That voice…
It was the one that was in her dreams and had also frequented her nightmares. The one that catered to her keen hearing like no one else’s she’d met. A voice that cradled her mind in velvet while still making a chill roll up the length of her spine.
She didn’t need to turn and see him solidify from a nearby shadow, to see the pale planes of his face that lead to those curious and dangerously dark pits of his eyes, even to see his tall languid and shifting form bow politely. She knew who it was as soon as his voice tickled her sensitive and peaked ears and the rest of the world faded away to a dull roar.
"Alzander…" she struggles to say, like his greeting had robbed her of one to return to him.
At first she jostles, trying to make her sleeves shift to cover the areas along her arms that still bore bandages, covering the still rather grotesque cauterized wounds that helped stop the bleeding at the time, but were making it harder for her to heal. However, with the bundles under her arms, to redress the self-same wounds, and flower she really didn’t want to drop now, it was a futile effort. So why not just be honest?
"I… could be better. Had a run in with a necromancer and his friend the fire elemental but-" Suddenly the idea of seeming weaker than she already felt when he was nearby warned her not to clue him in to just how sore and recovering she still was, "-doing better now."
Carefully, like offering meat to a predator but in this case having to remember to be polite to the creature who could snap your hand off, she holds out the vibrant golden branch covered in exquisite blossoms. “This is yours, I assume?”
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