It is fleeting hunger - a frustrated star, shooting through the crowded night sky - and though his thoughts leap frantically towards it, that carnal sting, the tantalising heat which flared so freakishly inside has already been lost. Noah misses it instantly, and while the potent ring of male hormone drains from his veins, brazen pools of sea-blue search the dainty, darling body of the painted dove for another trigger of the same – she has become a refuge for him, easily as much as he is one to her.
The bright note of the crimson-haired voice above the pound of his own heart, pulls the distracted stallion suddenly into the present; she greets his charge amicably, with a smile that encourages her forward. The delicate-hearted creature, the timidest of does, has progressed from the suffocating shell of her self-impressed isolation, and comes into the glaringly public world of airs and graces (and stupid, presumptuous ‘princes’), with threads of her silken flag swung high. The sheer lightness of her step and the embodiment of innocence he saw, struck a chord in his humming heart that might ordinarily have spurred his nose to drift and touch in welcome; his face wais in place, however, perched upon a tall, vertical crest, as he knows such a gesture will be less than well received.
As she slides in beside them, the third (tiny) point of a triangle, Noah feels the breadth between burly shoulders tighten; he cannot step down from his guardian role, will not rest, even as the face that stares nonchalantly upon them feeds no reason to bristle. He wants to tell her in the seconds which follow, how wonderful it was to see her out in the sunlight; that the golden-red glow of this day’s final kiss, enhances so perfectly the caramel, cream combination of her coat. Instead he smiles softly, simply and looks back to Akumi. ”She doesn’t get out much,” he explains only briefly.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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