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He will never burn as she does: so bright, so lively and alive. Caneo yearns for firelight the same way moths do; the same way planets tilt toward stars. Entranced, he allows the wanting to pull him slowly toward her, and time hazes around him until it doesn't matter at all. If he had something to do here? If it was important? But nothing is, or ever was. Ripples crash in silence against his long limbs, distorting their reflections, and the trick of the water loses to the trick of the mare, who laughs at him and his politeness. Caneo's teeth set a little on edge at the sound, though nothing in his face reflects that. How easy it is to fall apart when one's scripts (so carefully constructed!) go ignored. But he lets disappointment by the wayside, for now. He can be patient. He can, at least, learn to reflect light if he doesn't make his own. His nose lifts delicately toward her outstretched wing, though he makes no contact; to touch would be to invite in a feeling he despises, and so he flirts with touch instead, breathing in the dusty almost-horse smell of this creature. She is alluring, though he can't say why. He knows almost nothing about her, though Caneo wants to - and maybe mystery is it. Or maybe loneliness; as she pulls away he follows, instinctively. His own version of their dance is slower, probably, than hers. He is a quiet, brittle creature and it's a long stride or two before he sheds silence and stillness and begins to move as he once moved in the desert: all flight, tireless and unfaltering. There is a wistfulness to this hungry frame that makes him paler than his new companion: a ghost to her steps, following rather than leading, cautious even in freedom. But he is trying. Maybe that's the first step, and the others will come. |
Table and Picture by Nicole (Niki)
@Amaris
* violence & magic use always permitted *
Do not tag Caneo unless you are starting a new thread you would like me to see! Thank you!
