Her eyes grow big in the silver moonlight while she watches him garner the doe’s trust and feed her a selection of leaves. The fawn makes a wet, low sound with its tongue and its mother curls around it; he works, and she watches him with rapt attention, her head a mess of thoughts while she stands there, poised and dripping with a peculiar air, listening to the creek that swirls around the foothills in a thin ribbon of silver, rush and hiss. Behind them, the moon is beginning to curl its fingers over the horizon, a pale light banding the mountainsides and the slick length of the river that runs deeply in the mid of the valley above the forests. She collects her words in her mouth, the stars licking the contours of her face, and when he turns to her, she smiles, most practised at the art of conversation and manipulation, hoping to obtain the answer of her liking. “How pleasant!” she smiles, relieved, and then she moves toward the lake to gather fresh water for the fawn. She allows the stream to pour into the silver bowl she’s brought with her, her eyes glittering in the half-light that is spilling over them through the thick treetops, and she pulls herself up to her feet to slip back toward the mother and the fawn; she kneels amid the grass, her skirts flowing around her, and sets the bowl at the fawn’s paws, draws the thicket back into its place before her gaze travels up the length of Leonardo’s chest to his face. “Leonardo…I must speak with you;” she drawls then, her lovely face silvered by the moonlight, and a random jolt of anxiety shoots up the length of her spine and uncoils in the base of her throat; she swallows and collects herself, and her eyes glisten whilst she holds his gaze. Her hands move to fold most delicately upon the laces of her skirt, and she stares at him for a second, most calculating and devious. “I shall speak plainly, for I think you a man of honor and know that you harbor no ill feelings toward me; I trust you.” she tells him, and the deer stir behind the thicket, drinking deeply from the bowl; the birds nesting in the tress coo and huddle together, feathers rustling. “–I need your help…” she exhales, her voice dripping with poise, cool and light; there is a long, heavy pause to allow her words to fully sink in, and then, she speaks, “–and if you offer it, I will be forever in your debt. I promise.” she promises, blinking up at him with starlight sparkling in her eyes. “–oblige me?” she smiles a little, half nervous, half self-collected, seeking to lighten the mood while they converse in the midst of the dark, musty forest.
janainaart
yousharknotpass
dededos
blakekathryn
vaporwave
romaincrisis
2087
