She moves again, as she seems so prone to doing, until they stand chest to chest, neck to neck. The ghoul shifts a little, twisting his head so that he may lip at the girl's mane if she will let him. He isn't quite sure what's going on, but he likes the contact, the feeling of touching something warm and living rather than cold and long dead. His swamp is gone, the rotting carcasses of his other 'friends' swallowed by a darkness that not even he can penetrate, but he finds the loss doesn't much matter now, thinks he may even prefer lurking in this forest, simply because he can't picture Abishia in that profane place. Here, he can imagine her staying, at least for a while, laughing and dancing beneath the ancient trees.
What better place for a dryad?
She breaks his concentration then, talking again, but her words are difficult for him to understand. Not the words themselves, he knows what she is saying, but the meaning behind them, the simple fact that he's not a ghoul to her, is astounding. He has always been the ghoul, the unholy abomination, the grave-robbing monster. He wants to shake his head, pull away, cry that it isn't true, he is a ghoul, simply because he doesn't know how to be anything else. What else is there to be? He is the son of a zombie and a witch, raised in the haunted wastelands of Ryvegyr, taught stories of ghost and goblins the way other children were taught religion. He can't be anything else, not even for Abishia.
He is the ghoul!
But he doesn't run, doesn't scream, doesn't break down into a gibbering, sobbing mess the way he wants to. He just stands, silently panicking as the paint retreats slightly, barely feeling the soft brush of her muzzle. He isn't ready for this, hasn't been told how to change his role, but he knows that he will not risk this odd friendship over a simple belief. He can pretend, after all, has been acting out stories his whole life. Granted, he has never played anything besides monsters, but surely it can't be that difficult. Quickly he summons a memory, thinking of a wolf pup and it's would-be killer, tries to remember how it felt to step in as a defender. That's what knights do, right? Defend those who cannot, protect those smaller and weaker than themselves? He thinks so, but he's not sure he can do it, recalls very little of his experience as a guard, was too hyped up on rage and adrenaline to be thinking clearly at the time.
Well, he hopes Bishi isn't looking for a knight or hero. He doesn't want to disappoint her.
Maybe this was all a miscommunication anyway. After all, she hadn't said what she did think of him as. Maybe he's not a ghoul to her, but is still some type of monster, perhaps a goblin or a zombie. Something he can actually be, still ghastly and macabre. He could handle that, doesn't care what type of beast he is. No way to know without asking, and so he does. "What do you think I am?"
She still wants to know about him, demanding his story again. He hesitates, always hesitating, and his tail lashes behind him, stirring up dirt and leaves and everything else one finds on the forest floor. This is another thing he doesn't know, can't just tell her because he doesn't know how. Abishia is trying to bargain with him, offering to share her life if he will only share his, but he is hardly listening, trying desperately to think of something, anything to say to her.
The urge to run grows stronger.
But, she looks so sad, gazing at him without shields or lies, grief shining through her eyes like some kind of dark light. He doesn't want her to be like that, wants to see her smiling and happy again. She shouldn't have to feel bad, should be protected and cherished and loved by all the kingdom, the beautiful and kind princess. Well, he supposes, a princess wouldn't be out here in the woods sharing her soul with a ghoul-boy. Would turn away in disgust when the creature reaches out, as he is doing now, to lightly caress her face with his maw. She says she's not perfect, hasn't always done the right thing, but he doesn't know why that should upset her. He certainly won't mind whatever she's done, might even be delighted to find that the princess practices dark rites and sacrifices others for her own gain.
Maybe this princess is also a witch, and so consorting with a ghoul is only natural. Maybe she won't flee if he tells her who and what he is, what he's done. But, he needs to know something first, for his own peace of mind, to put his racing thoughts to rest. "I'll tell you, if you answer something first." A brief pause, as he finds a proper phrasing for his question. "What are you?"
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