held the whisper of unsureness, instead replaced by a steadfastness he recognized. Still, her statement on not fearing, on not ‘holding back,’ didn’t exactly put him at ease. What it did, though, was answer his question; she would not give up their bond to spare herself the potential consequences that tarried along with him and his lifestyle. Then she said she felt their bond was a gift, ‘not something to so quickly toss aside because it’s easy. Sometimes the hard road is the best one taken.’ He had never heard the saying before, yet he nodded. However, the murkiness of his indecision haunted him despite her hopeful words. She would stay bonded with him. Why did he feel so conflicted? The reason was far too convoluted for him to grasp at the moment.
At her mention of his name, his attention refocused on her, thoughts pushed aside momentarily. She said she would need his help. That alone was enough to acquire his attention. He perked a brow at her, wanted to ask what she meant, but the bite of her lip and quickening of fear in her person kept him from doing so. Her next question surprised him entirely, she asked him if he wanted the bond severed, stating that she did not want to be selfish. “How do you feel about the bond?” she asked.
“I don’t want it severed,” he answered with what he thought was honesty. “If you would like to keep the bond, then do so, I have no complaints. If I did not want the bond then it would not have happened. My father’s relationship to his bondmate was much like our own before they bonded. At first they were strangers, he a beast of the forest, and his bondmate a weary lumberjack. In the beginning they were too distrustful of one another for a relationship to grow, yet my father would visit his bondmate in his workspace every chance he got, watching from afar, the life of humans too complex a thing for him to understand. But he was young, like me,” he motioned to himself, “and wanted to understand you all better. So he kept visiting until, eventually, the lumberjack gave my father his leftovers from the supper before. That day on whenever my father came to visit him, he gave my father his leftovers and they got closer and closer, the distrust fading from their heart until the day they bonded.
“The lumberjack’s wife had been fighting illness since the day my father stumbled upon the man working the forest. One of the days after they started to trust one another the lumberjack’s wife died to her illness, but he came to work the forests anyway. He didn’t have any leftovers because he had not eaten. When my father came to the place he was working the man cried and cried to my father, distrust completely fading from his heart. They bonded then until the man’s death.” He took a breath. “What am I saying is, we had to have been open with one another in order for us to bond in the first place. You needed me then, in the room, and so here I am and here this is. I am happy that it happened and glad to have the chance to protect you from whatever I can.”
His mouth opened again, words on the edge of his teeth, but in the end he swallowed them, barring them exit to the open world. ‘Because I love you,’ he thought. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked instead, fingers edging towards his plate.
