“Of that, you are no more guilty than I,” he murmured. For the first time that afternoon, Hector’s attention left the woman, drifting to the rustling copse at his left before sinking to the toes of his boots. Embarrassment bled in where adrenaline and devilish magic had burned moments before. He should simply dismiss the whole matter. Send her on her way after telling a tarnished half-truth of how he was but a quiet, innocent hermit that was unaccustomed to visitors. And years before, he would have.
Now, he refused to waste his breath. Even after they exchanged the overdue pleasantries, they’d still be strangers. She hadn’t attacked him on sight and appeared to have calmed, but that didn’t mean he was willing to concede the depressing details that made him the creature he was. Months had passed before Rosaly knew anything beyond his name, after all.
A long sigh escaped his lungs as he ambled along the length of the clothesline, testing the sheets and each of the garments to see which had dried. “Please, accept my apologies as well, miss,” he said, glancing back to the woman. As he removed a pair of socks and folded them, he swallowed against the knot tightening, twisting in his throat; Hector had bested humans, demons, and foul beasts with minimal effort, vanquished the greatest evil the world had known. Yet somehow, giving his name felt like the most daunting challenge he’d had ever faced. “You may call me Hector.”
Noble of him to keep to his own responsibility. Yet, it was her who alarmed him much earlier. Set out the defenses and she herself had put him on the edge. Both still had their own reasons to be as forests weren’t all dainty and full of flowers or adorable animals. All in all both has admitted their responsibility without having to damage their own pride.
Much like herself keeping her chin up too high...
There was no reason to attack him. Fear would be a petty excuse she found only a cowardly noble would use. Unless he was some infidel or violent fugitive that would attack her on sight she saw no reason to get aggressive. The wariness in itself was just enough to be on the defensive. Though she could have ran for her life than to sneak away like a rat...
“A pleasure Hector, no harm done except the river soaking you to the bone.”
A thin smile forms. Speaking her own name was akin to acting out a sin. Perhaps her own name was the very definition of how much she hated herself and her own past and both seemed to hold the very same struggle. It was forced in her reply.
“I am Naomi,” A pregnant pause as if contemplating whether or not to give him her full name not that it wasn’t unheard of to, “Naomi Salvatici.”
Outside her name held no significant importance. Her family would either be ports men or shipbuilders and on the other hand simple men using crafts for make tools and the like. She doesn’t expect anyone to find familiarity in her name like him.
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