It’s IMPOSSIBLE to miss the discourteous remark, his stare narrowing at the brunet below. He must have expected this form of TREATMENT from the adolescent boy, or from who else does Jack Frost get his gift of SARCASM from?
… Though then again, the spirit doesn’t completely remember who he was, moreover what sort of PERSONALITY he bore during his colonial days. Only fragments of his precious memory came back to him, after all.
❝ —— Well, yes, I do, ❞ he states in a matter - of - fact tone, taking a moment to pause for him to LEAP from the branch and land safely, without even the slightest scratch on pale skin. It helps quite a lot to be acquainted with the winds, always cushioning your FALL.
But those are thoughts for ANOTHER time. He acknowledges that fact the moment his blue gaze meet warm, hazel eyes shaped IDENTICALLY to his own.
❝ I’ve lived here for about 300 years, kid. ❞
He crinkles his nose at the stranger, feet kicking while remaining on the branch. Sure, answering sass with more sass isn’t exactly the ideal way to solve a problem, but what else was he to do?
Losing his hideout to a stranger is out of the question. Call him childish (he’ll readily admit it) or prideful (he’ll confess on that matter too, though less willingly), but abandoning the place he has found himself returning to for years is something he cannot even fathom.
As soon as the other drops past him, Jackson releases a yelp and falls backwards. Reacting fast, he tightens his legs around the branch and exhales after a moment of fear wracking his chest. With a heave, the brunet gathers himself and reclaims his proper seat on the branch, gaze turned towards the boy again.
This person isn’t normal. People don’t jump from high branches and land without an injury. Was it witchcraft? Possibly.
“ There is no way that is true. Burgess hasn’t even been around for 300 years! ”
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