Progress…

There, a smile which has not graced his face in days, but now it is itching to sprawl across the soft lines of his mouth, twitching, trying. Hope begins to drown out tension, knots beneath his coloured canvas start to unravel, slowly; Noah is immediately relieved to learn that she, the frail-looking dove his care has attached to, is alright (astounded to say the least, yet pleased all the same). There had been moments that day and for a good time after, which he’d perceived might be their end, their ruin; he had boldly feared the worst - falling together, like sacrificial lambs on Netherworld’s bloody alter. While he prefers to avoid revisiting those raw, embedded memories of the ordeal (they haunt his slumber instead), he can’t help but worry constantly for another ambush similar; more black-barred demons purged from hell’s fiery belly to tear them away from life.

For now, nagging concern gives way to something less morbid though - she stands with him still, today, and there seems to be no trace of the wild trepidation that was fuelling her before.

Optimism beads on his coat like dew on the new spring grass.

He drinks deeply her airy, girly fragrance, watches with ever expanding interest (budding enthusiasm, no matter how enigmatic she seems), as her narrow crest bends beneath a fluid sweep of shining liver-brown; rogue strings float playfully apart from the mass, winking cheekily every so often as their otherwise invisible length, reflects the clear morning’s radiance. Deliberately measured and smooth movements slide his towering frame further back, granting her the space and access rid of his long, looming shadow; a gesture both equally respectful and instinctive. Though he makes earnest an effort to let her eat in peace, he is fascinated by her toy figure, and can’t quite pull his stubborn gaze from the elegant angles of the lithe body  trailing behind; though they shared each feathers in common, they were dissimilar in almost every other way.

A small while later, her enticing, colourful eyes lift to find him - his own wander left simultaneously, unwilling to reveal the extent of his feeling or let it hamper this unexpected trust she shows. Beyond her, the granite face of the silent mountain is aglow in early rays of warm gold; rugged, unanticipated beauty, detail beyond belief, yet his nomadic heart still isn’t soothed into submission. The shadowy, unfriendly crevice from which she’d woken beckons down his blinking focus; the wind, the sky, even drenching monsoonal rain seemed better appetising than such a sinister tomb. The dove is a paradox before him, and he returns to her slowly, with still more questions than before…

Brawny mesh across his tightens suddenly. The velvet softness (he imagines), of her tiny, tapering nose lingers in the air between them, so too do the neat toes she stands over inch nearer - but even as her courage intensifies, there is a stalling moment (he feels, predicts) and he believes it to vanish into the mild, caressing wind. Noah’s heart skips, and his burly shoulders roll beneath the pressure of disappointment. His hope, like withered leaves, falls fast - she is as untameable as the tides of the moon-kissed tide; but he is hardly deterred from her presence and smiles understandingly, kindly. Theirs is a game of give and take, of compromise. ‘Ow’, his mind’s eye repeats, the sound of her gentle tone distorting harshly as his throat rumbles in preparation. His chin bounces twice - yes.“Fixed,” he tells her afterward, and flexes the joint beneath so that she might believe it true.

Still he didn’t understand the sorcery which had sown their wounds back together - it was phenomenal, and his expression shed hint of remnant disbelief. His past held nothing but the magic of earth’s gifts - herbs, paint and song; and though he truly missed his island home (it gnawed savagely), there were parts of this strange new world that intrigued him; creatures that challenged his slim level understanding. Softly he blows through flaccid nares; he has witnessed the stirring of others here many times over now and knows that they will meet the sunrise with a hum of activity. “We walk?” He asks calmly, suggesting nothing of his awareness, instead turning with quiet motion from her with a beckoning flick of blonde lashes. Perhaps she would find comfort by the grove he enjoys - there is grass, cover and water near by.

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior