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Now, when you conceded that you did, in fact, know Hawkeye, there were several reactions that you had reason to expect. Righteous indignation? Sure. Laughter? Less likely, but why not? His actual response though leaves you…well, you don’t know exactly what it leaves you, but never in a million years would you have anticipated what the stallion does next. “The shadows of the cave did your beauty no justice,” he tells you, and right before your flabbergasted eyes, you catch his golden gaze sweeping over your body. Suddenly self-conscious, you shrink into yourself and cast your eyes downwards. Nothing like this has ever happened to you before, and it is just as uncomfortable as it is shocking—shocking that Hawkeye’s gaze strayed the way it just did, that is. And shocking that you liked it, a little voice murmurs in the back of your mind, making your eyes widen and your wings press even closer to your body protectively.
Of course, you have been told that you are beautiful before, but never like this. Those compliments fell from the lips of a doting nurse or a visiting dignitary. A beautiful child, they all said, nodding approvingly. But the dignitaries barely ever gave you a second glance the way Hawkeye did; no, those glances were reserved for your sister Anayis, or in the case of some of the more bold ambassadors, for your mother. Not for you. Never for you. After all, it was as they said: you were only a child. Yet somehow, under Hawkeye’s penetrating gaze, you feel decidedly un-childlike…and strangely breathless. Despite your confusion, your discomfort, and the nearly tangible awkwardness in the air, the most pleasant sensation is beginning to bloom in your chest, creeping up your spinal column and tickling your brain with a happy buzz. A snatch of an old Th’orquian ballad drifts into your mind, something the maids used to sing about a dashing prince and a—
“Are you all right?” your companion asks, his tone clearly concerned. Startled, you snap out of your reverie, chancing a peek upward. Grey eyes meet golden, and immediately yours dart away. You don’t fail to notice the extended muzzle; part of you wants to return the gesture, but part of you is terrified of what would happen if you did. What is going on here? you wonder, casting your gaze anywhere but the stallion’s face.
It is the blood that saves you. A stream of red catches your eye, and you gasp, eyes round as you see his injured wing. “You’re bleeding!” you exclaim, suddenly glad to have anything to focus your attention on besides your mixed-up emotions. Tentatively, you step forward to investigate. While it brings you some comfort that he will not be able to follow you into the skies should you take off again, your own love for your wings makes your heart ache for the threat to his. To lose the ability to fly…it is as unimaginable as losing the ability to breathe.
@[Hawkeye]
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