A Different Sting, Part 2
Previously: Part 1
She'd been far too late in leaving Gridania, Tsimh knows; only half a bell earlier, and she might have been able to talk her way into traveling with some stablehands heading back to Bentbranch. But no, no, she'd left it far too late, reluctant to risk the danger of the Black Shroud at all, she'd left herself with no choice but to risk it alone. The forest has changed, of late. Oh, of course the Twelveswood has always been dangerous, but in a way she understood, as any forest-born child did: mind the hearers, stay to the safe paths, don't disrespect the forest, and no harm would come to you.
But the creeping approach of Dalamud has changed things.
Still, she finds it difficult to entirely regret her decision to set out alone. Had she been accompanied by others, the beasts might not have thought her such easy prey. And had they not attacked, perhaps she'd not have needed to be rescued.
They walk in silence, their feet crunching through fallen leaves. Tsimh steals covert glances at her savior from beneath her lashes, wondering what he must be thinking. She has never found elezen fellows particularly appealing - so tall! They look as though they've been pinched and stretched everywhere. But Martiallais, with his quiet, pensive demeanor, has her bewitched. From the moment he'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere, spear in hand, slaughtering the beasts like some sort of guardian spirit-
Her heart is racing again, remembering.
She'd feared him for all of a moment, only half a breath, before he'd knelt beside her. Such beautiful eyes, such a deep, dark green, the sort of color she's only seen in deepwood plants. And his voice, low and sweeter than honey, turning her fear into something else, something else entirely. She'd have let him take her there on the grass, if he'd have her, there by the beasts he'd killed to save her life.
Her face heats again. Menphina, save me! I'm not that sort of girl.
"Are you alright, miss?" He peers down at her, and she realizes she's stopped walking, lost in her own fantasies.
With a small squeak, she hastens to his side. "I... I must have twisted my ankle. W-when I fell," she stammers. "It's nothing. Nothing, truly."
He smiles - faintly, but she sees it, that little curl of his lips, a little lopsided with one of the scars that tugs at them. She wonders where he got those scars. She wonders how those scarred lips would feel against her own. She only barely hears him say, "We'll walk a little slower, aye?"
"Y... yes." Anything to spend a bit more time with you. Sure enough, his long strides become slower, matching her pace. Tsimh finds she cannot stop staring at his legs now, the way they move, the power in each stride.
"You're a botanist?"
Oh, gods, he's talking to her. Pay attention. "Oh, only... only an assistant, that is, I... I hope to become a botanist someday, but... but for now, I only, you know, water the plants, take some cuttings... and make deliveries."
He nods, listening. "Sounds like a botanist to me."
"I don't... plant things. I can't identify half the plants I'm tending," she admits, her grip tightening on the straps of her satchel. "And I don't gather in the field. Even an adventurer fresh from the wilds can harvest sap and lumber; I only..." She sighs. "Well. I like green, growing things, that's all, I suppose."
She expects to be teased, but when she glances up, he's smiling at her. That same little smile, with the scar tugging it. She wonders if it hurts him to smile more than that little bit.
Instead of teasing, he asks, "What's your favorite?"
"My... my favorite?"
"Plant, aye."
Oh, goodness. She laughs a little, surprised by the sweetness of the question; the innocence of it - how incongruous it is with his weathered leathers and ragged scars. "Have you heard of moongrass? It's a flower that only grows wild in the depths of the Sylphlands. I've never... well, I haven't seen it in person, of course, only drawings..." She's babbling. "It's blue, you see, and it emits its pollen in bubbles."
"Bubbles," he repeats, nonplussed.
"It's silly," she says, her face heating once more. "I know, but-"
"No," he says, gentle again. It makes her vision swim. "I just never heard of such a thing. Shroud's full of wonders. Any others you like?"
He's putting her at ease, she realizes as she answers; trying to talk her down from the shock of being attacked. Talking her through simple things. Things she likes, what she does every day. Keeping her mind going, so it doesn't cycle back to that awful moment when those creatures came surging out of the trees. She lets herself be led, physically and mentally; he could be taking her anywhere. Does she know this part of the forest? Yes, yes, she knows that patch of flowers, she knows that spindly vine.
He would never lead her astray. He would never harm her.
She notices, now, how he's keeping a careful distance from her, always perhaps a fulm apart, so they never touch. Probably for the best. Gods, any closer, and he'd feel the heat rolling off of her. She believes she wants him more now, knowing how kind he is under all that lack of polish. Any other man, coming upon a young woman alone in the woods, afraid and vulnerable...
I'm not that kind of girl, she reminds herself. And anyhow, she's hardly a vision of beauty and innocence ready to be debauched, in her grass-stained fieldwork gear with smudges of mud on her knees. Next time she's rescued by some handsome young rogue, she's going to be certain to wear a better gown. Gods, the way her sisters will laugh when they hear about this! Little Tsimh, unable to perform the most basic of seductions! They're going to laugh themselves hoarse.
But she finds she cannot care, because walking with Marty, talking with him, is the most enjoyable thing she has done in moons.
Gradually, she realizes her stammer is gone, her limbs have stopped shaking. She speaks endlessly about her work at the Growery, the many little odd jobs she does around Gridania, and even her family - he's keeping her talking, of course, asking little things, but she doesn't mind; cannot mind. She tries to ask him questions in turn, things about himself, yet every time, she finds herself answering yet another of his questions, none the wiser about him all the while. He remains carefully, deliberately out of reach, in every sense. It could drive her mad.
All too soon, they reach their destination.
"You're late, lass," the gamekeeper says, his concerned tone shifting immediately to suspicion as he takes in the sight of Marty standing just behind Tsimh. She knows what he must see: a ruffian using an innocent girl's naivete against her, for his own wicked ends.
Menphina, if only.
"Y-yes," she says, stammering again as she reaches into her satchel, fishing out the clippings and cuttings he'd requested. "I... I ran into some trouble on the road."
"I see that."
She frowns, stepping back and deliberately grasping Marty's arm. He tenses, but doesn't jerk free of her grasp. How strong his arm feels... but she can't be distracted, not now. "There were beasts," she says firmly, eyebrows knotting beneath her blue fringe. "Marty saved my life, and offered to escort me here and back to Gridania. He has been a perfect gentleman!" Unfortunately, she doesn't add.
The gamekeeper looks between the two of them, slow and thoughtful. "Is that so."
"It is!"
His keen-eyed gaze rests on Marty, eyes narrowing. "You'll see her safely home, then, lad?"
She hears the quiet breath leave him, a sigh he was holding back. "Aye, sir. On my life."
"You'd best believe it is. Marty, is it?"
"Martiallais," he clarifies, politely. He pats her hand, still gripping his arm, with his own free hand. "You gave the fellow everything he needed, miss?"
She nods primly, tightening her grip on his arm, an unspoken I'm not letting go. "I did, ser. We should get back to Gridania before it gets dark." She nods to the gamekeeper, still piqued. "Good evening."
"Aye, travel safe, lass." The man's voice rises. "And you, lad! If I hear aught's befallen her, I'll see you suffer for it!"
"Never mind him," she says, hastening Marty along with an iron grip. "He knows my father, that's all." Word of this will get back to my father, she realizes, and she cannot decide if the shiver that darts down her spine is fear... or the titillation of doing something she knows her father will never approve of. Traveling the Shroud with a strange man! A strange elezen man! What will people say, Tsimh?
"Can't hardly blame the man," Marty says, gesturing to himself with his free hand. "I ain't exactly a knight in shining armor."
She briefly imagines him in armor. Ooh... "You saved my life," she says, resolute. "I trust you. That ought to be good enough."
"Grand judge of character, are you?" That little smile again.
"Are you secretly a wicked man, Marty?" She teases, squeezing his arm, which she has not relinquished. "Are you planning to do awful things to me, after all?"
He looks at her, briefly stunned, and a pink flush rises in his cheeks. "I..."
Oh, she realizes, heart leaping into her throat all over again, heat pooling at her core. Oh, he does want me too. Boldly, Tsimh leans a little closer, letting her breasts rest against his arm (if only she wasn't wearing this heavy botanists' vest!). She doesn't let her gaze stray from his.
"Perhaps," she begins, but her mouth is dry. She licks her lips, swallows, cannot believe what she is saying, what she is asking. "Perhaps, just to be safe, you ought to walk me all the way home?"
She fears he'll refuse. She fears he'll push her away, resume his careful distance, and it'll shatter her heart into a thousand pieces.
Instead, he smiles.
She is learning to love that smile.
"It's dangerous these days," he says, quiet and soft, but she sees the flicker of heat in his eyes, like a banked flame. "Mayhap you're right. Just to be safe."
