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His whole body holds pensively on the edge. Its breath baited as his muzzle brushes her stone coat, waiting, assuring itself there would be the same spark, the same growing fire. But as his hot breath, shallow though it was, rolled back to him, and her strangely soft body is found, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. The harks of the gold fall back, and he was glad his eyes were shielded by their positions for they reflected for just a moment his panic. No, no no. It must be wrong! Maybe he was just tired, and bruised too much. Maybe his heart in its throes wasn’t recognizing this situation. Surely the rosen was not alone in her ability to make the golden tremble. To send electricity down his spine with just the thought of her, let alone her touch (which had so long ago given). A heat rose in his gut but whether from his panic or the increasingly accepted thoughts and visions of the rosen was unclear. His heart was roaring its answers, shouting the truth in his ears. This act was wrong. This was foul. It had been remembered. It had been revealed as more whole than the golden had feared and it would not be silenced in some dark room like a bastard child, loathed for its existence. Then she did something unexpected. She returned the favor. A hot breath rolls on his own dirt stained, snow cold coat. His arguments cease for a moment, frozen as her gentle touch returns his, and then leans onto him. Her words, soft and gentle reach out again to comfort and console. In all this though the golden is at loss. For in this action she submitted to his powers once more. She yielded to both the magic of the past, and his words of the present. She raised up again his weakened vanity and pride in those lost skills of lies and deceit. She made him remember that the heart did not rule him alone. That his mind, his brilliant mind, had seen him through ages of troubles, and dangers. It was powerful and dangerous. From the ashes, those summer thunderstorm night filled memories, it put back together what the world claimed impossible. It was strong even when the rest of him was weak. Nymeria, strengthened the gold’s defenses against the rosen ghost. And that is what the gold lusted. So he does not draw back as he should. He does not retreat away as his whole nerve tells him. When his heart and body screamed the wrongness of this act, and found nothing but void touches, the gold found reason to press on and try more. Surely, his mind rationalized, it would come. Hotaru he had known for seasons, surely it was only the lack of time together that caused the inability of this creature to pull from him the same feelings. His head begins to swim again, the heart, in its pitching and yawing, faltered to get the blood to his head. The gold’s coat even breaks out in a sweat at the strain (or fears?). Surely though, if he pressed on, the same sway Hotaru had over him would be given to this one, and he could rest in peace knowing the name of the rose was at last found meaningless. In all this only seconds tick, and no draw (besides the momentary glance of panic earlier) passes across his face. The gold would show his heart the truth yet. He would show it just how powerful the Still nothing came, and the gold, flirting panic, but maddened, pressed on. He draws off his touch, letting only his hot breath (struggling to be deep and slow) roll over her stone coat. Her scent, the same sweet but sour strain is brought deep into him. It gives no weakened knees, no fainting breath. He finds in her scent nothing. The remembrance of Hotaru’s cold heather and pine rolls back into his thoughts, sending a chill through him. He fights on still, spurred by the trial. A breath of a laugh leaves his dried lips, followed by that same worn edge, but forced with his lightened humor. “Then what of you? No…I’ll not have it.” He chuffs, and though the words roll off as if they were sincere, his own body feels their foreign strains. He was quick to compensate. The hot rolling breath, and long whiskers move up her shoulder and at her withers give pause. His resolve testing again, the fear rising that this was wrong, that nothing was happening. Everything giving rise that he should yield, pull away. But Nymeria had given back what little strength he needed, what little, hope? He reaches and his lying lips nib at her withers (if she let). Not a hard nip or unthinking grab. The gold was showing more skill than he might have before gained credit for even in the raging battle within him, his touch was still practiced light, and caring. For a moment he does this, seeking to let his lips move down the top of her spine. Seeking to find something, spurred on by the lies made fruitful and proved strong if she let him go on. All the while his panic rose, his desperation peaking, and Hotaru’s name screaming with every heartbeat. The tide shifted again, and strength was failing once more. If she had allowed, he stopped at the low of her back, and his crowned head fell gently to rest on her back, his chest and body leaning onto her. The worn strain replaced his humor, turning the weight of his words back to their current dark realities. “Perhaps we’ll just damn the world.” He was speaking from only his practiced mind. Though the voice was not mechanical, all which made it as it is, was. What was left unsaid was more telling. He didn’t say, as he perhaps might for the rosen, that he would shelter her, or he would keep her dry from the rains of light. No….he said damn it all. “You holding me…..and I ….you.” It was a little more hesitant, more whispered than spoken. No spark, no racing feelings making the stone child’s body mean as much as rosen’s, had risen up. It was a question, a plea for more. As he had called her closer before, now he was asking it. His whole body shivered, it was so wrong. But he was so desperate. So desperate to forget why this was wrong. "talk talk talk" OOC: Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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@Nymeria
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