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Själ's amber eyes glowed not with light but with darkness, a seething storm seeking freedom from a cage of skin and bone. Looking at the unicorn, with her irises glinting in gold and copper and hued with amber, Nymeria wished she could know what brought upon such rage. It was unlike anything she'd seen before—and it bespoke an experience she did not want to experience herself.
For despite everything that had happened to her—Ophelia's challenge, Reginald's bullying, and worst of all the growing divide between her and Volterra—none of that made her rage. None of that made her feel (and perhaps this was only speculation) hopeless. It was easy to feel alone (she didn't have many friends to speak of) but she never fought against her situation with only dire desperation.
And she would never know intimately what made Själ so broken in this moment despite all her anger, or precisely why she'd be drawn to Själ. Sometimes she didn't need to know. If this worked out in the end—that was all she cared about right now. This was a perfect oppurtunity to capitalize on (callous as it sounded); she would not let it bypass her.
She'd wanted a friend for so long.
The frustration she'd glimpsed in the unicorn's gaze drained away; Nymeria stepped in closer, subtle and graceful. Själ, the unicorn said in turn—Nym sighed, and took to heart her words. Things—dare she say it?—were beginning to look tentatively up; the resentment always burrowing through Nymeria's veins gave way to fragile hope. Their honesty with one another had been unprecedented (in Nymeria's books.) This has to be a good sign.
It was. Själ professed reliability; Nymeria took a moment, savouring this budding growth between them. Instead of immediately answering she came in a little closer to Själ, ever so politely attempting to press their flanks together, and share a bit of warmth in the Frostfall day. It was then she said, simply and with more than a touch of clever consideration, “and I'll be here for you when you need me." A pause, and then, childish and naïve and knowing it, "friends?"
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
