𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 native to the Dark Forest: in virtue of and in loyalty to their self - proclaimed title, the Wilders place little value on artificially crafted occurrences, nor do they harbor desire nor greed towards material possessions / Both dissipate when all that remains is bones and ashes ( gravediggers would certainly disagree with this cynicism, for the greatest treasures are always found where the ephemeral body reposes ) . It is thus not surprising that their abodes are humble, their garments decorated with naught but the gifts of Mother Nature herself and their throats barren of golds and diamonds: for this culture, so very elusive and simplistic in their ethics, the most valuable of jewels is the one that timidly sprouts from the generous soil when springtime comes. It is thus not surprising that Solise knows little about the art of giving presents to others... Nor has she ever received a gift herself, one that wasn’t the frail seed carelessly abandoned by a migrating bird in the wake of its journey or the fresh honey lavishly offered by the diligent bees that inhabit the corners of her gardens.
This is why, ‘pon opening the door of her little chalet and being presented with a halcyon floret of simpering blossoms, the she - fox was left breathless and motionless for an elongated lapse of time. Gaze instinctively fell, became instantaneously hypnotized by the brilliant pigments of the festive petals that greeted her and there remained until an echo, far and barely audible for it was more analogous to a critter’s cough, piqued her faltering attention and forced her chin to raise and her eyes to meet his own. HE, always oh so tremendously proud in his heavy armor and tanned flesh, now appeared as delicate and frail as the lonely leaf that lamentably caught by furious embrace of the wintry whirlwinds: he shifted, hesitated, stiffened and tensed only to melt afterwards, a soldier waging a war against himself / A soldier bearing arms against the wants of his heart, for they were certainly much more treacherous than any weapon crafted by men and beasts.
Dainty hands came forward, carefully accepted the floral present whilst the hound - like audits above her skull wiggled with unveiled euphoria. He spoke, explained the significance behind the jewel that laid in the very center of the sun - kissed floret and Solise found herself almost doubting his words: why would he ever want her to have something as special and unique as this ? Whilst the fingers of a single paw furled attentively around the various stems, her free hand came to curiously poke at the obsidian gem in the center of the necklace in pursuance of testing the veracity behind his words: a shiver, an unconscious reaction, a faster heartbeat than any before, the proof that the cold jewel beneath the tip of her finger and the warm jewel imprisoned in the depth of his ribcage were indeed a fragmented whole, ever in contact with one another. A suddenly titter came, honeyed and chirp - like, sibylline auspice to the love - struck expressionism that soon molded the doll - like features of her visage into the brightest of simpers. The apple of her cheeks flushed in brazen crimsons, until even the tip of her nose was painted in the same pigments of the setting sun ; neither deep frowns nor hard lines could be found across its beauteous expanse, for her expression had indeed become as soft as her heart had.
❝ Can I really keep this ? ❞ A query puerile in nature, one mayhap wholly unfitting of the circumstances in which she found herself but that she could not help but vocalize. How odd it was, that she had to travel to the land of warfare and carnage to receive the first present of her life ! But before any other response could be vocalized, a voice tickled her subconscious and redirected her attention towards the floret in her hands once more: the biggest and most beautiful peony, the one adorned with the necklace, was demanding her attention. Solise dared not to disrespect the wishes of such a fiery flower and thus ( metaphorically ) turned her ear to it: the blossom, nonchalant and shameless as only the proudest of queens could ever afford to be, narrated with exquisite precision the struggles and hardships that Ciaran had gone through in pursuance of painting a simper across her tiers, describing in colorful terms the condition of his heart throughout it all and not forgetting to also mention how much he had hesitated and sweated before knocking on the door of her abode, on the door of her heart.
Solise laughed a little laughter, demonstrated her gratitude to the flower with a courteous bow and then took a single step forward, so that she could nuzzle the side of her visage against his own. An embrace was not possible in their current position, for it would have been hazardous to the survival of the floret but she could no longer keep herself in the distance, far from the man that she craved underneath the sun and dreamt of during the moonlit realm. ❝ This is beautiful, thank you. ❞ A purr, less thunderous than usual, weighed down by feelings now wholly roused from their sentimental slumber by him and by his gestures. Her hand, the one that had come to prod the authenticity of the obsidian, now slithered forward so that she could capture his own in a gentle but equally tight hold ; fingers intertwined together and she pulled on it. ❝ Will you come inside ? I think I need some help to wear the necklace, so I don’t accidentally give you a heart - attack because I touched the gem too many times. ❞
@beastdwells , in response to this.
