@filthtouched from x
Her hand hovers over him – no magic there, no gift of sacrifice, just a hand, just a concerned touch. She shouldn’t have approached, really; she had realized that as soon as her hand had fell on his arm and that single eye opened to look upon her with such disdain. She certainly doesn’t have a good explanation other than that his dreams had been so loud, so painful that she had heard them even just upon entering the forest. She curls her hand against her chest and tries not to feel the after effects of that agony but she thinks if she does not looked burned, she must just look sorrowful.
“No, nothing needed,” Micaiah answers, backing up a bit so as to give him space. She thinks she might stand – it isn’t as if either her height or physique are impressive enough to be frightening, but even with the soft green of the forest around them she feels an echo of a cage for trees, of hot and crowded back alleys (those of Nevassa for her, but they are much the same anywhere) instead of endless fields of grass and so when she backs up she says seated.
“I don’t… sleep during the day usually. Or outside. Um, anymore. So thank you but no.”
She knows his mention of “fun” pertains more than just the stagnant act of sleeping but she’s so used to Sothe or another of her party reacting, hackles raised, at any notion of lack of decorum on her part that it hardly registers other than for her to think, yes, he is a man and if this where anywhere else perhaps she would be afraid of him. But she isn’t. Now now.